The Handbook of African Intelligence Cultures 153815997X, 9781538159972

Table of contents :
Contents
Acknowledgments
Map
Introduction • Ryan Shaffer
1 Algeria: Bringing Revolutionary Roots into Complex Modern Times • Réjeanne Lacroix
2 Angola: Intelligence Culture Supporting Hegemony • Nuno Fragoso Vidal
3 Benin: The Presidentialization of National Intelligence • Juste Codjo
4 Botswana: Politicization and the Need for Intelligence Oversight • Lawrence Ookeditse
5 Burkina Faso: Widening the Security Net • Ernest Harsch
6 Burundi: Intelligence Culture in Troubled Political Waters • Jude Kagoro
7 Cabo Verde: The Intelligence Services and Key Challenges • Nilton Fernandes Cardoso and João Paulo Madeira
8 Cameroon: An “All of Society Affair” Intelligence Culture • Manu Lekunze
9 Central African Republic: A Troubled Country with a Troubled Intelligence Culture • David Vogel
10 Chad: An Armed Intelligence Culture • Ketil Fred Hansen
11 The Comoros: Intelligence in the Shadows of the Turbulent Past • Gábor Sinkó
12 Côte d’Ivoire: Intelligence Culture in a Fractured Security System • Jeremy S. Speight
13 The Democratic Republic of the Congo: Intelligence in an Unstable Country • Zsolt Szabó
14 Djibouti: Increasing Chinese Influence amid Multilateral Military Competition • Ra Mason
15 Egypt: The Century-Long Culture of the Mukhabarat • Hogr Tarkhani
17 Eritrea: Intelligence Culture under an Authoritarian Government • Ryan Shaffer
18 Eswatini: Intelligence Culture in Africa’s Absolute Monarchy • Ryan Shaffer
19 Ethiopia: Intelligence in a Contradictory Context • Ryan Shaffer
20 Gabon: Intelligence Culture in an African Proto-State • Martin R. Rupiya
21 The Gambia: Uses and Abuses of State Intelligence Agencies • Maggie Dwyer
22 Ghana: The Origins and Evolution of a National Intelligence Culture • Michael Yekple, Daniel Banini, and Philip Attuquayefio
23 Guinea: A Culture of Impunity amid Stability and Instability • Ryan Shaffer
24 Guinea-Bissau: Intelligence Culture in a Narco-State • Ryan Shaffer
25 Kenya: An Evolved Intelligence Culture • Ryan Shaffer
26 Lesotho: The National Security Service’s Organizational Culture, Oversight, and Politics • Mopeli Moshoeshoe and Christopher Williams
27 Liberia: Security Sector Reform after War in a Weak State • Morten Bøås
28 Libya: From Authoritarianism to Fragmentation and Possible New Beginnings • Réjeanne Lacroix
29 Madagascar: An Utterly Weak and Inefficient Intelligence Community • Adrien M. Ratsimbaharison and Juvence F. Ramasy
30 Malawi: The Role of “Paramilitary” Groups in Political Surveillance • Paul Chiudza Banda
31 Mali: An Intelligence Culture Developing with International Assistance • Charlie Lizza
32 Mauritania: Intelligence Culture at Domestic and International Crossroads • Ryan Shaffer
33 Mauritius: Moving toward Mass Surveillance • Linganaden Murday
34 Morocco: Intelligence Culture at the King’s Service • Blanca Camps-Febrer
35 Mozambique: Intelligence in the One-Party Culture of a Democratic State • Luca Bussotti and Laura António Nhaueleque
36 Namibia: An Authoritarian Intelligence Culture in a Democratic State • Lennart Bolliger
37 Niger: Surveillance and “Seeing Things” in the Shadow of the Drone • Mirco Göpfert
38 Nigeria: Birthed by Decree, Struggling under Democracy • Olasupo Thompson
39 The Republic of the Congo: Intelligence on the River Side • Madison Scholar
40 Rwanda: The Rise of a Security Culture • Timothy Nicholson
41 São Tomé and Príncipe: Intelligence Culture on a Small Island Republic • David Andrew Omona
42 Senegal: A Professionalizing Intelligence Culture • Ryan Shaffer
43 Seychelles: A Maritime State’s Evolving Intelligence Culture • Ashton Robinson
44 Sierra Leone: An Improving Intelligence Culture • Ryan Shaffer
45 Somalia: A Battlefield of Intelligence Services • János Besenyö
46 South Africa: Civilian Intelligence Services Caught between Party and the State • Sandy Africa and Dimpho Deleglise
47 South Sudan: From Liberation to Predatory Kleptocratic Intelligence Culture • Adam Charboneau
48 Sudan: An Intelligence System in Transition • Joseph Fitsanakis
49 Tanzania: From Internal Concerns to the Global War on Terror • Timothy Nicholson
50 Togo: Intelligence Culture for Dynastic Rule • Martin R. Rupiya
51 Tunisia: An Uphill Battle with Intelligence Reform • Florina Cristiana Matei and Jumana Kawar
52 Uganda: An Intelligence Culture of Politics and Abuse • Kasaija Phillip Apuuli
53 Western Sahara: The Securitization of a Contested Saharan Region • David Suarez
54 Zambia: Security Intelligence as a Special Branch of Presidentialism • Jeremy Gould
55 Zimbabwe: An Intelligence Community against Each Other and Everyone • János Besenyö
Index
Contributors

Citation preview

The Handbook of African Intelligence Cultures

SECURITY AND PROFESSIONAL INTELLIGENCE EDUCATION SERIES (SPIES) Series Editor: Jan Goldman

In this post–September 11, 2001, era there has been rapid growth in the number of professional intelligence training and educational programs across the United States and abroad. Colleges and universities, as well as high schools, are developing programs and courses in homeland security, intelligence analysis, and law enforcement, in support of national security. The Security and Professional Intelligence Education Series (SPIES) was first designed for individuals studying for careers in intelligence and to help improve the skills of those already in the profession; however, it was also developed to educate the public on how intelligence work is conducted and should be conducted in this important and vital profession. 1.  Communicating with Intelligence: Writing and Briefing in the Intelligence and National Security Communities, by James S. Major. 2008. 2.  A Spy’s Résumé: Confessions of a Maverick Intelligence Professional and Misadventure Capitalist, by Marc Anthony Viola. 2008. 3.  An Introduction to Intelligence Research and Analysis, by Jerome Clauser, revised and edited by Jan Goldman. 2008. 4.  Writing Classified and Unclassified Papers for National Security, by James S. Major. 2009. 5.  Strategic Intelligence: A Handbook for Practitioners, Managers, and Users, revised edition by Don McDowell. 2009. 6.  Partly Cloudy: Ethics in War, Espionage, Covert Action, and Interrogation, by David L. Perry. 2009. 7.  Tokyo Rose / An American Patriot: A Dual Biography, by Frederick P. Close. 2010. 8.  Ethics of Spying: A Reader for the Intelligence Professional, edited by Jan Goldman. 2006. 9.  Ethics of Spying: A Reader for the Intelligence Professional, Volume 2, edited by Jan Goldman. 2010. 10.  A Woman’s War: The Professional and Personal Journey of the Navy’s First African American Female Intelligence Officer, by Gail Harris. 2010. 11.  Handbook of Scientific Methods of Inquiry for Intelligence Analysis, by Hank Prunckun. 2010. 12.  Handbook of Warning Intelligence: Assessing the Threat to National Security, by Cynthia Grabo. 2010.

13.  Keeping U.S. Intelligence Effective: The Need for a Revolution in Intelligence Affairs, by William J. Lahneman. 2011. 14.  Words of Intelligence: An Intelligence Professional’s Lexicon for Domestic and Foreign Threats, Second Edition, by Jan Goldman. 2011. 15.  Counterintelligence Theory and Practice, by Hank Prunckun. 2012. 16.  Balancing Liberty and Security: An Ethical Study of U.S. Foreign Intelligence Surveillance, 2001–2009, by Michelle Louise Atkin. 2013. 17.  The Art of Intelligence: Simulations, Exercises, and Games, edited by William J. Lahneman and Rubén Arcos. 2014. 18.  Communicating with Intelligence: Writing and Briefing in National Security, by James S. Major. 2014. 19.  Scientific Methods of Inquiry for Intelligence Analysis, Second Edition, by Hank Prunckun. 2014. 20.  Quantitative Intelligence Analysis: Applied Analytic Models, Simulations and Games, by Edward Waltz. 2014. 21.  The Handbook of Warning Intelligence: Assessing the Threat to National Security–The Complete Declassified Edition, by Cynthia Grabo, 2015. 22.  Intelligence and Information Policy for National Security: Key Terms and Concepts, by Jan Goldman and Susan Maret, 2016. 23.  Handbook of European Intelligence Cultures, edited by Bob de Graaff and James M. Nyce, with Chelsea Locke, 2018. 24.  Partly Cloudy: Ethics in War, Espionage, Covert Action, and Interrogation, Second Edition, by David L. Perry, 2016. 25.  Humanitarian Intelligence: A Practitioner’s Guide to Crisis Analysis and Project Design, by Andrej Zwitter, 2018. 26.  Shattered Illusions: KGB Cold War Espionage in Canada, by Donald G. Mahar, 2016. 27.  Intelligence Engineering: Operating Beyond the Conventional, by Adam D. M. Svendsen, 2017. 28.  Reasoning for Intelligence Analysts: A Multidimensional Approach of Traits, Techniques, and Targets, by Noel Hendrickson, 2018. 29.  Counterintelligence Theory and Practice, Second Edition, by Hank Prunckun, 2019. 30.  Methods of Inquiry for Intelligence Analysis, Third Edition, by Hank Prunckun, 2019. 31.  The Art of Intelligence: More Simulations, Exercises, and Games, edited by Rubén Arcos and William J. Lahneman, 2019. 32.  Weaponized Marketing: Defeating Radical Islam with Marketing That Built the World’s Top Brands, by Lisa Merriam and Milton Kotler, 2020.

33.  Shadow Warfare: Cyberwar Policy in the United States, Russia and China, by Elizabeth Van Wie Davis, 2021. 34.  African Intelligence Services: Early Postcolonial and Contemporary Challenges, by Ryan Shaffer, 2021. 35.  The Academic-Practitioner Divide in Intelligence Studies, by Rubén Arcos, Nicole K. Drumhiller, and Mark Phythian, 2022. 36.  The Handbook of Latin American and Caribbean Intelligence Cultures, by Florina Cristiana Matei, Carolyn Halladay, and Eduardo E. Estévez, 2022. 37.  The Future of National Intelligence: How Emerging Technologies Reshape Intelligence Communities, by Shay Hershkovitz, 2022. 38.  The Handbook of Asian Intelligence Cultures, by Ryan Shaffer, 2022. 39.  The Handbook of African Intelligence Cultures, by Ryan Shaffer, 2023. To view the books on our website, please visit https://rowman.com/Action /SERIES/RL/SPIES or scan the QR code below.

The Handbook of African Intelligence Cultures Edited by Ryan Shaffer

ROWMAN & LITTLEFIELD

Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Rowman & Littlefield An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www.rowman.com 86-90 Paul Street, London EC2A 4NE, United Kingdom Copyright © 2023 by Ryan Shaffer All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Shaffer, Ryan, 1982– editor. Title: The handbook of African intelligence cultures / edited by Ryan Shaffer. Other titles: Security and professional intelligence education series ; 39. Description: Lanham : Rowman & Littlefield, 2022. | Series: Security and professional intelligence education series ; 39 | Summary: “The Handbook of African Intelligence Cultures is an authoritative and comprehensive reference work for African intelligence cultures and services”—Provided by publisher. Identifiers: LCCN 2022029024 (print) | LCCN 2022029025 (ebook) | ISBN 9781538159972 (cloth) | ISBN 9781538159989 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Intelligence service—Africa—Handbooks, manuals, etc. Classification: LCC JQ1875.A55 H36 2022 (print) | LCC JQ1875.A55 (ebook) | DDC 355.3432096—dc23/eng/20220617 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022029024 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022029025

™ The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

Contents

Acknowledgments xiii Map xv Introduction xvii Ryan Shaffer

1 Algeria: Bringing Revolutionary Roots into Complex Modern Times Réjeanne Lacroix

1

2 Angola: Intelligence Culture Supporting Hegemony

15

3 Benin: The Presidentialization of National Intelligence

29

4 Botswana: Politicization and the Need for Intelligence Oversight

43

5 Burkina Faso: Widening the Security Net

55

6 Burundi: Intelligence Culture in Troubled Political Waters

69

Nuno Fragoso Vidal Juste Codjo

Lawrence Ookeditse Ernest Harsch Jude Kagoro

vii

Contents

viii

 7 Cabo Verde: The Intelligence Services and Key Challenges

83

 8 Cameroon: An “All of Society Affair” Intelligence Culture

95

Nilton Fernandes Cardoso and João Paulo Madeira Manu Lekunze

 9 Central African Republic: A Troubled Country with a Troubled Intelligence Culture David Vogel

107

10 Chad: An Armed Intelligence Culture

121

11 The Comoros: Intelligence in the Shadows of the Turbulent Past

135

Ketil Fred Hansen Gábor Sinkó

12 Côte d’Ivoire: Intelligence Culture in a Fractured Security System Jeremy S. Speight

13 The Democratic Republic of the Congo: Intelligence in an Unstable Country Zsolt Szabó

14 Djibouti: Increasing Chinese Influence amid Multilateral Military Competition Ra Mason

147

159

173

15 Egypt: The Century-Long Culture of the Mukhabarat

185

16 Equatorial Guinea: Intelligence Culture amid Autocratic Wealth

199

17 Eritrea: Intelligence Culture under an Authoritarian Government

211

18 Eswatini: Intelligence Culture in Africa’s Absolute Monarchy

227

Hogr Tarkhani Ryan Shaffer Ryan Shaffer Ryan Shaffer

Contents



ix

19 Ethiopia: Intelligence in a Contradictory Context

239

20 Gabon: Intelligence Culture in an African Proto-State

255

21 The Gambia: Uses and Abuses of State Intelligence Agencies

265

Ryan Shaffer

Martin R. Rupiya Maggie Dwyer

22 Ghana: The Origins and Evolution of a National

Intelligence Culture Michael Yekple, Daniel Banini, and Philip Attuquayefio

277

23 Guinea: A Culture of Impunity amid Stability and Instability

291

24 Guinea-Bissau: Intelligence Culture in a Narco-State

305

25 Kenya: An Evolved Intelligence Culture

319

Ryan Shaffer Ryan Shaffer Ryan Shaffer

26 Lesotho: The National Security Service’s Organizational Culture, Oversight, and Politics Mopeli Moshoeshoe and Christopher Williams

27 Liberia: Security Sector Reform after War in a Weak State

335 353

Morten Bøås

28 Libya: From Authoritarianism to Fragmentation and Possible New Beginnings Réjeanne Lacroix

29 Madagascar: An Utterly Weak and Inefficient

Intelligence Community Adrien M. Ratsimbaharison and Juvence F. Ramasy

30 Malawi: The Role of “Paramilitary” Groups in Political

365

379

Surveillance 391 Paul Chiudza Banda

Contents

x

31 Mali: An Intelligence Culture Developing with International Assistance Charlie Lizza

32 Mauritania: Intelligence Culture at Domestic and International Crossroads Ryan Shaffer

405

419

33 Mauritius: Moving toward Mass Surveillance

431

34 Morocco: Intelligence Culture at the King’s Service

445

Linganaden Murday

Blanca Camps-Febrer

35 Mozambique: Intelligence in the One-Party Culture of a Democratic State Luca Bussotti and Laura António Nhaueleque

36 Namibia: An Authoritarian Intelligence Culture in a Democratic State Lennart Bolliger

37 Niger: Surveillance and “Seeing Things” in the Shadow of the Drone Mirco Göpfert

461

473

487

38 Nigeria: Birthed by Decree, Struggling under Democracy

499

39 The Republic of the Congo: Intelligence on the River Side

513

40 Rwanda: The Rise of a Security Culture

527

Olasupo Thompson Madison Scholar

Timothy Nicholson

41 São Tomé and Príncipe: Intelligence Culture on a Small Island Republic David Andrew Omona

541

Contents



xi

42 Senegal: A Professionalizing Intelligence Culture

555

43 Seychelles: A Maritime State’s Evolving Intelligence Culture

569

44 Sierra Leone: An Improving Intelligence Culture

585

45 Somalia: A Battlefield of Intelligence Services

601

Ryan Shaffer

Ashton Robinson Ryan Shaffer

János Besenyö

46 South Africa: Civilian Intelligence Services Caught between Party and the State Sandy Africa and Dimpho Deleglise

47 South Sudan: From Liberation to Predatory Kleptocratic Intelligence Culture Adam Charboneau

615

627

48 Sudan: An Intelligence System in Transition

641

49 Tanzania: From Internal Concerns to the Global War on Terror

655

50 Togo: Intelligence Culture for Dynastic Rule

669

51 Tunisia: An Uphill Battle with Intelligence Reform

677

52 Uganda: An Intelligence Culture of Politics and Abuse

691

Joseph Fitsanakis

Timothy Nicholson Martin R. Rupiya

Florina Cristiana Matei and Jumana Kawar Kasaija Phillip Apuuli

53 Western Sahara: The Securitization of a Contested Saharan Region David Suarez

703

Contents

xii

54 Zambia: Security Intelligence as a Special Branch of Presidentialism Jeremy Gould

55 Zimbabwe: An Intelligence Community against Each Other and Everyone János Besenyö

717

731

Index 747 Contributors 793

Acknowledgments

This book came together from the work of dozens of different people. Row-

man & Littlefield approached me about putting together a handbook covering African intelligence services and were very accommodating throughout the process. In particular, Dhara Snowden and Jan Goldman initiated this project, while April Snider worked with me to ensure completion. Michael LandonMurray and Glenn A. Cross provided valuable critiques. I am also grateful to copyeditors, reviewers, and everyone else involved with Rowman & Littlefield who helped make this book happen. The authors were a vital element, providing excellent chapters on a subject that has often been neglected. Last, friends, family, and students were another important aspect, providing advice and encouragement at different steps along the way.

xiii

Map

Map of Africa. Courtesy of the Cartographic Research Laboratory at the University of Alabama.

xv

Introduction Ryan Shaffer

Intelligence serves a vital role in the security and governance of African nations. The African continent has encountered a variety of internal and external security challenges before, during, and after colonialism. Intelligence services have served as a formal and informal arm of colonial states and have been utilized as a tool by autocratic or authoritarian leaders to suppress democratic, ethnic, or separatist demands. This has been a common feature of intelligence across the continent. Regardless of the political system, intelligence continues to play an often unseen but significant role in the lives of Africa’s 1.3 billion people.1 Yet African intelligence services have not been examined as a serious field of inquiry, and the number of academic studies published on the topic is small. There are notable scholarly articles and books on African intelligence, but when compared to research about North American or European intelligence services, scholars have not given it the attention the subject deserves. This book provides a comprehensive exploration of intelligence cultures in Africa, covering all African nations. The trade-off for not including longer chapters is that more countries—including those never examined in English before—can be analyzed. The book’s purpose is to provide a single volume that can serve as an introduction to African intelligence services for students and a reference text for scholars. In some cases, the authors are researchers who have specialized in intelligence for a given country. In other cases, they are experts on the country, and their chapters are the first English-language studies on a country’s intelligence apparatus. While other books have approached the subject by seeking authors who reside in a particular country, this is not possible for a comprehensive book on Africa, in which the countries could have a few hundred thousand people or have a population in the xvii

xviii

Introduction

millions, but the government censors authors writing on security issues. Indeed, issues of personal safety and security can also limit scholarship. Therefore, contributors were selected for their expertise on the intelligence services of a given country or their ability to apply an intelligence studies approach to the security dynamics of the African nations and regions they study. There are many different approaches to understanding intelligence services. The book recognizes this, encouraging contributors to research and structure the chapters by drawing from their academic strengths and knowledge of the countries. While the general theme of examining influences on and by intelligence services was provided, the authors focused on subjects, time periods, and services deemed most illustrative of the particular country. The book sees the diversity of approaches as a strength, rather than imposing a model that might limit inquiry into a subject that is already challenging to research in many African countries. As a result, it not only offers readers overviews of each country’s intelligence services but highlights different perspectives and methodological approaches in studying African intelligence. It is hoped that this book prompts scholars to build from and expand on these methodologies and research. SCHOLARSHIP The current literature on African intelligence cultures, whether journal articles, scholarly volumes, or first-person accounts, is a comparatively limited one. Further, access to research data on intelligence agencies and practices also tends to be constrained. So when I was approached by Rowman & Littlefield to compile a book about African intelligence cultures, it was not clear if it was even possible to assemble authors who could find enough material on the subject in some countries. This challenge proved attractive, however, because such a collection of chapters might prompt new research about African intelligence services. The objective of this book is not to publish “secrets” or promote fantastical James Bond–type stories. Rather, the objective is to advance the scholarly study and understanding of African intelligence services and cultures, helping bring greater academic attention to the topic. Before exploring the objectives of this book in greater detail, it is important to first look at the current state of African intelligence studies and literature, identifying key contributions as well as gaps. The number of academic articles in the major intelligence studies journals about Africa is small. A 2016 study by Damien Van Puyvelde and Sean Curtis reviewed the two leading intelligence studies journals, Intelligence and National Security and the International Journal of Intelligence and



Introduction

xix

Counterintelligence, and found only thirty-one of almost two thousand total articles examined Africa intelligence services.2 Perhaps most revealing was that only one article was written by an author from Africa (the person was from South Africa).3 The study demonstrates the extremely skewed attention to intelligence about North America and Europe, in terms of both focus and authorship. Recent and key texts that have taken national, global, or comparative perspectives have also largely overlooked intelligence practice and culture in Africa. Gregory F. Treverton and Wilhelm Agrell’s anthology National Intelligence Systems: Current Research and Future Prospects offers theories on the future of intelligence, providing North American and European perspectives without specific analysis of African countries.4 Likewise, Zachary K. Goldman and Samuel J. Rascoff’s anthology Global Intelligence Oversight approaches intelligence through a legal analysis of “global” but is chiefly about Anglophone relations as well as Israel and Germany, with no discussion of Africa.5 Philip H. J. Davies and Kristian C. Gustafson’s anthology Intelligence Elsewhere: Spies and Espionage Outside the Anglosphere provides contributions about less studied intelligence services—such as Indonesia, Japan, and Iran—but only covers one African country.6 To be sure, there are a handful of books that provide readers with a collection of essays about African intelligence services. African Intelligence Services: Early Postcolonial and Contemporary Challenges, an anthology I edited, examines postcolonial challenges in eleven African intelligence services.7 The eleven chapters delve into specific issues that African intelligence services have faced, such as ethnic and racial conflict, independence, and internal insurgencies. An earlier anthology was edited by Sandy Africa and Johnny Kwadjo, covering Ghana, Kenya, South Africa, Uganda, and the African Great Lakes region.8 Five of the six authors are former government officials, making the book mostly a first-person discussion about intelligence services mixed with secondary sources. Additionally, Olawale Ismail and Elisabeth Skons’s The Security Activities of External Actors in Africa explores Africa’s security through the prism of external actors—such as China, France, Russia, and the United States—but does not delve into African countries’ agency in shaping their own security and intelligence institutions.9 And while there is ample literature about and by foreign intelligence officers who have served in Africa, there are few memoirs and studies about Africans’ involvement in intelligence. Most scholarship has been about South Africa’s apartheid intelligence services, as well as some nonfiction works on postapartheid transformations. In total, there are a few hundred monographs about intelligence in Africa. Again, this is a very small number compared to other regions and upon closer

xx

Introduction

inspection is skewed toward South Africa. A subject search on WorldCat.org reveals more than 15,300 holdings on the US Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), while African intelligence has only over 300 results.10 When those results are narrowed by country, it reveals that more than 200 are specifically about South Africa.11 OBJECTIVE This book explores African intelligence cultures by examining how a state’s internal—and to a varying degree external—dynamics influence intelligence services and in turn how intelligence services themselves shape the state, society, and culture. This book uses similar themes to those in The Handbook of European Intelligence Cultures. There, authors wrote about the domestic and foreign contexts of intelligence services, the intelligence organizations themselves, and the effects of intelligence on the security environment.12 Yet this book seeks to expand how the reader understands intelligence culture by introducing intelligence studies to cultural studies.13 In particular, it draws from the Birmingham School of Cultural Studies initiated by Richard Hoggart and later Stuart Hall.14 Notably, this book employs the notion that culture is “experience lived, experience interpreted, experience defined” and above all a process.15 Indeed, culture is a “way of life,” and analysis of culture can “discover shared ideas and forms of communication.”16 This book also borrows from subsequent studies on culture and politics in new imperial history. Likewise, Catherine Hall has noted the contested definitions of culture, describing the cultural turn wherein scholars decoded meanings through cultural practices and processes.17 Applying these concepts to intelligence studies, this book highlights the variants and diversity of intelligence cultures in Africa through a range of politics, societies, histories, and international relations. It does not seek to impose a specific theoretical framework on the chapters, but rather welcomes different conceptions of culture, methodologies, and sources to probe the experiences and people involved in intelligence work in Africa. The book aims to provide an overview of intelligence cultures through diverse and interdisciplinary approaches. Some contributors are historians, political scientists, or sociologists, or have government backgrounds. The authors were encouraged to draw from their expertise and use diverse approaches to shed light on underexamined aspects of intelligence culture. Indeed, there is no need to revisit well-trodden aspects of intelligence history. Rather, this book hopes to spark interest and debate about the different types of methodologies, sources, and events that create the tapestry of intelligence throughout Africa. With some chapters leaning more historical and others



Introduction

xxi

delving into current events, they do not necessarily follow the same approach or even define intelligence in the exact same ways. Indeed, some chapters emphasize security and law enforcement agencies, reflecting the status of countries’ focus, institutions, and sources available. These differences demonstrate a diverse population of more than one billion people in dozens of countries that have experienced bursts of foreign intervention from different parts of the world for hundreds of years. Each chapter provides readers with a country-specific overview of intelligence history and systems, national security challenges, international alliances, and intelligence oversight or reform efforts. Human rights are another important aspect in the chapters, with the degree of abuses or reforms depending on the country. Indeed, news media, governments, and nongovernmental organizations—such as Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International— have documented human rights violations by particular African countries and linked them directly or indirectly to intelligence and security services. In sum, this approach is to introduce scholars and students to historical and contemporary issues, highlighting African agency in intelligence, rather than dwell on or overemphasize external actors’ roles and perspective. But there is no doubt that international relations have been vital to African intelligence since the late nineteenth-century scramble for Africa attracted competition between the great powers for influence on the continent. As the Cold War played a significant role in postwar European intelligence, the Cold War has also shaped African intelligence until this day. But Africa faced different or compounded issues in the Cold War, as many countries simultaneously experienced decolonization and state building during the postwar era. This book covers over fifty-five countries, and while each chapter is centered on similar themes, it does not take a comparative analytic approach in the sense of categorizing the countries or presenting an overarching theory about African intelligence services. Given the variety and differences of services, histories, cultures, and governments, it is doubtful a meaningful theory can be constructed.18 In compiling a book about Africa’s intelligence services, it hopes to encourage further research on intelligence in Africa beyond colonial histories or apartheid, which currently dominate the field. More broadly, this book helps address the still remarkable geographical imbalances that exist in intelligence studies. SOURCES This book contributes to intelligence studies by shedding new light not just on African intelligence, but also on the sources available for researching the

xxii

Introduction

subject. While each chapter varies in research methodologies due to the differences in nations’ sizes, histories, security environments, and governments, the authors likewise vary in their use of sources depending on the country. From memoirs by former foreign intelligence and former African intelligence officers to laws that lay out African intelligence structures and even interviews, the chapters highlight ways scholars can approach understudied intelligence cultures with limited sources. Research is shaped by the types of sources available, and this is never truer than in the field of intelligence studies. Declassified records in North American and European archives have been important staples of intelligence studies research since the 1980s.19 However, aside from colonial or early colonial records, many African countries—South Africa with its apartheid-era records being a notable exception—do not make intelligence records available to the public. Further, autobiographies and memoirs can be useful, but they have to be analyzed with caution.20 When one relies on memoirs by former intelligence officers from North America and Europe, the result not only injects possibly outsized foreign perspectives about Africa but could produce narratives that exaggerate foreign countries’ alleged roles and involvement in Africa.21 This is especially true in intelligence, where narratives go unchallenged or facts are unclear because information may still be classified or compartmented, with no single person or record providing a full understanding of events. If one draws heavily from a single source or foreign sources, it skews the research against African agency of acting independently from the world powers. For example, Larry Devlin (1922–2008), the CIA’s first station chief in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, described his intelligence activities and the country’s repeated security crises.22 If one focuses on his account as a main intelligence player in the country, the result for the reader is emphasis on one narrative from a foreign intelligence officer without understanding how or if Devlin and his activities fit into the Congolese intelligence community. In contrast, Niël Barnard, former head of apartheid South Africa’s National Intelligence Service, explained his country was the “target of the espionage services” of many countries and that South Africa “successfully terminated” many of the efforts.23 Whether the boast of these counterintelligence successes is true or not, Barnard’s account demonstrates African agency and that African intelligence institutions have their own targets, operations, and concerns even against allies.



Introduction

xxiii

CONCLUSION African governments, cultures, and societies shape the intelligence services of Africa, but intelligence services also influence African governments, cultures, and societies. This book describes the specific experiences, environments, and influences in well-known and lesser-known African intelligence services. Readers can identify similarities and differences between the intelligence apparatuses in Africa. Furthermore, it is hoped that scholars build from the research in this book to develop a more diverse understanding of African intelligence, and intelligence in general. As Bob de Graaff and James M. Nyce explain in The Handbook of European Intelligence Cultures, similar to how the English Industrial Revolution came to be seen as a “normative model” for modernity and development, there is a tendency to see “the American, British, and Russian intelligence agencies” as a “standard” and other countries’ services as “outliers.”24 This book provides an alternative perspective by approaching fifty-five African countries’ intelligence services on their own terms rather than focusing on external forces: colonial, Cold War, or great power actors. There are some broad commonalities among African intelligence services. First, it is clear from the research in this book that government and politics are significant influences on many African intelligence services.25 Whether a country is a monarchy, authoritarian, or a multiparty democracy, government and politics have a significant impact on African intelligence cultures in terms of collection, analysis, operations, and targets. Second, the history of a country also has a significant role, as the colonial character and legal system shaped the intelligence community’s structure and function, including oversight and transparency. Additionally, Cold War alliances also influenced aid—not just intelligence and security material and training, but also economic, health, and agricultural aid, which shaped the countries’ directions.26 Ethnic relations—whether in Rwanda, South Africa, or Zimbabwe—also significantly influence the direction of resources and time focused on the issue. Third, civil-military intelligence relations and bureaucratic demarcation appear to be connected to the size of a country. Less-populated countries consist of smaller intelligence services, which means the intelligence community is smaller and likely has less-defined walls between civilian intelligence, military intelligence, and law enforcement. Fourth, many African countries’ intelligence services have long been in some state of reform and reorganization, which has been a fairly consistent feature of African intelligence since the end of the Cold War. Yet Peter Gill and Michael Andregg have explained that formal oversight over intelligence

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Introduction

“can give a false sense of security and permit continuing inefficiencies and corruption to exist for a long time.”27 As national structures and international issues have shifted, African governments have reformed and transformed, which also has impelled reforms to African intelligence to meet the new legal frameworks and needs of the state. Fifth, African countries face some common threats from state and nonstate actors. The global power competition from foreign countries, in terms of investment and aid, have created security concerns for Africa nations.28 Nonstate actors, in the form of insurgencies and terrorists, have proliferated across the continent since the September 11, 2001, attacks. While separatist movements in Africa are nothing new, the transnational nature of some of these groups—such as the Islamic State—embodies contemporary challenges influenced by globalization and technology. This has resulted in new Africancentric organizations. Notably, the African Union Commission’s Committee of Intelligence and Security Services of Africa was established in 2004 for intelligence and security coordination and communication and now includes over fifty countries.29 This book explores fifty-five countries’ intelligence cultures. In highlighting national and international factors that shape the intelligence cultures, it also demonstrates the influences on and the effects of African intelligence cultures on governments and civil societies. The book surveys Africa and provides insight into African intelligence services to examine their roles in the countries, regions, and world. By delving into the intelligence cultures, it demonstrates African agency in security and highlights the diversity of intelligence on the continent. Yet there is no single model of African intelligence. The larger countries, usually understandably so, receive more attention and have a more prominent role in regional issues. Nonetheless, it is vital to study all African intelligence cultures if one wants to understand the past, present, and future of national security in Africa. NOTES 1.  Special thanks to Michael Landon-Murray for his comments on an earlier version of this introduction. World Population Prospects 2019, vol. 2, Demographic Profiles (New York: United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs, 2019), 2, 58, https://population.un.org/wpp/Publications/Files/WPP2019_Volume-II -Demographic-Profiles.pdf. 2.  Damien Van Puyvelde and Sean Curtis, “‘Standing on the Shoulders of Giants’: Diversity and Scholarship in Intelligence Studies,” Intelligence and National Security 31, no. 7 (2016): 1046. 3.  Ibid., 1045.



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  4.  Gregory F. Treverton and Wilhelm Agrell, eds., National Intelligence Systems: Current Research and Future Prospects (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009).   5.  Zachary K. Goldman and Samuel J. Rascoff eds., Global Intelligence Oversight: Governing Security in the Twenty-First Century (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016).   6.  Philip H. J. Davies and Kristian C. Gustafson, eds., Intelligence Elsewhere: Spies and Espionage Outside the Anglosphere (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2013).   7.  Ryan Shaffer, ed., African Intelligence Services: Early Postcolonial and Contemporary Challenges (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2021).   8.  Sandy Africa and Johnny Kwadjo, eds., Changing Intelligence Dynamics in Africa (Birmingham, UK: Global Facilitation Network for Security Sector Reform and African Security Sector Network, 2009), http://africansecuritynetwork.org/assn /download/publication/Changing%20Intelligence%20Dynamics%20in%20Africa .pdf.   9.  Olawale Ismail and Elisabeth Skons, eds., The Security Activities of External Actors in Africa (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014). 10. “su:Intelligence service Africa,” WorldCat.org, 2021, https://www.worldcat .org/search?q=su%3AIntelligence+service+Africa.&qt=hot_subject; and “su: central intelligence agency,” WorldCat.org, 2021, https://www.worldcat.org/search?q=su %3A+central+intelligence+agency&qt=results_page. See also Ryan Shaffer Introduction to African Intelligence Services: Early Postcolonial and Contemporary Challenges, ed. Ryan Shaffer (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2021), 3. 11. “su:Intelligence service South Africa,” WorldCat.org, 2021, https://www .worldcat.org/search?q=su%3AIntelligence+service+South+Africa.&qt=hot_subject. 12.  Bob de Graaff and James M. Nyce, Introduction to The Handbook of European Intelligence Cultures (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2016), xxxv–xxxviii. 13.  For a similar discussion, see Ryan Shaffer, ed., The Handbook of Asian Intelligence Cultures (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2022). 14.  Richard Hoggart, The Uses of Literacy: Changing Patterns in English Mass Culture (Boston: Beacon Press, 1957). 15.  Stuart Hall, Cultural Studies 1983: A Theoretical History, ed. Jennifer Daryl Slack and Lawrence Grossberg (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2016), 33. 16.  Ibid., 34. 17.  Catherine Hall, Introduction to Cultures of Empire: A Reader Colonizers in Britain and the Empire in the 19th and 20th Centuries, ed. Catherine Hall (New York: Routledge, 2001), 11. Kathleen Wilson’s study of the development of an extraparliamentary political culture highlighted the role of the people in provincial towns engaging in national issues, demonstrating an expanded and then contested hegemony. Kathleen Wilson, The Sense of the People: Politics, Culture and Imperialism in England, 1715–1785 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 3, 437. 18.  Shaffer, Introduction, 6. 19.  Christopher R. Moran, “The Pursuit of Intelligence History: Methods, Sources, and Trajectories in the United Kingdom,” Studies in Intelligence 55, no. 2 (2011):

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40, https://www.cia.gov/static/42730af69e2fc83156316f5baeb5f268/Pursuit-of-Intel -History.pdf. 20.  Some notable memoirs from senior intelligence officers in Kenya, Mozambique, Nigeria, and Sierra Leone are Bart Joseph Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster (Nairobi: Nairobi Academic Press, 2016); Jacinto Veloso, Memories at Low Altitude: The Autobiography of a Mozambican Security Chief (Cape Town: Zebra Press, 2012); Farida Waziri, One Step Ahead: Life as a Spy, Detective and Anti-Graft Czar (New Jersey: Webcza Inc., 2019); and Ezekiel Alfred Coker, Reflections on Sierra Leone by a Former Senior Police Officer: The History of the Waning of a Once Progressive West African Country (Bloomington, IN: IUniverse, 2016). 21.  For an example of a former American intelligence officer writing about Africa, see William G. Thom, African Wars: A Defense Intelligence Perspective (Calgary, AB: University of Calgary Press, 2010). 22. Larry Devlin, Chief of Station, Congo: A Memoir of 1960–67 (New York: Public Affairs, 2007). 23.  Niël Barnard, Secret Revolution: Memoirs of a Spy Boss (Cape Town: Tafelberg, 2015), 96. 24.  Bob de Graaff and James M. Nyce, Introduction to The Handbook of European Intelligence Cultures (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2016), xxxviii. 25.  Bob de Graaff makes a similar point on Asia. See Bob de Graaff, “Elements of an Asian Intelligence Cultures,” in Intelligence Communities and Cultures in Asia and the Middle East: A Comprehensive Reference (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2020). 26. For Françafrique, see Antoine Glaser and Thomas Hofnung, Nos Chers Espions en Afrique [Our dear spies in Africa] (N.p.: Fayard, 2018). 27.  Peter Gill and Michael Andregg, “Comparing the Democratization of Intelligence,” in Democratization of Intelligence, ed. Peter Gill and Michael Andregg (New York: Routledge, 2015), 9. 28. Olayiwola Abegunrin and Charity Manyeruke, China’s Power in Africa: A New Global Order (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2020), 213. 29.  “Background,” Committee of Intelligence and Security Services, 2021, https:// cissaau.org/about-cissa/background/.

1 Algeria Bringing Revolutionary Roots into Complex Modern Times Réjeanne Lacroix

The

People’s Democratic Republic of Algeria is a predominantly ArabBerber country located in the strategic Maghreb region, sharing borders with Libya, Morocco, Mauritania, and Tunisia. Mali and the Western Sahara region touch Algerian margins in the west. The military’s role is especially important in the national history of Algeria from its birth as a sovereign state to contemporary political times. In 1830 the invasion of Algiers resulted in colonization by the Kingdom of France and recognition as three départements (local administrative divisions) eighteen years later. This arrangement endured until Algerian nationalism and intellectual arguments by oulémas (ulama or Islamic scholars) pushed for autonomy. As a consequence of these mounting sentiments, the Algerian War of Independence broke out in 1954, culminating in 1962. This era is pertinent in the study of Algeria’s intelligence culture as the wartime period saw the creation of Algeria’s first intelligence agencies under the direction of the National Liberation Army (ALN) on behalf of the National Liberation Front (FLN). In the early postwar period, political actors affiliated with the military were best able to organize, concentrate political power, and lead Algeria in its early development as an independent state. As a result, the military has been intrinsically involved in Algerian politics, state institutions, and the ethos of the intelligence services. Intelligence services continued to develop while the Algerian state experienced years of political power plays based on allegiances and personal brokering by politicians under the watchful eye of and ultimate approval by the top brass in the military. Over time, key intelligence agencies and units have been dismantled and re-created, often in line with the personalities of Algerian presidents and their inner circles. Yet the role of the military remains, and intelligence culture 1

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weaves its way throughout the current system. As Algeria remains engaged in political challenges, it is plausible that intelligence agencies may be amended once more, but it is currently unknown to what extent. The situation is highly reliant on political maneuvering and the dynamics between the powerful military and the presidency. This chapter contends that intelligence culture in Algeria has been shaped by historical precedents set by the entrenched role of the military in domestic politics, consequently influencing religio-ethnic relations as well as the creation of a highly politicized system. This has caused friction between ruling elites over matters of oversight and reform and supported Algeria’s reputation as a state willing to pursue its own agenda despite being sought after as a valuable partner in regional security affairs by international actors. INTELLIGENCE HISTORY The foundations of Algerian intelligence and the security apparatus are firmly rooted in developments during the Algerian War. Although there was no official agency, the first transmission agents were trained in a school in western Algeria during 1956.1 Two years later and four years into the war, the FLN created the Provisional Government of the Algerian Republic (GPRA) on September 19, 1958; it was the government-in-exile in Cairo, Egypt, until 1960 and Tunis, Tunisia, until 1962. Roles of the GPRA included politicking and developing diplomatic relations with sympathetic states that would ideally recognize Algerian independence. Such responsibilities required an intelligence service to gather and share information. Thus, the Ministry of General Liaisons and Communications (MLGC) was created in 1958. It became known by its more recognizable name, Ministry of Armaments and General Liaisons (MALG), two years later. Colonel Abdelhafid Boussouf headed the agency, and his leadership left a profound mark not only on the MALG but also on the foundation of Algerian intelligence for following generations.2 Under the guidance of Boussouf, the MALG further entrenched its role as the espionage service of the military and the political broker of the FLN as it conducted surveillance and reports on individuals who remained primarily outside the FLN-ALN networks. The unit extended its reach across the Algerian wilyas (provinces) to create an allencompassing network that permitted it to conduct intelligence gathering and also engage in counterespionage activities, such as radio intercepts. The MALG operatives were well trained. Boussouf specially sought out students of high academic caliber who could be trained as intelligence officers specializing in communications.3 He created an officer corps of loyal-



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ists who would later use their connections in the MALG to rise to positions of political prominence; thus the Boussouf factor in contemporary Algerian intelligence and politics extended beyond his period of direct involvement with the state intelligence agencies. Due to an affinity for militaristic systems, Boussouf found inspiration in the structure and techniques of the Committee for State Security (KGB) of the Soviet Union. In 1962, prior to the departure of Boussouf as intelligence head, the MALG sent numerous officers to the Soviet Union for training in KGB schools, an action code named Red Carpet.4 On July 5, 1962, Algeria officially gained its independence; this ushered in another period of political instability. Structures established by the French created a system of strong central governance, and any successors, especially in the context of a war of independence, would inherit a proven state apparatus.5 Infighting between influential members of the FLN led to the creation of the National Council for the Algerian Revolution (CNRA)—a politburo or executive committee headed by five powerful members of the FLN—as a means to counter GPRA governance. This move was backed by the military power of the ALN and its head, Houari Boumédiène. As a consequence, fighting broke out between them and wilyas loyal to the GPRA. The ALN side was successful and accepted the authority of the politburo; Ahmed Ben Bella was elected president in 1963. Two years later, Ben Bella was removed from power in a bloodless coup led by Boumédiène. It was during this era that the militaristic influence over Algerian intelligence and politics became overt. Boumédiène had an ingrained belief in order and discipline6 and retained a “sure grip” over the military.7 The MALG was disbanded and replaced by Military Security (MS), an institution that consolidated power in its favor in the 1970s. While MS was the main agency, the General Delegation for Documentation and Security (DGDS) acted as the unit responsible for civilian intelligence that conducted counterintelligence surveillance activities and foreign information collection. Both have been implicated in torture and clandestine political activities.8 By the late 1980s, the political system of Algeria was troubled. President Chadli Bendjedid distrusted the military influences of the MS and reorganized it yet again in 1987. A series of riots in Black October in 1988 led to the fall of the FLN as the sole governing party. Islamist nationalism was on the rise, and the security services brutally confronted discontent in the streets. Due to this intense cruelty, Bendjedid dismantled the DGDS and shifted its responsibilities to other intelligence subunits, primarily the Coordinating Directorate of Territorial Security and an Anti-Terrorist Detachment. In 1990, the now infamous Department of Intelligence and Security (DRS) became the main intelligence agency; this timing was appropriate, as Algeria would soon

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be entrapped in a civil war. Influential general Mohamed Mediène, known as “Toufik,” became its chief. Political crisis ignited the Algerian Civil War (1991–2002) as the military (now the ANP), FLN, DRS, and other stalwarts of Algerian politics staged a coup d’état against Bendjedid to cancel a second round of elections that the Islamic Salvation Front (FIS) was expected to win. Years of Islamist insurgencies (led by the Armed Islamic Group of Algeria, GIA), guerrilla warfare, and a general destabilization of Algerian security followed. This period is often referred to as la sale guerre (the dirty war) due to the heinousness of tactics applied by both combatant forces. The DRS was tasked to crush Islamist nationalism and did so with a variety of means besides regular intelligence gathering. Agents infiltrated extremist cells and tortured many accused people for confessions. The organization’s false flag operations were particularly useful in turning public and international opinion against the Islamist rebels and toward support of the Algerian regime. The carte blanche of its activities meant that the DRS gained substantial autonomy, and thus it was more difficult for government officials to control.9 Further, the DRS commanded a highly compartmentalized structure, including special forces troops (the Special Intervention Group, GIS), General Directorate of Security and Presidential Protection (DGSPP), and Central Military Investigation Center, to name a few. It was an institution with clout. From its original role as the key intelligence agency in Algeria, the DRS extended its influence over political parties, the media, and the economy under the guise of the preservation of state security.10 Abdelaziz Bouteflika began his first presidential term in 1999, ushering in a period in which he made moves to shift powers away from the military establishment and toward the presidency. Generals and high-ranking officers were retired, decisions were made to steadily push the DRS out of civilian affairs, and certain responsibilities were transferred to army officers loyal to Bouteflika.11 Corruption flourished under the Bouteflika regime, and during his third presidential term in 2010 the DRS initiated an investigation into the Algerian state energy company SONATRACH over its awarding of questionable contracts. This was problematic because it gave the impression that the Algerian government was “under attack” by its own security services.12 Prior to Bouteflika’s fourth presidential term, he made significant reforms to the main intelligence agency. In 2014 he removed important responsibilities from the DRS and transferred them to the presidency. This ultimately led to the entire disbandment of the DRS, and Toufik, the DRS chief for twenty-five years, was removed as the presumed “real power behind the presidency.”13 Although this was a momentous shake-up, much of the intel-



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ligence apparatus in Algeria continues to operate in the same structure and ethos established under the reign of the DRS. The Department of Surveillance and Security (DSS) became Algeria’s main intelligence agency. Its first chief was retired army general and Bouteflika loyalist Athmane Tartag. Some of its powers were transferred to the authority of the presidency, while other areas remained the responsibility of the military. It was split into the subunits of the Internal Security Directorate (ISD), Documentation and Security Directorate (DDSE), and Technical Intelligence Directorate (TRD). Algeria was rocked by protests from 2019 to 2020, spurred by a lack of good governance and a desire for political change. Bouteflika was forced to resign on April 2, 2019, and many political actors in his circle were discharged, including Tartag. The DSS was later placed under the authority of the Ministry of National Defense, and thus the top intelligence agency in Algeria was intrinsically linked with the military yet again. Throughout this condensed history, it is apparent that the war of independence, civil war, and recent political power plays have all had an influence on Algerian intelligence culture. ISSUES SHAPING ALGERIAN INTELLIGENCE CULTURE Algeria’s intelligence culture is shaped by numerous factors that are palpably linked to the role of the military and location. As history demonstrates, the military has played a pivotal role in the maturation of Algerian intelligence; however, unlike a military-civilian arrangement typical in states with advanced intelligence agencies, the Algerian institution is reflective of a military enclave.14 State security is emphasized as a priority, and this notion is extended to ideas of power and societal arrangement. Commanders have specific ideas about the capabilities of their forces and promote a nationalist rhetoric that prioritizes officers over civilians.15 This mindset is reflected in the security services–led coup against the Bendjedid administration to halt the electoral process, as well as reported acts of brutality against Algerian citizens by the DRS. This ethos led to the understanding within Algeria that politicking and important national decisions are made in a clandestine manner rather than explicitly by politicians in relevant positions. It is argued, and generally believed by the public, that Algeria is truly led by an elite class known as le pouvoir (the power) or les décideurs (the decision-makers). Simply put, real control of the country rests within the “deep state” or a combination of the army and security services alongside other unidentified figures that make

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decisions about state policy, rather than in the president and cabinet.16 For instance, Toufik had the nickname “God of Algeria” and was viewed as the true master of the country.17 A political theory about elitism contends that national affairs are best managed by a select group of individuals with access to political, economic, social, and cultural capital, which promotes shared views due to their similar backgrounds.18 Algerian elites, especially those in the security services, military, and accordingly political affairs, received a significant level of legitimacy from the outcome of the Algerian War and its nationalist rhetoric, which prioritized officers as those who achieved the “national will” of independence.19 Therefore, these individuals as well as those brought into their network of connections continue to lead the intelligence services and hold other key government portfolios by extension. The involvement of the military and security services has ensured institutional stability despite times of political insecurity. This nexus of military and security services deeply entrenched in state institutions creates a scenario in which a culture unique to Algeria has developed. As is typical in such an arrangement, characteristics of institutional behavior are rooted in past practices and patterns of behavior that create a system of unspoken beliefs and codified norms.20 This is especially pertinent, as the history of Algerian intelligence is turbulent on paper—dismantlement, re-creation, and shifts of oversight—but its ethos and general structure have remained intact. As an example, it has been stated by experts that the creation of the DSS did not alter the core of the Algerian security services or its networks.21 The embedded influence of the military and powerful personalities within domestic affairs means that the intelligence services are highly politicized. For instance, the MALG’s first objective was to surveil anyone unaffiliated with the revolutionary movement. It is important to note that every president since independence has reached the highest office in Algiers because of the backing of the military, and some have been removed by them.22 This is evident in the coup initiated by the ANP, FLN, and DRS against Bendjedid in 1992. Furthermore, the installation of officers in a variety of civilian-related government positions demonstrates that there are really no perceptible boundaries between political affairs and those affiliated with the security services. Politicization is further substantiated by the struggle between the presidency and the military over control of the intelligence services and to whom they are accountable. Technically, and constitutionally speaking, intelligence had always been under the control of the president, but allegiances and the historical legitimacy of military authority meant that was not actually the case.23 Politicization is best exhibited by the efforts of the Bouteflika regime



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to slowly transfer key powers away from the DRS to the presidency. This was clearly a strategic move to condense power around him and away from le pouvoir, especially when the former president was under fire for corruption. While some analysts praised the move as a means to transform Algeria’s intelligence agency from secret police to a proper intelligence agency, the problematic issue of politicization was central to these events.24 One beneficial aspect for Algeria is that the military and security services have been the guarantors of regime security since independence. The dismantlement and re-creation of contemporary intelligence in the country has left its core directives largely untouched. In the current context, the DGSI will continue to implement domestic surveillance and suppress problematic opposition movements like its forbearers. More often than not, the history and culture of Algerian intelligence services reads like a drama-filled soap opera as key actors have sought to use it for political benefit and later attempted to reel it in to ensure their own political security. Algeria’s location in the Maghreb and ethnic matters are important factors that contribute to the character of Algerian intelligence. Indeed, 132 years of French colonization left an institutional framework of centralized power that afforded any subsequent regime the benefit of monopolized authority. Algerian society is further influenced by its Islamic history and related cultural exchanges; therefore, embedded principles of relationships between clans exist. Reliance on tribal interactions was an essential element in rural preindependent Algeria, but these networks morphed within the political elite in a contemporary sense.25 A modern form of this association is the established networks and clans affiliated with victors of the revolution.26 Certain aspects of an indigenous population remain a holistic aspect of societies, but in specific cases they are amended to suit the political environment, and in this case, kinship in the intelligence services of Algeria. The role of political Islam and Algerian state security ultimately came to a head during the civil war. Since that time, radical Islamist ideologies, as espoused by factions of the GIA, such as the Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat (GSPC), have mostly eroded in mainstream Algerian political opposition. It has been noted that the “Algerian government has largely succeeded in containing jihadism by deploying security forces on a massive scale, conducting continuous military operations, and backing a policy of national reconciliation.”27 However, the transition of the GSPC into Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM) has kept Algerian intelligence and security services busy, as this matter influences not only domestic security but regional relations as well. Counterinsurgency and counterintelligence operations continue on a regular basis though the Algerian units responsible for this mandate continue to act in an opaque manner typical of the history of Algerian security

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services. Due to the delicate nature of such operations, even in comparison with international actors, this characteristic of the Algerian intelligence community will endure. The connection between national security and regional security influences the role of Algeria in the Maghreb. While Algerian intelligence and its ruling elite remain focused on quashing any internal threats to political security, complex regional relationships compel Algerian intelligence services to look outward. The Directorate of Documentation and External Security (DDSE) and the Technical Intelligence Directorate (TRD) are known for following closely the activities of Islamist fighters on the country’s border with Mali.28 A noninterference clause that once impeded the army’s ability to engage in foreign policy or deployment abroad was amended in the new Algerian constitution approved in November 2020 to allow such actions. An obvious catalyst of this is the changing security situation in the Maghreb, which must now contend with the ease with which transnational terrorist organizations and guerrilla movements cross borders. For instance, AQIM leader Abdelmalek Droukdel was killed by French forces in June 2020 in the territory between Algeria and Mali, just as wilayas along the Malian and Libyan borders act as bases or transit points for terrorist fighters.29 It is apparent that Algerian intelligence services began with a directive to focus on regime security, but the complex security environment in the Maghreb obliged its external security units to consider peripheral threats. Quality security services and decades-long knowledge of Islamist extremists active within its territory compel Algiers to be a key ally in the global war on terrorism, especially to the United States. However, political instability and economic crises in recent decades have stifled any Algerian aspirations to be the regional guarantor of security.30 OVERSIGHT, REFORM, AND INTERNATIONAL COOPERATION The history of Algerian intelligence services demonstrates that oversight has typically been a sticking point between civilian governance (the presidency) and the military. The security services are a powerful instrument of surveillance that can be used to stifle those opposed to the regime. Thus, it is understood why either faction covets command over the agencies. Additionally, the DRS’s past autonomy created numerous problems, and the agency had to be reined in at the risk of further destabilization of the Algerian political system. And yet despite several political shake-ups since independence, a civilian face to the regime, and changes to the intelligence services, the People’s National Army of Algeria continues to be the actual power behind the



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government.31 It should be of little surprise that in the recent post-Bouteflika period the military elite have resumed oversight of the intelligence services. Reforms over the last few decades have not altered the activities or the transparency of the Algerian intelligence apparatus. As a result, the DSS and its subunits are viewed in the same vein of suspicion as the DRS and its predecessors the MS and the MALG by Algerian civilians. There remains a general perception that both the security services and the civilian government are untrustworthy.32 Nonetheless, the influence of Algerian intelligence is not as strong as it once was, especially during the years of the MS and the DRS. The Bouteflika era saw the office of the presidency erode the powers of the main intelligence agency methodically during his nearly twenty-year administration. As a result, the DRS and subsequently the DSS benefit more from their shadowy “myth of omnipotence” than their current actual abilities.33 In the grand scheme of the region and postcolonial states, the military regime of Algeria and the role of its intelligence agencies have been relatively stable notwithstanding severe political turmoil (such as coups d’état, a civil war, economic crises, and prolonged street protests). How long this will continue remains debatable. International cooperation in regard to intelligence and counterterrorism activities is evident in Algerian membership in relevant continental organizations. Algeria is a member of the African Union (AU), where it has played a central role in various regional counterterrorism initiatives.34 Membership in the Arab League is especially pertinent in the global security environment, as modern threats are often interconnected and transnational. The European Union (EU) has entered into intelligence-sharing agreements with Arab League states, including Algeria in its broad security strategy.35 Algeria has established bilateral relations in regard to intelligence sharing with important world powers, such as the United Kingdom, Russia, and the United States. In regard to the United Kingdom, London and Algiers signed a mutual security partnership in 2013. Both countries share intelligence on border and aviation security, countering improvised explosive devices and tackling extremist ideology and propaganda.36 Connections between Russia (and previously the Soviet Union) and Algeria have a long history—as evidenced by Operation Red Carpet—and this arrangement continues in the contemporary security environment. The two states engage in military-technical cooperation and intelligence sharing that has significantly increased due to regional conflicts, principally in Libya.37 Conversely, relations with France are sometimes strained due to divergent outlooks on regional development and military intervention, especially around Algerian borders in locales like Mali.

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American interest in Algerian intelligence and security services palpably increased in the post-9/11 period and the wider global war on terror. The Maghreb and Sahel regions have become bases, or regional franchises, for international terrorist organizations, such as al-Qaeda and later the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL). As a consequence, foreign fighters have been recruited from the region as well. As mentioned throughout this examination of intelligence culture, Algerian intelligence services are acknowledged as capable and therefore a beneficial partner to counter this serious threat. Partnerships between the two countries include the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI)’s training initiatives for Algerian law enforcement and the State Department’s Bureau of Counterterrorism and Countering Violent Extremism provision of assistance with counterterrorism operations. The Council on Foreign Relations (CFR), a US-based think tank, notes, “The United States recognizes the importance of Algeria for its influence on counterterrorism efforts, migration flows, energy disruption, and instability contagion across North Africa, the Sahel and Sahara, sub-Saharan Africa, and Europe.”38 Yet Algeria can be considered a wild card. The Algerian viewpoint that it is a regional leader with well-established security services means that it is prepared to handle intelligence matters on its own. Objectives from Algiers do not necessarily align with those of Washington, D.C. Such arguments were highlighted during the 2013 hostage crisis, in which al-Qaeda-linked militants attacked the In Amenas gas plant. Algiers shunned all outside help, imposed an information blackout, and disregarded international pleas for caution.39 Consequently, Algeria is a sought-after partner, but one that must be handled with caution. CONCLUSION Algeria’s intelligence culture has been considerably shaped by the influence of ruling elites with well-established ties to institutional political parties and the Algerian People’s National Army. Intelligence services have been used as a tool by le pouvoir to surveil opposition members and movements to ensure regime stability remains intact. Intelligence activities and the agencies that conduct them are viewed as shadowy and secretive—a secret police rather than an overt arm of the state security apparatus. As a result of these tactics, Algerian intelligence culture is extremely politicized. It has experienced numerous dismantlements and re-creations of agencies in line with the personalities of those in the top office in presidential administrations. The MALG became the MS, which later became the DRS, and the contemporary manifestation of the DSS has spanned the course of sixty years.



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Algerian intelligence services are notably proficient and well trained. Since their creation, they have been professionalized and institutionalized, preparing their members to take up positions in civilian positions in various aspects of governance. This development along with the military ethos that prizes officers as defenders of the “national will of independence” over civilians further embeds military influences throughout the sector. Nonetheless, concerns about abuse of power and severe techniques have dogged Algerian intelligence services throughout their history, whether it be carrying out false flag operations against terrorist groups or the unmanageable autonomy exhibited by the DRS. These two factors, along with acknowledged experience in surveillance and telecommunications intercepts, have created a sense of mistrust of the intelligence apparatus by Algerian citizens. Certain presidential administrations—also viewed as untrustworthy by the citizenry—have moved to systemically restrict powers of agencies like the DRS so that regime security would not be impacted, as evidenced by actions of the Bouteflika administration. Therefore, over the years there has been competition between the presidency and the military brass over the oversight of the Algerian intelligence services. Surveillance of domestic opposition movements and a focus on regime security typically results in an intelligence culture that is inward looking. However, regional variables in the Maghreb oblige Algerian leadership to focus on security matters outside their borders. Questions of Islamist extremism, insurgencies, and neighboring states with civil wars require the attention of Algerian intelligence services too. The services have engaged with regional and international partners on these matters. A unique location in close proximity with regions infiltrated by violent armed groups as well as decades of intelligence collection and analysis has made Algeria a desired partner in northern African security activities, which is evidenced by agreements or cooperation with the European states, Russia, and the United States. Algeria is undoubtedly a beneficial ally, but its ethos based on self-sufficiency sometimes complicates relationships with foreign actors. Thus, Algerian intelligence culture is focused on regime preservation no matter the sorts of security threats it faces. NOTES 1.  Senoussi Saddar, Ondes de choc: Les transmissions durant la Guerre de Libération [Shockwaves: Transmissions during the War of Liberation] (Algiers: Editions ANEP, 2002), 29.

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 2. Saphia Arezki, “Un demi-siècle d’histoire du renseignement algérien” [A half-century of Algerian intelligence history], Afrique Contemporaine, no. 4 (2016): 78.   3.  Arezki, “Un demi-siècle d’histoire du renseignement algérien,” 78.  4. Lyes Laribi, L’Algérie des Généraux [Algeria of the generals] (Paris: Max Milo, 2007), 22.   5.  Michael J. Willis, Power and Politics in the Maghreb: Algeria, Tunisia and Morocco from Independence to the Arab Spring (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 33.  6. Willis, Power and Politics in the Maghreb, 48–49.  7. Ibid., 59.   8.  Montgomery McFate Sapone, “Algeria,” in Encyclopedia of Intelligence and Counterintelligence, ed. Rodney P. Carlisle (New York: Routledge, 2005), 15.  9. Dalia Ghanem-Yazbeck, Limiting Change through Change: The Key to the Algerian Regime’s Longevity (Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace), 7, https://carnegieendowment.org/files/CMEC_70_Yazbeck_Algeria_Final .pdf. 10. Lamine Chikhi, “Algeria’s Bouteflika Dissolves DRS Spy Unit, Creates New Agency: Sources,” Reuters, January 25, 2016, https://www.reuters.com/article /us-algeria-security-idUSKCN0V31PU. 11.  Chikhi, “Algeria’s Bouteflika Dissolves DRS Spy Unit.” 12.  Richard Nield, “Why Bouteflika Dissolved Algeria’s Powerful Spy Agency?,” Al Jazeera, February 26, 2016, https://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/features/2016/02 /algeria-dissolved-powerful-spy-agency-160225171417842.html. 13.  Nield, “Why Bouteflika Dissolved Algeria’s Powerful Spy Agency?” 14.  Steven A. Cook, Ruling but Not Governing: The Military and Political Development in Egypt, Algeria, and Turkey (Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University Press, 2007), 15. 15. Cook, Ruling but Not Governing, 15. 16.  George Joffé, “The Outlook for Algeria” (working paper, Instituto Affari Internazionali, October 2015), https://www.iai.it/sites/default/files/iaiwp1538.pdf. 17. Jeremy Keenan, “General Mohamed Toufik Mediene: ‘God of Algeria,’” Al Jazeera, September 29, 2010, https://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/briefings/2010 /09/201092582648347537.html. 18.  Michael P. Smith, “Elite Theory and Policy Analysis: The Politics of Education in Suburbia,” Journal of Politics 36 (1974): 1006. 19. Cook, Ruling but Not Governing, 28. 20.  Ibid., 9. 21. Ghanem-Yazbeck, Limiting Change through Change, 8. 22. Willis, Power and Politics in the Maghreb, 82. 23. Ghanem-Yazbeck, Limiting Change through Change, 8. 24.  Chikhi, “Algeria’s Bouteflika Dissolves DRS Spy Unit”; see quote from Arslan Chikhaoui. 25.  Martin Snow, The Agony of Algeria (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997), 13.



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26.  Yahia Zoubir, “Country to Watch in 2020: Algeria,” Italian Institute for International Political Studies, December 26, 2019, https://www.ispionline.it/en/publica tion/country-watch-2020-algeria-24710. 27. Dalia Ghanem, “The Shifting Foundations of Political Islam in Algeria,” Carnegie Middle East Center, April 2019, 10, https://carnegieendowment.org /files/03_19_Ghanem_Algeria.pdf. 28.  “Algerian Leader of Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb Killed in Mali,” Arab Weekly, June 6, 2020, https://thearabweekly.com/algerian-leader-al-qaeda-islamic -maghreb-killed-mali. 29.  “Algerian Leader of al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb Killed in Mali.” 30.  Geoff D. Porter, “Political Instability in Algeria,” Council for Foreign Relations, March 7, 2019, https://www.cfr.org/report/political-instability-algeria. 31. Ghanem-Yazbeck, Limiting Change through Change, 1. 32.  Abdallah Brahimi, “Algeria’s Military Makeover,” Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, April 19, 2016, https://carnegieendowment.org/sada/63373. 33.  Nield, see quote by Geoff Porter. 34.  Carlos Munoz Burgos, “Algeria’s Counterterrorism Strategy,” Bridging CVE and CV, May 12, 2018, https://www.bridgingcveandcvp.com/single-post/2018/05/12 /Algeria%E2%80%99s-Counterterrorism-Strategy. 35. Nikolaj Nielsen, “EU to Increase Intelligence Sharing with Arab States,” EUObserver, January 19, 2015, https://euobserver.com/foreign/127283. 36.  “Cameron Pledges UK Support to Algeria, Libya,” France24, January 30, 2013, https://www.france24.com/en/20130130-david-cameron-arrives-algeria-hostage -crisis-uk-in-amenas-sellal. 37.  Sergey Balsamov, “Algeria: Russia’s Crisis-Proof Partner in the Arab World,” Russian International Affairs Council, June 1, 2016, https://russiancouncil.ru/en/ana lytics-and-comments/analytics/alzhir-antikrizisnyy-partner-rossii-v-arabskom-mire/. 38.  Porter, “Political Instability in Algeria.” 39. Craig Whitlock, “Algeria Spoils U.S. Strategy in the Region,” Washington Post, January 18, 2013, https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/national-security /2013/01/18/7af23fbe-617c-11e2-89a2-2eabfad24542_story.html.

2 Angola Intelligence Culture Supporting Hegemony Nuno Fragoso Vidal

This chapter argues that the Angolan intelligence and security services have

maintained their foundational purposes and strategic objectives since they were created in 1975.1 In particular, the intelligence culture supports and protects the hegemony of the ruling party and its elites, which have been in power since 1975. The chapter explores this history by examining the intelligence culture’s strategic continuities and responses by the intelligence services to domestic and international challenges that did not alter their foundations or strategic objectives. The chapter is organized chronologically in four sections. The first describes the intelligence services before the 1977 attempted coup and the period after it. It highlights the government insulating the services from foreign influences other than Cuba and its state security police character. The second section focuses on the period from the 1990s transition through the end of the civil war in 2002, wherein the services were influenced by a new international thinking about security services in a post–Cold War era. This section describes how the intelligence services were focused on winning the civil war in Angola and maintaining the regime. The third part deals with the postwar reconstruction of the ruling party’s hegemony within the multiparty setting and reshuffling of the services into an intelligence community, through the 2010 constitution that reinstated the intelligence services’ earlier state security character. The fourth section details new threats and challenges to the ruling party that emerged during the 2010s and the international illiberal authoritarian populist movement to secure hegemony in the 2020s.

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BACKGROUND Angola gained independence while immersed in a civil war during the global Cold War. The bipartition and then tripartition of the nationalist movement’s struggle in Angola involved open military confrontation between movements and international alliances, which was a serious challenge for the newly independent state. The struggle between the Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola (Movimento Popular de Libertação de Angola—Partido do Trabalho, MPLA), the National Front for the Liberation of Angola (Frente Nacional de Libertação de Angola, FNLA), and the National Union for the Total Liberation of Angola (União Nacional para a Independência Total de Angola, UNITA) became a military conflict with direct and indirect foreign involvement even prior to independence on November 11, 1975. While supported by Cuban troops and Soviet military material, the MPLA repelled South African/UNITA attacks coming from the south and the offensives from the FNLA, Zairean military, and Central Intelligence Agency (CIA)-funded mercenaries in the north. Although the FNLA was neutralized and disbanded by 1979, the war continued during the 1980s with a stronger UNITA, which was openly supported by South Africa and Zaire. Additionally, it was indirectly funded and supported by the United States between 1976 and 1985 during the existence of the US Clark Amendment, which banned supplying arms to Angolan groups. This funding became direct after the Clark Amendment’s repeal in 1985 under the Reagan administration. Last but not least, the country was an oil producer and had significant diamond production, which raised the conflict’s international stakes. Within this context, the intelligence services’ importance to the new state is obvious. One of the first measures of the newly independent government was the establishment of the Direction of Information and Security of Angola (Direcção de Informação e Segurança de Angola, DISA) eighteen days after independence, on December 29, 1975. With the country at war and a government backed by Cuban forces and Eastern Bloc advisers, the new intelligence service followed those communist models, which already had experience against the CIA, and was supporting the FNLA/Zairean/mercenary forces. DISA acquired an ideological orientation, and a militarized structure/hierarchy and had the character of a secret police along with little institutional scrutiny, an autonomous budget, and functioning under the direct authority of the president of the party/president of the republic (constitutionally, the president of the MPLA was also the president of the country). With broad objectives (e.g., to defend the revolutionary conquests, the state, and party organs and members, and to reeducate deviant individuals), in the face of increasing domestic and foreign security threats and the ad-



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ministrative institutional weaknesses of the new state, DISA progressively acquired more competencies. The number of mercenaries involved in the Angolan war and their capture in combat led to the approval of a specific law on mercenaryism, which expanded DISA’s authority in judicial processes during February 1977.2 After an attempted coup on May 27, 1977, led by former members of the MPLA Central Committee, Nito Alves and José VanDunem, that power was increased. Several top party members were killed in the coup, and President Agostinho Neto’s administration was only saved by the Cuban military, which effectively crushed the coup attempt. Shocking, however, was the result of DISA’s investigation, which revealed that those behind the coup had counted on Soviet support until the late stages of planning.3 From then on, Neto insulated DISA and the presidential security force from foreign influences other than the Cubans. At this time, the Angolan intelligence and security service culture gained a pragmatic political-presidential-state security police character. The services’ purpose was to defend the president as the Cubans had done. Meanwhile, the regime became more personalized, with power centralized and concentrated in the president’s hands.4 The attempted coup was followed by a bloody purge of all those who might have been effectively or possibly related to the coup. Today the number of deaths (within thousands) is still unknown because executions occurred without formal charges or trials. DISA led the purge, which spiraled out of control throughout the country. It was legitimated by the president himself, who publicly stated that no time should be wasted with trials.5 There was no legal framework to support these actions until the May 1978 Law on Crimes against State Security was passed, which permitted DISA to conduct secret investigative operations and criminal and operational investigations, instruct juridical processes (collect evidence and judicially accuse), issue judgments (court competencies), and punish the accused with reeducation (in so-called reeducation camps).6 At the end of the purge, DISA’s functions were juxtaposed with those of a police force, a public attorney’s office, the judiciary, the penal system, and the special military forces (with its own militarized units). Due to the expansion of DISA’s repression and arbitrariness after May 27, popular discontent and complaints from families in search of their missing relatives mounted. By 1979, after the purge and a subsequent move to carefully select new party members, the president and party felt secure enough, understood the purge had gone too far, and decided to dissolve DISA. A restructuring of the central state administration reestablished the Ministry of the Interior (suspended since the coup leader, Nito Alves, was withdrawn as minister) and determined that the ministry would have two vice

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ministers—one for internal order and one for state security.7 The previous DISA cadres, personnel, patrimony, and activities were integrated under the new Ministry of the Interior. It soon became obvious that the move was merely a rebranding of DISA to quiet the public’s discontent and resentment. Specifically, DISA was a scapegoat to shift responsibility away from the president. The president publicly announced DISA’s dissolution as a punishment for the alleged abuses perpetrated by the agency that he purportedly only came to know about through the myriad letters from complaining families. Nevertheless, no trials were conducted against DISA’s officers. The rebranding of the intelligence service lasted a year. In July 1980 a new institution was announced, the Ministry of State Security (Ministério da Segurança do Estado, MINSE).8 Kundy Paihama, a hard-line general in the MPLA, was appointed minister by new president Eduardo dos Santos. (Agostinho Neto died during a cancer procedure in Moscow in September 1979.) Under the ministry, the intelligence services gained more power within the state. It maintained the partisan political police, and military character of DISA, but on more organized, efficient, and discreet terms. MINSE was not involved in regular arrests and searches that might harm its image; those responsibilities were mostly left to the police. As the war raged during the 1980s and as the internal civil order became better structured through the Ministry of the Interior and the police, the new ministry focused on supporting the armed forces.9 Its predecessor’s militarized units were replaced by militarized special commandos who had direct involvement in surgical war operations demanding smaller units of special forces, according to intelligence gathered by the ministry. Additionally, there were several paramilitary organizations in neighborhoods and villages, such as the Organization of Popular Defence (Organização de Defesa Popular, ODP) and the Popular Brigades of Surveillance (Brigadas Populares de Vigilância, BPV). The ministry was also responsible for the surveillance of frontiers and sensitive areas and for securing strategic infrastructure and economic sites (e.g., diamond mining areas, onshore oil fields and compounds, roads, railways, and ports). The ministry became vital to the regime and its war against UNITA until the end of the single-party system. Like DISA, it was directly subordinate to the president. Aside from the president, the institutional supervision was just a formality. The MPLA’s National Security Commission (later MPLA’s Cabinet of Security, operating under the president of the republic) was supposed to prepare an annual report for the Commission on Defence and Security of the parliament (People’s Assembly) and present it to the plenary for approval. However, such reports were rarely produced and lacked significant



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information because the People’s Assembly was merely an echo chamber for the president and party. THE NEW MULTIPARTY SETTING AND REBRANDING OF SECURITY SERVICES As the Cold War was coming to an end in the late 1980s, the civil war in Angola was headed for a negotiated solution. Diplomatic talks since 1986–1987 led to the New York tripartite accords signed in 1988 between Angola, Cuba, and South Africa, which included the withdrawal of Cuban troops from Angola and Namibian independence. Subsequent peace accords were signed in May 1991 between the national contenders (MPLA and UNITA), which made way for multiparty elections. The transition process had already started before the peace accords were proposed by the MPLA initiative. In December 1990, the MPLA Congress replaced the single-party regime with a multiparty, liberal democratic system. The anticipation allowed the MPLA to autonomously manage the transition, adapting state legislation and institutions to the new multiparty democratic setting while making sure that all state administration, including the legislature, executive, and judiciary, remained under its control to aid its election campaign.10 Insofar as the state security services were concerned, the pressure for reform was immediate because the Ministry of State Security was identified with the previous regime. The solution, in part, was the 1979 DISA formula, whereby MINSE was officially disbanded on February 23, 1991.11 This, however, was effectively camouflage. On the one hand, part of MINSE’s structures, cadres, and personnel were transferred to the Ministry of the Interior, concealed as regular ministry cadres. To directly command the services, the president appointed a former minister of state security, Fernando da Piedade Dias dos Santos, better known as “Nandó,” who then became deputy minister of the interior. Nandó had been minister of state security in 1986, having led a restructuring commission to modernize the services, and became deputy minister of MINSE until it was dissolved in February 1991 (meanwhile Kundi Paihama became minister until MINSE was disbanded). On the other hand, some services were detached from several units of the armed forces operating as military intelligence and remain dissimulated in those units as regular military, allowing them to work undercover. Controlling the whole state apparatus, and with help from a professional political marketing firm in Brazil as well as aided by bellicose discourse from UNITA, the MPLA won the election (53.74 percent against 34.10 percent for UNITA). The presidential election required a second round of voting (José

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Eduardo dos Santos got 49.56 percent, against Jonas Savimbi’s 40.07 percent), but UNITA alleged electoral fraud and returned to war. When the war resumed in October 1992 and subsequently intensified, there was an urgent need to operationally and officially reinstitutionalize the intelligence and security services’ functions. This occurred in August 1993 with the approval of the new Organic Statute of the Ministry of the Interior and in coordination with Deputy-Minister Nandó, who led until 1996.12 The new Law on National Security officially consecrated the new liberal democratic concept of national security and the nonpartisan character of security services.13 However, learning from the 1991–1993 experience, its activities were decentralized into three autonomous branches: • The Service of Information of the Ministry of the Interior (Serviço de Informação do Ministério do Interior, SINFO), dedicated to internal/ domestic threats, under the minister of the interior, but with financial and patrimonial autonomy;14 • The Service of Foreign Security (Serviço de Segurança Estrangeira), focused on external security threats, directly under the president of the republic;15 and • The Service of Military Security of the Ministry of Defence (Serviço de Segurança Militar do Ministério da Defesa), focused on military affairs, under the minister of defence.16 The new formula rendered the services more effective, provided betterdefined responsibilities, established an efficient relationship with the military and the police, and made it less politically focused than DISA and MINSE. The new formulation was the result of several interconnected factors. First, it was an operational adaptation to the new constitutional setting through the “camouflaged” experience of 1991–1993. Second, it was part of a longer trend that started during the restructuring of the services initiated in 1986 at MINSE by Nandó, a man who originally ascended within the national police and who led better-defined competencies and articulation for the police and military. Third, it defensively reacted to the 1990s third wave of democratization (and the enforcement of political rights, freedoms, and transparency) and addressed increasingly demanding civil societies.17 Fourth, it was influenced by the emerging new international thinking on security services in the early post–Cold War era. To be clear, it was not the case that a new, “Western” school of security services was incorporated. Rather, there was a need to understand how to adapt to a quickly changing international and domestic context while preserving intelligence and security services’ major (though unofficial) role in



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defending the president, party, and state machinery when the country was once again at war (since October 1992) against a stronger UNITA. UNITA could control several cities and threaten, as never before, important economic sites such as onshore oil fields and even the capital city with new long-range artillery bought with diamonds from their controlled mining areas. By then without the Cuban expeditionary armed force, the government turned to Executive Outcomes (a private military contractor) to help train the Angolan military and fight alongside the Angolan Armed Forces, valuable for their deep knowledge of UNITA because several of their operatives were former SADF and had fought in support of UNITA in the 1980s.18 Meanwhile, the international community had changed. Former UNITA allies now saw the rebels as inconvenient for new business opportunities opened by the MPLA government. Understanding the favorable context, MPLA devised an encompassing domestic, regional, and international strategy to stop UNITA. There was massive reinvestment in weaponry and restructuring of the armed forces as the international arms sales ban was circumvented through a complex secret network involving top members of the French government.19 It also included international arms’ businessmen (the Israeli French Russian Arkadi Gaydamak and Franco Brazilian Pierre Falcone) in what became known as the Angolagate scandal.20 The effort later evaded the international blockade on blood diamonds, certifying the production in government areas while making it difficult to sell “UNITA’s diamonds,” in a business arrangement involving the daughter of President Eduardo dos Santos, Isabel dos Santos, and the Welox of Israel of Israeli diamond tycoon Lev Leviev.21 In parallel, a military operation was put in place to support Kabila/Rwandan military forces in 1997 to depose Mobutu Sese Seko in Zaire, which cut off UNITA from logistical support. It is impossible to know how much influential Israeli businessmen Leviev and Gaidamak helped to improve the relationship between the Angolan and Israeli governments or to what extent such an approach between governments counted in the support of US administrations and led to the end of UNITA. As SINFO recovered some of MINSE’s previous surgical military actions in effective support of the Armed Forces throughout the 1990s, support from Israel’s Mossad and Israeli technology seems to have been crucial.22 Israel was commonly associated with monitoring of UNITA’s military maneuvers since 1999. The decisive intelligence to precisely locate the column where UNITA’s leader was and eliminate him was provided in February 2002.23 In addition to Nandó, credit for a more effective articulation of the intelligence services’ objectives with the military also belongs to his successor, deputy minister of the interior and chief of SINFO General Fernando Garcia Miala, who served from May 1996 to April 1999. Miala had a parcourse

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within the military counterintelligence, having reached the position of assistant director. This experience in the 1990s made him an expert on foreign intelligence, and from then on he rose as a major strategist within Angolan security. Significantly, during the 1990s, despite the influence and productive articulation with Western and Israeli intelligence services, Angola’s intelligence services remained stable, maintaining a school of cadres that became intelligence leaders from April 1999 onward.24 RECONQUEST OF POLITICAL HEGEMONY IN THE 2000s Coming out of the war as the uncontested victor over a humiliated and destroyed UNITA, the MPLA sought to renew the hegemony that was partially lost in 1991 with the multiparty shift. In terms of the security services, a new Law on National Security passed in August 2002 confirmed the previous format of three branches, considering them as part of an “intelligence community.”25 For the first time in the services’ history, the word “security” was replaced by “intelligence” to characterize its activities in a new peaceful era. SINFO was taken away from the minister of the interior and put under the chief of government, which according to the Constitution is the president of the republic.26 The branch related to foreign security was now designated Services of Foreign Intelligence (Serviços de Inteligência Externa, SIE), still under direct authority of the president.27 The branch focused on military security and was named the Services of Military Intelligence (Serviços de Inteligência Militar, SIM) under the minister of defence.28 Although the war effectively ended in 2002, it took the MPLA another six years to schedule the first postwar elections in 2008. The long interval allowed the MPLA to carefully prepare the whole process, controlling as many variables as possible to shape the electoral outcome. This included electoral legislation, the electoral management body, voter registration, private and state media, electoral judicial structures, party campaign machinery, private and state economic sectors, official and unofficial electoral funding, and professional political marketing.29 The formula was not much different from 1991, but this time it lacked domestic or international constraints and aimed to achieve two-thirds of the seats, which would enable the party to approve a new constitution at will. Achieving its objective, the MPLA received 81.76 percent of votes during the 2008 election. This allowed the MPLA to approve the Constitution in 2010, which blended liberal-democratic trappings with the MPLA’s renewed



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hegemony—extreme concentration of power at the presidency, controlling the legislature, the executive, and the judiciary—superlative-presidentialism, as some constitutionalists define it.30 In 2010 the MPLA was at the peak of its hegemony due to petrodollars from the 2008 oil boom along with renewed political legitimacy from the 2008 electoral victory and a new constitution. A new strategic partnership with China that began in 2002 regularly flooded the country with financial and technical support for infrastructure, which allowed the government to discard the Western donor/lending community and its conditions regarding transparency and human rights. This strength prompted a reformulation of the intelligence services focused on domestic issues, officially and unashamedly reacquiring their state police security character. In March 2010, SINFO became the Service of Intelligence and State Security (Serviço de Inteligência e Segurança do Estado, SINSE), which along with the Services of Military Intelligence (SIM) and Services of Foreign Intelligence (SIE) would be “essential auxiliary organs” of the president’s executive functions.31 It was up to SINSE and SIE to support the exercise of the legislative, executive, and judicial powers and (for SINSE) to support the Ministry of the Interior and the National Police in the fulfillment of their missions.32 As the president’s auxiliary organs with such broadly encompassing functions, this reformulation meant that the intelligence and security services recovered their “big brother is watching you” role over the whole state and political system. Thus, the services’ long path since 1991 had come full circle. The new power upgrade also brought new challenges and strains within the political system. Transforming the whole intelligence community into auxiliary organs implied a closer relationship with the already existing organs in security, namely the Military House/House of Security of the Presidency of the Republic. Beyond administrative functions and articulation between the presidency and other national security organs, the House of Security has effective operational activities, directly leading the militarized Unit of the Presidential Guard (UGP), composed of thousands of men. Within an extremely concentrated political system, the auxiliary organs are a first layer of all state powers (legislative, executive, judicial, and military). Considering the distributive neo-patrimonial character of the system, the first layer also provides primary access to management and distribution of state resources, most prized by political competition. This led to clashes between the security services and the president’s House of Security. Disagreements mounted between two “strongmen”: the head of the House of Security, General Vieira Dias Kopelipa, and the director general of SIE, General Garcia

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Miala. SIE had gained ascendancy within the intelligence community due to Angolan politics in the international capitalist world of state-private business networks (legal and illegal), as well as the political weight of its Director General Miala. The clash between the two resulted in the arrest of General Miala in 2006; he was deposed as director general of SIE under the serious accusation of preparing a coup. Such accusations did not result in prosecution, but he ended up being convicted and sentenced to four years in prison by the Supreme Military Court in 2007 for failing to attend the ceremony of his military demotion. This was obviously a pretext, proving how politically manipulated the judicial system is. The affair was later explained (after Dos Santos left the presidency in 2017) as the consequence of SIE’s investigation on major international corruption schemes involving multi-billion-dollar contracts and Chinese reconstruction loans through Kopelipa’s Cabinet of National Reconstruction.33 With the new administration of João Lourenço in 2017 and his announced fight against corruption, Miala recovered his rank, and he was appointed head of SINSE in March 2018. The intelligence and security services resumed its role in the Lourenço administration’s war on corruption and efforts to recover state funds, trying to cope with “empty coffers” left by the former president.34 Kopelipa lost his powerful position in the new administration and became a major target in the fight against corruption, being obliged to return funds and real estate worth billions of US dollars.35 The affair revealed the potential dangers and intelligence services’ weaknesses within an extremely personalized and concentrated political system. Moreover, it demonstrates how the intelligence culture is an upgraded version of an intelligence praetorian Presidential Guard that defends the president and the party above anything else. THE ATTRACTIVENESS OF INTERNATIONAL AUTHORITARIAN POPULISM The new 2010 Constitution established that future elections would be general (legislative and presidential), with each party presenting a list of candidates for election and the first name on the list that wins the most votes becoming president. While the country was experiencing an oil boom and it had the power to shape the electoral process, the MPLA won subsequent elections with renewed two-thirds majorities, although with ever-shrinking voting percentages (71.84 percent in 2012 and 61.05 percent in 2017). In 2012, Eduardo dos Santos became president (the first and only election he had effectively



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won since becoming president in 1979), but after thirty-eight years in power he left office in 2017. This opened the way to his successor, but he retained the position of party president for another year. The international and domestic context was once again changing. In a country that relied heavily on revenues from crude oil within a neo-patrimonial system based on distributive clientelism, the steady decrease in international oil prices caused political strain. Moreover, the Arab Spring in 2010 had a major impact all over the continent, and criticism of the regime increased in the streets and on social media, targeting the president and the MPLA’s elites, whose lavish and ostensive wealth were in sharp contrast to the impoverished population.36 Indeed, mounting corruption scandals damaged the optimism of the early 2000s about economic growth and hope for poverty eradication as the shrinking electoral majorities since 2008 demonstrated the party’s eroding popularity. Meanwhile, “illiberal” movements were rising in Europe and elsewhere. The most cited example was the 2014 speech of Hungary’s Prime Minister Victor Orbán referring to the economic success of nonliberal democracies such as Russia and Turkey.37 Several African hegemonic regimes that had partially democratized their political systems throughout the 1990s, including Angola, saw opportunities, particularly the perceived rising international economic and political strength of some of its main supporters, like China and Russia. However, the attraction was not just the obvious source of renewed funding in terms of aid, loans, and investment that were provided by China and Russia. Rather, it was also legitimizing political discourses used to defend against decades-long Western criticism and pressures for liberalization and transparency as well as to respond to the growing domestic activism for democratization. The attraction did not seem to be the adoption of a new model of authoritarianism, such as replacing a patrimonial matrix with a Chinese type of totalitarianism or a form of Russian autocracy. Russian and Chinese regimes are based on strong hierarchical and well-organized and -disciplined bureaucracies and parties, while the Angolan party and state are marked by informality, patron-client legitimacy networks, and extreme concentration and personalization of power, which are obstacles to proper institutionalization of efficient bureaucracies and administrations. The attraction of such “new” discourses and models is in no way ideological either because those illiberal experiments, such as Russian imperial nationalism, Xi Jinping’s “socialism with Chinese characteristics,” and Victor Órban’s Christian illiberal democracy, do not have meaning in a neo-patrimonial system.38 Instead, the attraction is the international legitimization of authoritarian procedures and mechanisms, providing regimes with effective processes for

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their hegemonic objectives. This means, for instance, the limitation of individuals and minorities’ fundamental rights in the name of a higher common good or to protect core values as supposedly defended by the leadership.39 More specifically, it includes the possibility to legally and institutionally constrain fundamental rights and freedoms, as in China and Russia. In short, it is the possibility to internationally legitimize several of the procedures and mechanisms targeting fundamental rights that the Angolan political system has been camouflaging under a democratic façade since the 1990s. It is in this sense that one can understand the increasing Angolan politically strategic approach to China and Russia, including with its intelligence services. When the newly elected Angolan president João Lourenço rose to power in 2017, he wanted to be seen as Angola’s Deng Xiaoping rather than as Angola’s Mikhail Gorbachev, as demonstrated by his economic policies.40 Insofar as the intelligence services are concerned, a rising priority has emerged since 2010 toward cooperation with the intelligence and security services of Russia and China, though without forgetting the long and loyal Cuban partnership.41 CONCLUSION How the new Angolan intelligence services model will evolve in the 2020s depends on how the new leader and the party manage the challenges ahead. These challenges include an economic and financial crisis, increasing popular criticism and disillusionment, a reshuffle of presidential entourage and search to find new loyalists, a struggle against corruption to recover funds from the elite that the president himself has been a part of since independence, a need to reunite the party after the 2022 election loss of the two-third majority (51.17%), and rampant corruption. Despite the past and present challenges, the foundational principles of the Angolan intelligence and security services from 1975 through the present have demonstrated continuity and resilience. Angola’s intelligence culture secures the status quo and the hegemon, represented by the president, the MPLA, and its regime, above anything else and independent from the constitutional setting. NOTES

1.  This work was supported by the program Knowledge for Development Initiative, funded by the Foundation for Science and Technology, Portuguese Ministry for Science, Technology and Higher Education & the Aga Khan Development Network, under grant 333169403. 2.  Law 4/77, Diário da República-DR [Republic diary], I, 57, February 25, 1977.



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 3. Iko Carreira, O Pensamento estratégico de Agostinho Neto [The strategic thinking of Agostinho Neto] (Lisboa: Dom Quixote, 1996), 155.   4.  Nuno Vidal, “The Angolan Regime and the Move to Multiparty Politics,” in Angola: The Weight of History, ed. Patrick Chabal and Nuno Vidal (London: Hurst, 2007), 124–174.   5.  Agostinho Neto, “Comunicações de Agostinho Neto ao país, entre 27 e 30 de Maio” [Communications by Agostinho Neto to the country, between 27 and 30 May], Boletim do Militante (June 27, 1977), 9–10, 20.  6. Law 7/78, DR, I, 136 (May 26, 1978).  7. Law 7/79, DR, I, 157 (June 22, 1979).  8. Law 5/80, DR, I, 159 (July 7, 1980).  9. Thomas Collelo, Angola: A Country Study (Washington, DC: Federal Research Division, 1991). 10.  Christine Messiant, “Angola les voies de l’ethnisation et de la decompositionII” [Angola the ways of ethnization and decomposition], Lusotopie 3 (): 181–221. 11.  Law 2/91, DR, I, 8 (February 23, 1991). 12.  Decree-law 28/93, DR, I, 43 (August 27, 1993). 13.  Law 8/94, DR, I, 18 (May 6, 1994). 14. Art. 19, Law 8/94, DR, I, 18 (May 6, 1994); Decree-law 28/93, DR, I, 43 (August 27, 1993); Decree-Law 8/94, DR, I, 12 (March 25, 1994); and Decree-Law 14/02, DR, I, 98 (December 6, 2002). 15.  Art. 20, Law 8/94, DR, I, 18 (May 6, 1994). 16.  Art. 21, Law 8/94, DR, I, 18 (May 6, 1994). 17.  Samuel Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996). 18. Khareen Pech, “Executive Outcomes—A Corporate Conquest,” in Peace, Profit or Plunder? The Privatisation of Security in War-Torn African Societies, ed. Jakkie Cilliers, Peggy Mason, and Khareen Pech (Johannesburg: Institute for Security Studies in Africa, 1999), 86. 19.  Among others involved were Charles Pasqua, French interior minister; JeanChristophe Miterrand, presidential adviser for African affairs (and son of former French president François Mitterrand); Jean-Charles Marchiani, former officer of the French external intelligence agency (DGSE); and Jacques Attali, counselor to President François Mitterrand up to 1991 and first head of the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development. 20.  Global Witness, All the President’s Men (London: Global Witness, 2002). 21.  Marissa Moorman, “Along the Edges of Comparison,” in Apartheid Israel: The Politics of an Analogy, ed. Sean Jacobs and Jon Soske (Chicago: Haymarket Books, 2015). 22.  Marcelino Bonzela Franco, “A evolução do conceito estratégico do serviço de inteligência e de segurança do estado da república de Angola (1975–2010)” [The evolution of the strategic concept of the intelligence and security service of the state of the Republic of Angola (1975-2010)] (MA thesis, ISCSP, 2013), 43. 23.  Moorman, “Along the Edges of Comparison.” 24.  Franco, “A evolução do conceito estratégico,” 45.

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25.  Law 12/02, DR, I, 65 (August 16, 2002). 26.  Art. 21, Law 12/02, DR, I, 65 (August 16, 2002). 27.  Art. 20, Law 12/02, DR, I, 65 (August 16, 2002). 28.  Art. 22, Law 12/02, DR, I, 65 (August 16, 2002). 29.  Nuno Vidal, “Angola—Election Management Bodies,” in Election Management Bodies in Southern Africa (Johannesburg: OSISA & African Minds, 2017), 1–43. 30. Vital Moreira, “Presidencialismo superlativo—Espaço público,” Público, February 9, 2010. 31.  Presidential Decree-Law 1/10, DR, I, 42 (March 5, 2010), ch. VI. 32.  Arts. 71, 72, 73, 74, Presidential Decree-Law 1/10, DR, I, 42 (March 5, 2010). 33.  “Fernando Miala: O homem dos sete ofícios” [Fernando Miala: The man of the seven trades], DW—Deutsche Welle, March 13, 2018, https://www.dw.com/pt-002/fer nando-miala-o-homem-dos-sete-of%C3%ADcios-da-secreta-em-angola/a-42963763. 34.  Gustavo Costa, “João Lourenço em entrevista ao Expresso” [João Lourenço in an interview with Expresso], Expresso, November 21, 2018, https://expresso.pt /politica/2018-11-21-Joao-Lourenco-em-entrevista-ao-Expresso-Sao-conhecidos-os -que-trairam-a-patria. 35. Gustavo Costa, “Generais de Eduardo dos Santos entregam ativos de mil milhões” [Generals of Eduardo dos Santos deliver assets of one billion], Expresso, October 10, 2020. 36.  Nuno Vidal, “Angolan Civil Society Activism since the 1990s: Reformists, Confrontationists and Young Revolutionaries of the ‘Arab Spring Generation,’” Review of African Political Economy 42, no. 143 (2015): 77–91. 37. Viktor Orbán, “Viktor Orbán’s Speech on Illiberal Democracy, at Baile Tusnad,” Budapest Beacon, July 26, 2014, https://budapestbeacon.com/full-text-of -viktor-orbans-speech-at-baile-tusnad-tusnadfurdo-of-26-july-2014/. 38.  Marc Plattner, “Illiberal Democracy and the Struggle on the Right,” Journal of Democracy 30, no. 1 (2019): 5–19. 39.  Steven Levitsky and Lucan Way, “The New Competitive Authoritarianism,” Journal of Democracy 31, no. 1 (2020): 51–65. 40.  “Presidente eleito de Angola: ‘Gorbachev não, Deng Xiaoping sim’” [President-elect of Angola: “Gorbachev no, Deng Xiaoping yes”], EFE—Spain News Agency, August 29, 2017, https://www.efe.com/efe/portugal/destacada/presidente -eleito-de-angola-gorbachev-n-o-deng-xiaoping-sim/50000440-3364290. 41.  Franco, “A evolução do conceito estratégico,” 77–78, 85.

3 Benin The Presidentialization of National Intelligence Juste Codjo

Formerly known as Dahomey, Benin has struggled to establish a professional

intelligence community since it achieved independence from France in 1960. The evolution of the country’s intelligence services closely mirrors its political trajectory, which consists of three major historical periods. The first, often referred to as the “instability period,” covers the years 1960 through 1972. During this twelve-year period, the country experienced six regime changes as a result of military coups. The second era, which lasted from 1972 to 1990, was defined by one-party rule under a military dictatorship. The third era, which began after the 1990 National Conference, is marked by multiparty competition and democratic aspirations. This chapter examines the intelligence community’s changes in structure and culture throughout each period. This chapter argues that Benin’s intelligence services are primarily directed at serving the president’s political agenda. More than a simple politicization, the services are subject to what can be referred to as a “presidentialization” of national intelligence. Since independence, intelligence services have been created, organized, structured, equipped, funded, and employed by and for presidents. The lack of involvement by other branches of government in the establishment, funding, and oversight of the intelligence community is a striking phenomenon that has only reinforced the presidential grasp on this critical state instrument. Such presidentialization of the intelligence services severely compromises the country’s ability to build a professional organization dedicated to providing actionable intelligence that supports decisionmaking for national security, rather than political, purposes. The analysis presented in this chapter partly draws on informal communications between the author and former members of Benin’s intelligence services. Some served in the field, while others have been in leadership roles. 29

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The author also relied on declassified government archives. These sources were further backed by the author’s own observations and experiences from his previous twenty-five-year service as an army officer in the Benin armed forces. It must, however, be noted that the views expressed in this chapter are not representative of the author’s past or current employment. The next section of the chapter reviews the history of intelligence during the twelve-year instability period. It then shifts to examining the structural and cultural changes that occurred in the intelligence community under the one-party system. The third section outlines major characteristics of the intelligence culture in democratic, post-1990 Benin. The chapter then offers a look into the future by reviewing key issues that will likely shape the country’s intelligence culture. It concludes with a summary of the main points. INTELLIGENCE IN THE EARLY YEARS POSTINDEPENDENCE Benin’s first central intelligence service formally emerged in 1962, two years after independence. It was established by presidential decree 62–511, signed by President Hubert K. Maga on November 22. The Service for Liaison and Documentation (Service de Liaison et de Documentation, SLD), as it was called, was a component of the president’s staff. Its assigned mission was to collect and disseminate “all intelligence valuable to the administration’s actions.”1 In other words, the first intelligence service was not created in support of national security; nor was it established as an instrument desired by or approved by the people’s representatives in parliament, as was the case for the intelligence community in other democracies. This ultimately set the tone for the subsequent presidentialization of the intelligence services in consecutive regimes. A year after he established the SLD, President Maga was deposed in a military coup in December 1963 by Colonel Christophe Soglo.2 The civilian regime that followed in January 1964, led by President Sourou M. Apithy and Premier Minister Justin T. Ahomadégbé, maintained the SLD as a staff responsible to the cabinet. New decrees were signed by Premier Ahomadégbé in his first year in office to allocate financial compensation to SLD personnel. In addition to their salaries, the twelve civil servants that composed the intelligence service each received a monthly allowance ranging from 5,000 francs CFA to 15,000 francs CFA (US$20 to US$60 in 1964 exchange rates) depending on their administrative grade.3 In late 1965, the second republic ended after General Christophe Soglo orchestrated another successful coup. After just a few weeks in office, he signed presidential decree 66–25 on January 18, 1966. In this directive, the



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president outlined a new structure that, for the first time in its history, moved the central intelligence entity beyond its presidential staff status. The service was reorganized into a larger body known as the Directorate of the Service for Liaison and Documentation (Direction du Service de Liaison et de Documentation, DSLD). In addition to a managerial staff, the 1966 DSLD consisted of five units. The first, the Administrative Bureau (Bureau Administratif), was in charge of traditional administrative matters, including human resources management, finance and accounting, procurement, and maintenance of equipment as well as mail services. The Technical Bureau (Bureau Technique) was tasked with managing technical assets contributing to the collection of intelligence, including signals, radio, photographs, and laboratories, as well as the protection and physical security of the entire service. The Archives Bureau (Bureau des Archives) was responsible for the classification and conservation of archives and files. Two other units called sections added to the work of the bureaus. They were primarily directed at espionage and counterespionage. The Research Section (Section des Recherches) was tasked with the collection of intelligence abroad in a variety of domains, including political, economic, military, diplomatic, and scientific. The Counterespionage and Protection Section (Section de Contre-Espionnage et de Protection) was charged with counterintelligence at home and detecting and denying foreign entities’ intelligence efforts. The 1966 organizing decree placed the DSLD under the authority of a director and a deputy director, both to be appointed by the president. Captain Maurice Kouandété, an army officer, was appointed as the first director, while a police officer, Elhadj Mouftaou Sanni, served as his deputy director. However, less than eight months after his appointment, Captain Kouandété was discharged by General Soglo from his role as director. On August 4, 1966, Lieutenant Issifou Bouraima, chief of the president’s military staff, was appointed as a replacement. Yet again, General Soglo was unsatisfied with the new director and replaced him in May 1967 with Major Benoît C. Adandédjan, a gendarmerie officer who was from the president’s hometown of Abomey. Six months later, the president discharged Major Adandédjan too and appointed Army Captain Jean-Baptiste Hachémè. The latter was the fourth director of the DSLD appointed by General Soglo after only two years in office. In December 1967, fourteen months after he was discharged from his role as the head of the DSLD, Maurice Kouandété led a coup that deposed General Soglo and his military regime. Lieutenant-Colonel Alphonse Alley assumed the presidency under a military regime and reappointed Lieutenant Issifou

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Bouraima as the new director of DSLD in January 1967. Six months later, after presidential elections were boycotted by opponents of the military junta, Emile Derlin Zinsou, a civilian and former minister of foreign affairs, was named as the president. Three weeks after his inauguration on July 17, 1968, President Zinsou replaced the incumbent director with his own aide de camp, Lieutenant Lucien Glèlè. The young officer combined both positions until Major Paul-Emile de Souza was appointed in October 1968 as director of the DSLD. A year later, President Zinsou was deposed in a coup instigated by Lieutenant-Colonel Maurice Kouandété, the former DSLD director who turned into a coup specialist. A military junta led by Paul-Emile de Souza, who had been appointed by Zinsou the previous year as director of the DSLD, took control of the government in December 1969. In May 1970, the military junta led by Colonel de Souza released power to a civilian government controlled by a three-member presidential council. The country’s three main political figures and rivals were to rotate every two years as head of state. Hubert K. Maga, the country’s first president, was the first to assume the presidency of the council. On June 2, 1971, almost ten years after he had created the intelligence service during his first tenure in office, Maga signed presidential decree 71-102, which aimed to professionalize the DSLD. The new measure, which the president wanted to retroactively take effect on January 1, 1963, created a professional corps for intelligence personnel. It was composed of three branches: aide-technicians, chargés d’études, and expertanalysts. For each branch, the decree prescribed requirements for personnel recruitment, staffing proportions, personnel evaluations, promotion, and career paths. This was the third major milestone in the history of the country’s central intelligence service after its creation in 1962 and its structuring in 1966. Maga’s efforts to professionalize the intelligence service were soon disturbed by the turn of events in the year 1972. In February, as he neared the end of his two-year term as the chair of the rotational presidential council, he survived an overthrow attempt by coup specialist Maurice Kouandété. In May, President Maga transferred power to his successor, Justin T. Ahomadégbé. A few days later, Kouandété and his coconspirators were sentenced to death for their previous attempt to overthrow the Maga administration and possibly prevent Ahomadégbé from having his turn in the power rotation cycle. Before the death sentence could be carried out, Ahomadégbé and the presidential council were deposed in yet another coup that favored the ascendance of Major Mathieu Kérékou to power. This October 1972 coup marked the end of a tumultuous twelve-year postindependence era characterized by a succession of military coups and fruitless efforts at establishing a professional intelligence community.



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INTELLIGENCE AS A TOOL FOR STATE TERROR UNDER THE ONE-PARTY RULE Benin’s intelligence community entered a new phase when the military junta led by Mathieu Kérékou ascended to power on October 26, 1972. Compared to the previous era, the intelligence community under Kérékou’s military regime expanded in size, structure, and missions. In large part, the new changes were attributable to the military regime’s perception of threats to its political survival. Specifically, a series of events that occurred in the first years of their tenure led Kérékou and his supporters to determine that their survival in office was closely tied to their ability to monitor and control all segments of society. This assessment had significant impacts on the structure and culture of the intelligence services throughout their tenure. Two years into office, Kérékou proclaimed his regime’s adherence to a Marxist-Leninist agenda. He argued that a socialist ideology was the most effective philosophy to guide the revolution the military junta had launched back in 1972. Outside the Marxist-Leninist ideology, he claimed, “there is no possibility for Dahomey to develop fast, in dignity and sovereignty.”4 This ideological choice further antagonized opponents of the military junta, especially the Paris-based Dahomey Liberation and Rehabilitation Front (Front de Libération et de Réhabilitation du Dahomey, FLRD). In January 1975 internal dissensions within the regime regarding a corruption scandal surrounding the 1972 coup evolved into an alleged coup attempt. Although the circumstances of the event remain unclear, Kérékou and his supporters became paranoid. They were convinced that the survival of their Marxist-Leninist regime was being threatened, both from within and outside the country. The military rulers’ fear of domestic and external threats to their regime survival had immediate consequences for the intelligence community. On February 4, 1975, less than two weeks after the alleged coup attempt, Kérékou signed two critical decrees that reinforced and expanded the intelligence community. The first, presidential decree 75–30, aimed to reorganize the existing central intelligence service. Under the new structure, the denomination DSLD was changed back to SLD. The five units established by the 1966 reform were all upheld. The three bureaus became sections but kept the same functions. The only changes were with regard to the counterespionage section. It now had subsections tasked with surveilling specific sectors of the homeland, including the academic and business sectors as well as unions and ethnic minorities. The new structure also provided specific requirements for the appointment of the director of the service, who must be a civilian expertanalyst or a military officer according to the new provisions.

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In addition to the SLD, Kérékou created another central intelligence service called the Directorate for the Surveillance of the Homeland (Direction de Surveillance du Territoire, DST). Its primary mission, as outlined in presidential decree 75–31 that created it, was to ensure regime survival by providing state security, ensuring the protection of critical infrastructure, and “defend[ing] state institutions and the ideology behind them against aggressive actions by internal and external enemies.”5 It was tasked with directing its surveillance operations in all aspects of society, including the military, political parties (legal and clandestine), businesses, worker unions, youth organizations, and religious entities. Like its sister service SLD, the DST was placed under the direct authority of the president. After less than two years of existence, the SLD and the DST were dissolved by Kérékou in early 1977. By presidential decree 77–5 dated January 15, he created a new service, the Service for Documentation and Information (Service de Documentation et d’Information, SDI), to replace the old services. The SDI was placed under the president’s direct authority. The same day, Kérékou appointed two loyal military officers, Yacoubou Mama and Soulé Moussa, his own aide de camp, as director and deputy director of the new service. These changes constituted a bizarre move, as they took place on a Saturday and, most importantly, a few hours before the country was attacked by a group of mercenaries on January 16, 1977. Led by French national Gilbert Bourgeaud, aka Bob Denard, the mercenaries landed at the Cotonou airport on a mission to overthrow Kérékou’s authoritarian regime. The state’s response successfully repelled the attackers, who fled the country and left behind evidence that was later exploited by the military regime for propaganda. Having survived the 1977 mercenary attack, Kérékou and his supporters were convinced that their Marxist-Leninist system and the state apparatus that supported it must be protected and defended at all costs. Family members were used by the government to spy on one another. At work, including within the military, colleagues had to be careful around each other. Intelligence agents and their informants were ruthless in their monitoring of society. As a retired officer who served in this era recalled, “I could never understand why fellow officers would love to do a job that consisted in reporting false claims about their own colleagues just to get a promotion or other rewards.”6 Human right abuses, which were already a major concern, became the norm. Dissidents, including young students, were tracked and arrested by zealous intelligence personnel. Special detention camps were created throughout the country. The harsh interrogation techniques used at these camps resulted in numerous deaths and countless injuries among detainees.



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The repressive tactics of the intelligence community under the one-party system intensified even more in the 1980s. Dissidence against the authoritarian regime was now widespread. In July 1988, under pressure from economic hardships and social unrest, Kérékou made leadership changes at the SDI to get the situation back under control. The new director, Jérôme C. Soglohoun, who was also the chief of the president’s military staff, increased the repression. His notorious state terror practices did not, however, prevent the collapse of the Marxist-Leninist system. Ultimately, the one-party institutions collapsed in late 1989. The SDI and its repressive cells were dismantled as the country consensually moved to a democratic system at the February 1990 National Conference. THE INTELLIGENCE CULTURE UNDER DEMOCRATIC RULE Six decades after independence, Benin has yet to professionalize its intelligence community. The structure of the individual intelligence services is still basic and predominantly oriented toward human intelligence. In terms of organizational capacity, the services not only lack professional standards and an institutional infrastructure; they still rely on seasonal rather than long-term staffing. They are plagued by meaningless leadership rivalries and struggle to provide adequate long-term training to their personnel. Operationally, the services are characterized by extreme politicization, corruption, and public mistrust. The structure of the intelligence field today has not evolved in any significant way compared to previous eras. Only a limited number of services are still involved in the collection of intelligence. One of them is the Directorate for Liaison and Documentation Services (Direction des Services de Liaison et de Documentation, DSLD). Established by presidential decree 92–5 dated January 22, 1992, the DSLD is the largest and most visible intelligence service in the country today. As in the past, its director answers directly to the president. A second service is the Directorate for Homeland Intelligence (Direction du Renseignement Territorial, DRT), which is a component of the country’s newly formed law enforcement agency, the Republican Police (Police Républicaine). Under the authority of the director of the Republican Police, the country’s top law enforcement officer, the DRT’s mission is to collect and process information relevant to domestic security. Another intelligence service is the Directorate for Military Intelligence (Direction du Renseignement Militaire, DRM), which operates under the authority of the top military commander of the armed forces. Other smaller units, typically

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located at the headquarters of ministries and military branches, also contribute to the intelligence process. Throughout the democratic era, the intelligence services have been unable to build strong organizational capabilities. As a result, they lack the institutional infrastructure indispensable to professional organizations. This includes critical elements such as standard operating procedures, training standards and curricula, and doctrine. Even administrative procedures and rules of conduct are derived from the general military code of conduct, which might not always be adequate for intelligence operations. Staffing is also a major challenge for intelligence services in Benin. The DSLD, the central service on which depends the country’s national security decision-making, exclusively draws on the military and police for staffing. Civilian employees are quasi nonexistent. Most importantly, this crucial entity has remained a seasonal organization whose structure and operations are tied to electoral cycles. Every time a new administration comes to power, a new leadership is appointed. The new leaders in turn recruit new personnel from the military and police units, often renewing the entire personnel of the organization. The goal is to ensure loyalty of the intelligence force to the political agenda of the incoming president. This practice has persisted over decades even though it prevents the professionalization of the services and thus weakens the country’s national security capabilities. The intelligence services are also plagued by petty leadership rivalries. With a few exceptions, presidents have traditionally appointed junior military or gendarmerie officers to lead the central organization. Upon his return to power in 1996, President Kérékou appointed army major Patrice Hounsoun as director of the DSLD. At the beginning of his second term in 2012, President Boni Yayi appointed gendarmerie major Enock Laourou to succeed an army colonel. President Patrice Talon followed the same pattern and appointed gendarmerie major Pamphile Zomahoun when he arrived in office in 2016. Meanwhile, each of these administrations appointed senior or flag officers as heads of their military staff. In the absence of a clear structure and enduring procedures, the head of the DSLD and the chief of the president’s military staff have often engaged in rivalries as they compete for power, resources, and the president’s trust and attention. This is particularly pronounced when the DSLD is led by a more junior officer in comparison to the president’s military staff. Similar rivalries have existed between directors and their deputies, as was seen between director Chabi Soulemane and his deputy Bio Orou T. N’dah during President Yayi’s first term in office. As a result, administrations have avoided appointing a deputy director. Training remains a key weakness. Discussions of intelligence matters are absent and taboo in the higher education system, in terms of both research



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and teaching. At the professional level, there is no education center or other institutions dedicated to intelligence training. Thus, officers and agents alike rarely possess professional education and training in intelligence before joining the organization. The on-the-job training offered to them often occurs on an ad hoc basis, either at home or abroad. Training at home is typically conducted by experts from foreign countries, including France, Nigeria, and the United States. Local experts who participate in these types of training are carefully selected from among former intelligence personnel. Agents and officers are also sent abroad for short-term training in countries such as Morocco and Nigeria. A former intelligence officer reported that he attended multiple training sessions at home and abroad for a cumulative duration of eight months over the course of his nine-year service in this field.7 In the absence of national intelligence doctrine and standard operating procedures, the value of this short-term, ad hoc training format is questionable, especially as to the extent to which it ensures professionalism and productivity of the intelligence services. The operational culture of the services is one of the most intriguing features of the intelligence field in Benin. For the most part, their missions and operations are heavily driven by domestic politics. Under consecutive administrations throughout the democratic era, they have been directed at serving political agendas. Thus, political objectives, more than national security interests, drive the intelligence process. As the sole consumers of intelligence, presidents have traditionally set the collection agenda and allocated resources to intelligence services. A common item on the list of presidential directives is spying on political leaders and their organizations. Across regimes, intelligence services, especially the DSLD, have been involved in surveilling and infiltrating political parties, including both regime and opposition parties, to provide the president with information about their activities, intentions, strategies, plans, tactics, and anything that can inform his political decisions. Beyond political espionage, the services are also often involved in the repression of political dissent. To various degrees across administrations, they have been instrumental in tracking and arresting opposition leaders and political activists. The politicization of the intelligence roles and activities often provides opportunities for corruption. Typically, intelligence officers and agents are allocated monthly allowances that put them at an advantage in comparison to their peers in the military and police forces. This in itself attracts a considerable proportion of individuals who are simply in search of opportunities for additional income. Most importantly, having the power to make or break a political leader in the eyes of the president, intelligence officers and agents are sometimes involved in extortion and bribery. This often results in biased intelligence reports being sent to the president.

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Finally, public mistrust is one of the defining features of the intelligence culture in Benin. While this trend may have its roots in the repressive practices of the one-party era, the politicization of the services in recent decades has certainly contributed to creating a palpable climate of suspicion and fear in the eyes of the public. For the general population, intelligence services are nothing more than a political instrument to intimidate and repress people who disagree with the regime. This sentiment is shared by the elite. An intelligence practitioner confessed that even bureaucrats and members of the administration are suspicious of the intelligence services and avoid interacting with them unless required. When asked about the implications of such mistrust for the effectiveness of the services, the officer did not see much value to having public trust. “The only thing that matters,” he explained, “is whether you get the job done for the president.”8 THE FUTURE OF NATIONAL INTELLIGENCE A number of key elements will shape the future of the intelligence culture in Benin. The first is the unregulated nature of domestic politics. In its current state, political competition takes place with little constraint on incumbent presidents. Even institutions of checks and balance are tacitly controlled by the incumbent. According to the Benin constitution, the president has the power to unilaterally nominate half of the members of the constitutional court, which is intended to serve as an arbiter of political competition. The other half is nominated by the parliament, which is often controlled by the president. This presidential dominance of domestic politics inevitably favors the unchecked use of the intelligence services by incumbent presidents to further their political agendas. This trend is likely to persist unless profound reforms are implemented to allow for a more effective regulation of domestic politics. The lack of involvement by lawmakers in matters related to intelligence will also continue to influence the intelligence culture. Since independence, all intelligence services have been established by presidential decrees without input from legislators. In comparison, the US Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) was established by law passed in Congress in 1947.9 Even the more recent Office of the Director of National Intelligence (ODNI), which is tasked with centralizing intelligence in the United States, was created through legislation.10 In Benin, not only are legislators absent from the process that established the intelligence services; they have abdicated their oversight roles. Committee hearings and parliamentarian inquiries into the intelligence services are unheard of among intelligence practitioners. Whether this is out



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of ignorance or fear of retribution by the intelligence services, this striking trend will provide fertile grounds for further presidentialization of the intelligence community. A third factor that will play a key role in shaping intelligence operations is the growing transnational crime in the Gulf of Guinea region. With its seaport widely used by landlocked countries like Burkina Faso, Chad, Mali, and Niger, Benin is a strategic transit point for transnational criminal groups. In recent years the country’s intelligence services have been involved in countering a variety of transnational criminal threats, including maritime piracy, illicit drug trafficking, money laundering, and other illegal economic activities. In the future, these threats will likely require more involvement by the intelligence services as the criminal networks involved are expanding and diversifying their tactics. Further regional and international cooperation will be needed. Caution is, however, advised given the history of politicization of the intelligence services. A final critical factor is the growth of violent extremism and terror threats in the West African and Sahel region. For several years, Benin officials have either ignored or underestimated these threats. Former intelligence leaders complained that their requests to modernize the intelligence services and acquire more capabilities were not taken seriously by their commander in chief.11 Recent terrorism-related events and international alerts seem to have led the political leadership to reconsider their positions. Thus, the Talon administration has initiated a reform to establish a National Intelligence Council (Conseil National du Renseignement), a council of national security officials led by the president that would coordinate intelligence matters at the strategic level. A commission of experts has been nominated to be the operational arm of the Council. The threats of terrorism have also triggered stronger regional cooperation. In response to the Boko Haram terrorist activities, Benin and other countries in the region (Cameroon, Chad, Niger, and Nigeria) joined to establish the Regional Intelligence Fusion Unit (RIFU) in 2014 with the strategic support of Western countries like France, the United Kingdom, and the United States.12 While it is still too soon to evaluate the impact of this and other reforms, it can be expected that the growing terror threats will lead to more reforms. CONCLUSION A review of the history of intelligence in Benin has shown a pattern of presidentialization of the intelligence services since independence. To borrow Amy Zegart’s term in reference to the CIA, the intelligence services in Benin

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are “flawed by design.”13 From the establishment of the first service in 1962 to the creation of the current DSLD in 1992, presidents and their military advisers have unilaterally, without consultation with or involvement from lawmakers, designed, established, organized, and structured intelligence entities. This has resulted in an extreme politicization of intelligence. To be sure, even the most advanced democracies have struggled with the issue of politicization of the intelligence process, as was the case with the Bush administration and the CIA in 2002–2003.14 In the Benin case, however, politicization goes beyond what Robert Jervis called “pressure on the IC [intelligence community] to provide analysis that supports decisions.”15 It has reached a point where the president’s political agenda, not national security, primarily drives the intelligence structure, organizational capacity, and operational culture. Since its intelligence culture has been designed to serve the president’s interests and not the country’s, Benin has struggled to professionalize it. This is unlikely to change under the current political model, in which incumbent presidents dominate domestic politics and will thus have full control over any meaningful reforms of the intelligence system. Even the emergence of new threats to homeland security, such as transnational crime and terrorism, is unlikely to lead to a professionalization of the intelligence services. Incumbent presidents, who perceive their political survival as a top priority, benefit more from the status quo than they would from a professional intelligence community that could resist instructions to advance their political agendas. Thus, sustainable professionalization of the intelligence services requires systemic reforms of Benin’s political model, as argued by the author elsewhere.16 NOTES 1.  Décret No. 511/PR/Cab du 22 Novembre 1962 portant création d’un Service de Liaison et de Documentation à la Présidence de la République [Decree 511/PR/Cab dated November 22, 1962 regarding the creation of a Service for Liaison and Documentation at the Presidential Headquarters]. 2.  The sequence of political events as outlined in this chapter is drawn partly from a narrative compiled by the Dynamic Analysis of Dispute Management (DADM) Project at the University of Central Arkansas. “29. Dahomey/Benin (1960–present),” https://uca.edu/politicalscience/dadm-project/sub-saharan-africa-region/dahomey benin-1960-present/. 3.  Adjusted for inflation, $20 in 1964 was the equivalent of $169 in 2021. 4.  Mathieu Kérékou, “Discours d’orientation nationale: Abomey, le 30 novembre 1974” [National orientation speech, Abomey, November 30, 1974]. 5.  Décret No. 75-31/PR/DST du 4 Février 1975 portant création, attribution, organisation et fonctionnement de la Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire (D.S.T.)



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[Decree 75–31/PR/DST dated February 4, 1962 regarding the creation, organizational structure, and functioning of the Directorate for the Homeland Surveillance].   6.  Author communication with a retired army officer, 2016.   7.  Author communication with a former intelligence officer, 2021.  8. Ibid.   9.  Michael Warner, “Central Intelligence: Origins and Reforms,” in Intelligence and the National Security Strategist: Enduring Issues and Challenges, ed. Roger Z. George and Robert D. Kline (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2006), 47–56. 10.  Thomas Fingar, “Office of the Director of National Intelligence: From Pariah and Pinata to Managing Partner,” in The National Security Enterprise: Navigating the Labyrinth, ed. Roger Z George and Harvey Rishikof (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2017), 185–203. 11.  Author communication with a former intelligence officer, 2021. 12.  Madu Onuorah, “Nigeria: Five Lake Chad Region Nations Meet over Boko Haram,” Guardian, November 24, 2014, https://allafrica.com/stories/201411250828 .html. 13. Amy Zegart, Flawed by Design: The Evolution of the CIA, JCS and NSC (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1999). 14.  Scott Lucas, “Recognising Politicization: The CIA and the Path to the 2003 War in Iraq,” Intelligence and National Security 26, nos. 2–3 (2011): 203–227. 15.  Robert Jervis, Why Intelligence Fails: Lessons from the Iranian Revolution to the Iraq War (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2010). 16.  Juste Codjo, Consencratie: Un modèle de démocratie consensuelle adapté aux réalités du Bénin [Consencracy: A model of consensual democracy adapted to the realities of Benin] (Cotonou, BJ: Editions IFA Strategy, 2016).

4 Botswana Politicization and the Need for Intelligence Oversight Lawrence Ookeditse

This chapter explores Botswana’s intelligence culture through an appraisal

of Botswana’s Directorate on Intelligence and Security Services (DIS)’s politicization and oversight of the agency. The chapter first provides a brief history of intelligence in Botswana leading to the formation of the DIS and explains that intelligence gathering in Botswana did not begin in 2008 with DIS’s formation, but can be traced to the 1920s. Next, it analyzes the politicized intelligence culture by highlighting key events. Then the chapter discusses why reform is necessary and provides recommendations to improve the intelligence culture. In doing so, the chapter argues that the Botswana’s intelligence culture broadly and the DIS specifically are heavily politicized. Due to the politicization within the intelligence culture, it is recommended that the DIS be reformed by parliament so Botswana’s intelligence and security services can be scrutinized by elected officials answerable to the public. Moreover, the chapter calls for enacting a national security policy charter to give the DIS and other services a more national security, rather than political, objective. This chapter employs Justin McPhee’s definition that intelligence is “a process that seeks to turn information into security.”1 It further uses Gregory Treverton’s definition of politicization as “commitment to perspectives or conclusions, in the process of intelligence analysis or interaction with policy, that suppress other evidence or views, or blind people to them.”2 This is consistent with John Gannon, who described politicization of intelligence as the “willful manipulation and or distortion of analysis to satisfy the demands of intelligence bosses and policymakers.”3 Further, Beth Eisenfeld noted that “for decades, the center of the discourse about politicization was proximity– how close or far apart should consumers and producers operate?”4 Proximity 43

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to this line of thinking is a factor because consistent and overt relationships may blur the lines of operations and accountability. Building from this, Nada Bakos provided an illustrative definition of politicization of intelligence, noting that in the run-up to the US invasion of Iraq in 2003, the intelligence community had no evidence of links between Saddam Hussein and al-Qaeda but were asked to find such evidence by the political executives, culminating in a “backwards process where instead of the information leading the policymaker, the policy maker led the information.”5 HISTORY OF INTELLIGENCE The DIS was formed in 2008 following an act of parliament. Prior to that, the DIS’s functions were largely performed by the Criminal Investigation Division (CID) of the Botswana police, the Botswana Defense Force, and the Directorate on Corruption and Economic Crime. Lesego Tsholofelo has described that the first recorded intelligence activities occurred before independence in 1923 and were carried out by the British, largely concerned with the “collection requirements mostly centered on Pan-Africanist activities in Southern Africa and this was followed in the early 1950s by the establishment of the Bechuanaland Protectorate Special Branch.”6 A significant shift in Botswana’s intelligence culture occurred in the years prior to 1966 independence, “between 1961 and 1964[,] when the concentration was on activities of apartheid South African and South West African (now Namibia) refugees and political activists[,] some of whom were transiting the Protectorate to Tanganyika (present day Tanzania).”7 Indeed, during the Cold War, intelligence activities were heavily focused on the suppression of communism, in line with the great powers’ concerns. Intelligence culture was to change further following independence. After independence in 1966, the country promulgated a law in “1968 stipulating the duties of the Botswana Police Special Branch (SB) mandating it with three main duties for the intelligence: a) Security Intelligence, b) Protective Security and c) Counter Espionage.”8 During this time, internal political dissent was no longer considered a violation of national security, but opposition party leaders were still watched by the SB. In 1986 a National Security Act was passed under the guidance of President Sir Ketumile Quett Joni Masire (1925–2017) to coordinate the protection of people and property in the light of violations of Botswana’s territorial integrity by apartheid South Africa’s commandos. This act was, however, a broad national security law and not tailored for intelligence collection and analysis. A more comprehensive act was promulgated in 1998 under the Security Intelligence Services Act, but



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it did not significantly alter the intelligence culture that targeted political opponents. Due to the continuation of the colonial-era intelligence culture that operated against political opposition, the country did not have an agile intelligence service that could collect and act on intelligence for national security. The DIS’s formation, as the government argued, was in line with the National Vision 2016, enacted in 1997. The Vision 2016 initiative sought to ensure Botswana would be a safe and secure nation. In this context, the government “borrowed from this national vision to sell the formation of the DIS in 2008.”9 As it turned out, DIS was more focused on regime security as opposed to national security. Indeed, the passing of the bill aroused “deep seated mistrust between [the] Cabinet and the back bench, as well as opposition from civil society which organized debates in which academics, media practitioners and parliamentary backbenchers questioned the necessity of the reforms, the structure of the proposed agency and the timing of the bill.”10 Given these issues, the bill was criticized and went through various iterations, but it ultimately passed, marking a significant moment for the country’s intelligence culture. According to the Security Service Act of 2007, the DIS’s key functions are to “investigate, gather, co-ordinate, evaluate, correlate, interpret, disseminate and store information, whether inside or outside Botswana” in “detecting and identifying any threat or potential threat to national security”; “advising the President and the Government of any threat or potential threat to national security”; and “taking steps to protect the security interests of Botswana whether political, military or economic.”11 These statutory functions mean the DIS is officially tasked with collection and analysis of intelligence for Botswana’s national security. Intelligence and security services in Botswana are currently provided by a number of actors, including the DIS. The major actors include the Financial Intelligence Agency (FIA), which was established by the 2009 Financial Intelligence Act. The FIA has a mandate to be “the central unit responsible for requesting, receiving, analyzing and disseminating to an investigatory authority, supervisory authority or comparable body, disclosures of financial information” for purposes of integrity of the financial system.12 It is also responsible for anti–money laundering actions and prevention of financing of terrorism. A similar organization is the Directorate of Corruption and Economic Crime, which was established under the Corruption and Economic Crime Act of 1994 with a mandate to receive and investigate reports of corruption and economic crime. The agency also runs public information campaigns targeted at corruption prevention. The Botswana Defense Force, meanwhile, is responsible largely for the defense of the country’s sovereignty

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and territorial integrity, primarily against foreign acts. Last, the Botswana Police Service is responsible for domestic policing duties and utilizes crime intelligence to prevent and prosecute illegal acts. A POLITICIZED INTELLIGENCE CULTURE Tshepo Gwatiwa described how “since its inception in 2008, the DIS has been accused of many human rights violations and politicization.”13 He argued that the DIS has a valid reason to exist (raison d’etre) but has suffered a reputational crisis due to perceptions that it is a politicized institution.14 Notable examples involve alleged cases of extrajudicial killing, such as that of John Kalafatis, who was wanted by the Botswana Police Service “for many crimes” and “had a warrant of arrest issued against him on 12 January 2009 for armed robbery among others.”15 Kalafatis was sighted by Military Intelligence officers in May 2009, and they shot him dead in full view of members of the public in Gaborone. His killers were convicted by the courts and sentenced to eleven years in jail but served just under a year. The officers were pardoned by President Khama and reinstated. Such events demonstrate an intelligence culture in which impunity is condoned. Furthermore, there is little doubt that politicization in the intelligence culture makes intelligence services broadly, and the DIS specifically, less effective in gathering intelligence. It limits sources of information and renders biased intelligence collection. Beyond government leaders, the country may suffer from the limited collection of information on threats that could lead to violence. Treverton categorizes politicization of intelligence services as with “direct pressure” (the executive in the case of Botswana); “house line” bias, which ignores any information that counters a predetermined view or position; and “cherry-picking,” in which decision-makers choose which part of the intelligence they like and act on it.16 Though there is limited information about house line bias and cherry-picking by the DIS due to the secrecy of the service’s work, a report by the Human Rights Council special rapporteur on extrajudicial, summary, and arbitrary executions shed light on former president Khama’s relationship with intelligence services. The report noted that he sent information about threats on his life to DIS, but the service did not act.17 If this information reached the decision-makers and they did nothing, that suggests cherry-picking. If it never reached the decision-makers and was ignored by the intelligence community itself, that suggests house line bias. Treverton also discusses other forms of politicization, such as “question asking,” in which questions asked in gathering intelligence are crafted to guide



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responses the preferred way, and “shared mindset,” which refers to common thinking whereby intelligence fulfills the governing elites’ wishes. Using Treverton, politicization in Botswana’s intelligence culture appears to involve direct pressure, wherein an all-powerful executive, which itself is barely held accountable by the legislative arm, largely sets the agenda and has strong control over state institutions.18 The intelligence culture also appears to have a shared mindset, given that a sitting president appoints, for example, the DIS’s director general, on the basis that the president is familiar with or has good relations with that individual. For instance, former president Khama appointed Colonel Isaac Kgosi, who had served with him in the Botswana Defense Force and later became his private secretary, as vice president and then as DIS’s director general. President Masisi replaced Kgosi with Brigadier Peter Magosi, which allowed Masisi to harass both former president Khama and Kgosi. In fact, when the DIS arrested Kgosi in 2020 publicly at the Sir Seretse Khama International Airport, Magosi himself was present.19 The government later lost in court when the judge ruled in favor of Kgosi’s P50 million (US$4.6 million) lawsuit for unlawful arrest, even though Kgosi did not then claim the judgment.20 The actions of Magosi in harassing both Khama and Kgosi are in line with President Masisi’s attitude toward the two men. During the 2019 general election, DIS director general Magosi served as President Masisi’s personal bodyguard. This demonstrates theoretical and physical proximity, which feeds concerns about politicization. It took the Public Accounts Committee (PAC) of parliament questioning this conduct to stop it. Magosi told the PAC that he accepted that his behavior was similar to a personal bodyguard to the president, but he needed to “assure himself that he has trained people to do what he is doing right now.”21 The behavior was justified by claiming he was training people who would become personal bodyguards to the president. The remark was odd because the DIS has been tasked with presidential security since its formation. Thus, the issue appears to be more about proximity than about DIS’s training and operational concerns. Politicization within the intelligence culture matters for several reasons. Rapheal Bouchnik-Chen argued that “if policy-making is to be honest and clean, intelligence must not be misused for political purposes. Intelligence input should be professional, independent, and courageous.”22 Tsholofelo explained, “instead of being seen as a safeguard of the country’s democracy . . . the DIS is viewed as the opposite on the basis that it is believed to tilt the scales in favour of the ruling BDP.”23 This issue came to a head during the 2019 general election, when it was alleged that the service was involved in election rigging to assist the ruling party. Journalist Tefo Pheage, for instance, reported that the DIS “is at the

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heart of allegations of a potential elections scandal from which the Independent Electoral Commission has distanced itself while the ruling Botswana Democratic Party says the allegations were too serious to be ignored.”24 This followed demands by World of Oath, a private company, which had reportedly demanded payment of P15 million (US$1.4 million) for services rendered to the DIS during an election that saw opposition parties approach the courts alleging rigging, something that was characterized as “development that could cast the most serious doubt on the integrity of the elections yet.”25 The exact details and nature of the relationship between World of Oath and the DIS was never disclosed, on the basis of its being classified information. Yet political opponents and the media alleged that World of Oath was being used to help rig elections in Botswana. The DIS was also used to harass former president Khama. In 2021, Khama said he was “anticipating a raid on him by the Directorate of Intelligence and Security for alleged possession of weapons.”26 This was just one act involving the DIS against the former president, who fell out with the incumbent and formed an opposition party. A journalist noted: “Having failed to discredit him with insinuations of planning a coup, assassin plot and stealing P100 billion [US$9 billion], the DIS is now trying another tactic suggesting he has somewhere on his property at Ruretse Farm a stash of explosives in bunkers.”27 Earlier in 2021 there was a report based on “credible” evidence from three different countries that the DIS had made attempts to assassinate former president Khama. Agnes Callamard, special rapporteur on extrajudicial, summary, or arbitrary executions pursuant to Human Rights Council Resolutions 4/5, wrote to President Masisi and noted a “series of actions that suggest plots to assassinate the former President which were noted to be based on credible information from intercepted communication between authorities.”28 These actions to a large degree suggest a politicized intelligence culture wherein the services are used to further the political goals of the ruling party and eliminate opponents. The leader of the main opposition party, Umbrella for Democratic Change (UDC), has also experienced harassment from the DIS. During the 2019 general election campaign, UDC leader advocate Duma Boko decried the fact that security agencies were harassing party members, including impounding their manifesto before its launch. In an interview with a local newspaper, Boko said “it was the customs officials that delayed the arrival of our manifesto, we know that they are being used by DIS. We are left with no option but to take these matters to court because we are being harassed by these agencies.”29 In the same interview, Boko explained, “I can tell you for a fact that” the Botswana Unified Revenue Service “and DIS were waiting for me to land at the” airport in Gaborone “and then seize my aircraft.”30



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In 2017 the Botswana Gazette published a leaked report that the DIS was being used to ensure the Botswana Democratic Party (BDP) won elections. The newspaper revealed that “a secret internal report by Tsosoloso Mosinki head of a Special Task Team within the DIS reveals that the DIS is violating its governing legislation by meddling into partisan politics and directly undermining the Opposition.”31 The newspaper explained that the DIS would “implement a 3 Phase operation to discredit and destabilise the Opposition using media implants/operatives to advance propaganda and false information in order to undermine the Opposition as part of ‘Phase 2’ of the DIS operations.”32 The strategy’s first phase was ensuring the breakdown of the UDC by promoting “factionalism within the Umbrella Democratic Change (UDC) and in particular to target and oust Botswana Movement for Democracy (BMD) leader Ndaba Gaolathe.”33 The BMD went on to have significant problems, which led to the formation of the All Progressives (AP) under Ndaba Gaolathe, which then contested elections outside the UDC. It has not been proven whether the DIS had a role in this. Even more alarming was the newspaper’s report that the UDC had credible chances of winning the 2014 general election and that such victory represented “an existential threat” to the DIS. Thus, in this case politicization was not just about serving the interests of the president, but also self-preservation. More recently, the UDC contested the 2019 general election results and alleged election rigging by the DIS. The UDC’s High Court petition on vote rigging was thrown out on the basis of technicalities without their giving evidence. In their petition, the UDC argued that the election was marred by “massive fraud, extensive corruption, unequal and unfair treatment of opposition parties and candidates orchestrated by an unholy coalition and collusion between the ruling Botswana Democratic Party (BDP), the so called Independent Electoral Commission (IEC), the notorious Directorate of Intelligence Services (DIS) and other government agencies.”34 THE NEED FOR INTELLIGENCE OVERSIGHT AND REFORM Oversight of national security apparatuses in Botswana is often performed by a variety of stakeholders. Among the stakeholders are the various branches of government, civil society, and media. Under the Security Services Act (2008), oversight is spread across four sets of actors, including the executive, to whom the DIS reports, largely through the Central Intelligence Committee, chaired by the president.35 This is perhaps the one committee that actually has

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control over the DIS, but it does not help curb politicization because it is a committee of the executive. Another oversight actor is the legislature, through parliamentary committees, such as the PAC and the Parliamentary Committee on Intelligence and Security, which can examine expenditures. However, this scrutiny is limited to only what the DIS is willing to share, and the committee members are selected by the president. He appoints the committee in consultation with the leader of the opposition and speaker of the national assembly, but there is only one dominant party in parliament. Next, the judiciary provides oversight through a tribunal selected by the president. For this, the president merely needs to consult the opposition leader and is not required to get consent. Thus, oversight—as provided for in the act—is often defeated by the structures being stuffed with ruling party functionaries. Indeed, Tsholofelo aptly noted that Botswana’s “oversight mechanisms cover the five basic oversight principles of internal control, executive control, parliamentary oversight, judicial review and external oversight but they fall short for a liberal democracy” due to excessive restriction of access to information on DIS operations.36 Official oversight mechanisms largely ignore oversight performed by civil society and the media. This seems an embedded part of Botswana’s intelligence culture. Indeed, journalists are at risk of getting arrested when they report on DIS operations that may prove to be rogue. Notably, prior to the 2019 general election journalists were arrested by the DIS and their property indefinitely held for having taken photographs of a house from which it was alleged election rigging was taking place. The Committee for the Protection of Journalists in New York issued a statement explaining that “at about 2:30 p.m. on June 18, intelligence agents arrested Baaitse, a reporter for the privately owned Weekend Post weekly, and Mosekiemang.”37 It further reported that a photographer took photos of a “building linked to the Directorate of Intelligence and Security”; in particular, Grey House “contained state-of-theart equipment that he alleged was used in an operation involving last year’s general election.”38 In another case, during 2016 journalist Sonny Serite was arrested by the DIS for possessing “sensitive” government information. Serite had merely received information from a whistleblower. The media reported that the DIS “arrested a freelance journalist for obtaining documents allegedly containing ‘state secrets,’ in what appears to be a further effort to intimidate the private media in a country viewed by the west as the shining example of democracy in Africa.”39 Thus, the media’s role in oversight is limited, as the act does not adequately allow the media to assert oversight of the intelligence and security services. The DIS has usually been able to hide behind the sensitivity of “op-



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erational matters” and national security. This ignores the need for a balance between the need for secrecy and disclosure in the public interest. Beyond the media, parliamentary oversight is also constrained. This was demonstrated when then DIS director general Isaac Kgosi appeared before the Public Accounts Committee of Parliament in 2018 and explained that he did not have to account to anyone. Kgosi said, “I do not report operational issues matters to the President, Vice President or any Minister or any members of the Executive. I am the Director of the DIS and I take responsibility for its activities.”40 Kgosi refused to shed light on expenses for a national petroleum storage facility. By citing “operational” matters, he refused to discuss on expenses incurred by the DIS for the fuel storage project. This was a watershed moment that publicly demonstrated that the DIS was largely accountable to “itself.” Another critic of oversight provided by the law was Zibani Maundeni, who noted that it largely focused on regime security instead of human security.41 Using this line of argument, the current oversight provisions ignore human security, which was a prominent aspect of the National Vision 2016. Indeed, this perception prompted calls for “urgent measures to restore respect for the State’s security organs, the DIS, for instance needs to be repackaged to deal with the negative perceptions and in so doing Botswana may have to overhaul the security organs with a view of improving their effectiveness and acceptance in society.”42 Due to the demonstrated politicized nature of intelligence culture, it is important to consider reforms to make intelligence less susceptible to politicization and to improve oversight. One way to do this is through a comprehensive national security charter to map national security goals, opportunities, and threats clearly. This would help shift the intelligence community from the overt influence of whomever is president. Oversight of the DIS specifically and intelligence more broadly is also constrained by the lack of a national security policy, or at the very least a coherent defense policy that establishes and manages relations between various national security actors in Botswana, such as the Botswana Police Services, Botswana Defense Force, Financial Intelligence Agency, and Directorate on Corruption and Economic Crime, as well as their relationships and governance. With a national security policy in place alongside the agency’s establishing act, the DIS would operate in an environment with clear national security priorities, as opposed to narrowly focusing on “regime interest.” The lack of a comprehensive national security policy allows the DIS to take guidance, oversight, and direction from the incumbent president. This allows the blurring of lines between intelligence gathering, analysis, and policy making. The process of drafting a national security policy in democracies is such that

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all stakeholders are consulted and given roles in oversight. In this sense, the DIS should not be an exclusive tool for the executive arm of government. Rather, it should provide security briefings to parliament or a select committee of parliament. To further depoliticize the DIS, the appointment of the director general in particular, and that of senior officers, should be done in consultation with the leader of the opposition and with the approval of the national assembly. Moreover, security of tenure would prevent a director general serving with the fear that they might be removed if they do not tow the political line. Furthermore, requiring that a candidate to become director general or assume other senior positions must have served as an intelligence officer first would ensure merit-based appointments. Such measures would help the DIS be “policy relevant” as opposed to “politically relevant,” serving the nation without regard for politics. CONCLUSION This chapter explored Botswana’s intelligence culture by highlighting the DIS’s politicization and showed the need for effective oversight. Intelligence services in Botswana have been institutionalized for over one hundred years and have served the leadership in politicized ways. This chapter argued Botswana broadly and the DIS specifically have a politicized intelligence culture that serves the interests of the ruling party, and the intelligence services need reform. For Botswana’s intelligence culture to be depoliticized, oversight by parliament and civil society as well as the media must be improved. In particular, the DIS should provide intelligence briefs to parliament or a select committee of parliament to bridge the gap in information sharing and reduce the presidency’s monopoly on issues of national security. Furthermore, the enactment of a national security policy for Botswana would help in issues of oversight and also of depoliticization of the agency. Last, appointments of senior intelligence officers should be based on merit, with leaders having served within the intelligence community and being appointed with the approval of parliament. Though it is unclear if there is political will to bring about such changes, reform is necessary to build public confidence in Botswana’s intelligence and security services. NOTES 1.  Justin. T MacPhee, Spinning Secrets of the State: Politics and Intelligence in Australia (Clayton, Victoria: Monash University Publishing, 2020), 201.



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  2.  Gregory F. Treverton, “Intelligence Analysis: Between ‘Politicization’ and Irrelevance,” in Analyzing Intelligence: Origins, Obstacles, and Innovations, ed. Roger Z. George and James B. Bruce (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2008), 93.   3.  John C. Gannon, “Managing Analysis in the Information Age,” in Analyzing Intelligence: Origins, Obstacles, and Innovation, ed. Roger Z. George and James B. Bruce (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2008), 221.  4. Beth Eisenfeld, “The Intelligence Dilemma: Proximity and Politicization— Analysis of External Influences,” Journal of Strategic Security 10, no. 2 (Summer 2017): 77–96.  5. Nada Bakos, “Politicization of the Intelligence Community Is Extremely Dangerous,” Foreign Policy Research Institute, February 27, 2017, https://www.fpri .org/2017/02/politicization-intelligence-community-extremely-dangerous/.  6. Lesego Tsholofelo, “A Critical Evaluation of the Intelligence Oversight Regime in Botswana,” E-International Relations, March 2014, https://www.e-ir .info/2014/03/03/a-critical-evaluation-of-the-intelligence-oversight-regime-in -botswana/.  7. Ibid.  8. Ibid.   9.  Zibani Maundeni, “Vision 2016 and Reforming the Intelligence in Botswana,” Botswana Notes and Records 40 (2008): 135. 10. Ibid. 11.  Botswana Government, Intelligence and Security Service Act, 2007 (Gaborone: Government Printer, 2007), section 27. 12.  Financial Intelligence Act, No. 6, 2009 (Gaborone: Government of Botswana, 2009), https://www.finance.gov.bw/images/LawRegulations/Financial%20Intelli gence%20Act%202009.pdf. 13.  Tshepo Gwatiwa, “The Polemics of Security Intelligence in Botswana,” African Security Review 24, no. 1 (February 2015): 39–54. 14. Ibid. 15.  Ephraim Keoreng, “Even in Death, John Kalafatisremais a Mystery,” Mmegi, June 5, 2009, https://www.mmegi.bw/news/even-in-death-john-kalafatisremais-a -mystery/news. 16.  Treverton, “Intelligence Analysis,” 93. 17. Agnes Callamard to President Mokgweetsi Masisi, “Mandate on Extrajudicial, Summary and Arbitrary Executions,” Human Rights Council, March 26, 2021, https://spcommreports.ohchr.org/TMResultsBase/DownLoadPublicCommunication File?gId=26272. 18.  Treverton, “Intelligence Analysis,” 93. 19.  Justice Kavehematui, “The Arrest That Shook a Nation,” Botswana Guardian, January 22, 2019, http://www.botswanaguardian.co.bw/news/item/3913-the-arrest -that-shook-a-nation.html. 20.  Mpho Mokwape, “Kgosi Abandons BURS Default Judgment,” Mmegi, July 22, 2021, https://www.pressreader.com/botswana/mmegi/20210723/281569473752 875.

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21.  Utlwanang Gasennelwe, “Magosi to Quit as Masisi Body Guard,” Weekend Post, July 27, 2020, https://www.weekendpost.co.bw/27909/news/magosi-to-quit -as-masisi-bodyguard/. 22.  Rapheal Bouchnik-Chen, “Avoiding the Politicization of Intelligence and Policy-Making,” Besa Center, 2014, https://besacenter.org/intelligence-politicization/. 23. Tsholofelo, “Critical Evaluation of the Intelligence Oversight Regime in Botswana.” 24.  Tefo Pheage, “BDP Disowns DIS in P15m Elections Controversy,” Botswana Gazette, June 17, 2020, https://thegazette.news/news/bdp-disowns-DIS-in-p15 m-elections-controversy/. 25. Ibid. 26.  Innocent Selatlhwa, “DIS Leaks Alleged Khama Raid,” Mmegi, June 11, 2021, https://www.mmegi.bw/index.php?aid=90223&dir=2021/june/11. 27. Ibid. 28. Callamard to Masisi, “Mandate on Extrajudicial, Summary and Arbitrary Executions.” 29.  Letlhogile Mpuang, “UDC Wars with BURS, DIS Head to Court,” Botswana Gazette, May 29, 2019, https://www.thegazette.news/news/udc-wars-with-burs-DIS -head-to-court/. 30. Ibid. 31.  “DIS Abuse of Office—DIS Report,” Botswana Gazette, July 27, 2019, https:// www.thegazette.news/news/DIS-abuse-of-office-DIS-report/. 32. Ibid. 33. Ibid. 34.  Micus Chimbombi, “Election Fraud in Botswana: A Threat to Peace, Justice and Democracy,” Mmegi, January 27, 2020, https://www.mmegi.bw/opinion-analysis /election-fraud-in-botswana-a-threat-to-peace-justice-and-democracy/news. 35.  Botswana Government, Intelligence and Security Service Act, 2007, section 27. 36. Tsholofelo, “Critical Evaluation of the Intelligence Oversight Regime in Botswana.” 37. “Journalists Arrested in Botswana, Charged with Nuisance,” Committee for the Protection of Journalists, June 29, 2020, https://cpj.org/2020/06/journalists -arrested-charged-with-nuisance-in-botswana/. 38. Ibid. 39. Joel Konopo, “Botswana Intelligence Detain Journalist after Corruption Stories,” Mail & Guardian, March 22, 2016, https://mg.co.za/article/2016-03-22 -botswana-intelligence-detain-journalist-after-corruption-stories/. 40.  Sello Motseta, “Kgosi Reigns Supreme,” Tswana Times, April 19, 2018, http:// www.thetswanatimes.co.bw/index.php/news/legal/196-kgosi-reigns-supreme. 41.  Maundeni, “Vision 2016 and Reforming the Intelligence in Botswana,” 135. 42.  Thapelo Ndlovu, “Political Freedoms and Democracy,” in A Fine Balance: Assessing the Quality of Governance in Botswana, ed. Karin Alexander and Gape Kaboykgosi (Pretoria: Idasa, 2012), 81.

5 Burkina Faso Widening the Security Net Ernest Harsch

On January 15, 2016, insurgents of the regional jihadist group Al-Qaeda in

the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM) attacked a restaurant and nearby hotel in the center of Burkina Faso’s capital, Ouagadougou. They took the lives of some thirty civilians before the three assailants were themselves killed by local security forces. That dramatic attack—just one of a prolonged series that would ultimately claim hundreds more lives—was a great shock in a country long known for its relative peace. It also exposed the shortcomings of the wider national security system, and of the intelligence services in particular: The assailants had been able to infiltrate across the border from bases in neighboring Mali, travel hundreds of kilometers, and prepare for the attack without triggering a timely response. Some local personnel had in fact picked up prior hints of an impending terrorist assault, and they passed the information along. But their warnings did not reach the appropriate authorities soon enough to prevent the tragedy. Four days after the attack, an editorial commentary in one of Burkina Faso’s leading newspapers captured a broader point about the shortcomings of the existing security system: “For a long time, the security of the head of state was the top priority. It is now high time to switch things around. The people also need to be made more secure.”1 The insurgent war began at a vulnerable time for Burkina Faso. The country was just emerging from a popular insurrection that had toppled decades of authoritarian rule. It held its first fully democratic election just a month and a half before the Ouagadougou attack. Politics and society were still experiencing considerable turmoil and uncertainty. More to the point, the national security forces were extremely unsettled in the wake of purges of old regime loyalists and severe institutional rivalries and disorganization inherited from the previous 55

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era. Moreover, the former autocrat’s intelligence network was in complete disarray, and some of its top officers had either fled the country or were in prison for an abortive coup attempt designed to halt the democratic transition. Even before the onset of the insurgency, the newly elected government of President Roch Marc Christian Kaboré was confronted with a range of serious security challenges: protecting the new government from recalcitrant holdovers of the old security apparatus; reforming the armed forces to strengthen their cohesion, command effectiveness, professionalism, and capabilities; minimizing repressive abuses by uniformed personnel; reorienting security policy beyond a narrow focus on only protecting the governing authorities; and building some measure of public confidence in the army, gendarmes, and national police. Given the history of Burkina Faso, none of that would have been easy, even under the best of circumstances. To do so at a time of steadily increasing guerrilla attacks made those tasks all the more daunting and prone to setback and error. A VOLATILE HISTORY Like most other states in the West African Sahel, Burkina Faso inherited a very small administrative and security apparatus from its former colonial power, France. At independence in 1960, the governing authorities of Upper Volta (the country’s name at the time) had little reach beyond a few main towns. Most members of the fledging army had previously served in the French armed forces and thus had been trained to defend external interests, only gradually reorienting toward the security needs of an independent state. From the outset, the tiny governing elite was quite divorced from the realities of the country’s people, whether the small layer of salaried urban workers or the vast majority of subsistence farmers in the countryside. That gulf translated into recurrent political instability. First came a popular insurrection in Ouagadougou that ousted Upper Volta’s first president, leading to the establishment of a military regime.2 Under that system, the security and intelligence interests of the armed forces and the government were identical: shoring up those in power while fending off challenges from contentious trade unionists and radical student activists. That inward orientation left the country vulnerable when a very brief border war erupted with a better equipped military in neighboring Mali in 1975. Regional mediators quickly brokered a settlement, but the army’s unpreparedness accelerated growing divisions within its own ranks. Those fissures, further worsened by contradictory social and political pressures, contributed to a succession of new coups in 1980–1982.



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In 1983 a revolutionary-minded wing of the junior officer corps, in alliance with radical trade unionists and small Marxist political currents, seized power in Ouagadougou. They established the National Council of the Revolution (CNR by its French acronym) under Captain Thomas Sankara. The new government promised sweeping changes in most aspects of political, social, and economic life. In 1984 it renamed the country Burkina Faso (“land of the upright people”) and sought to project a new national identity that encompassed all ethnic groups. Although the CNR and its institutions featured many military figures, Sankara also encouraged the formation of mass civilian support groups called Committees for the Defense of the Revolution (CDRs). The committees helped stimulate widespread community mobilizations to build schools, health clinics, water reservoirs, and other basic infrastructure, and enjoyed wide popularity for those activities. The CDRs also performed security and intelligence functions by enforcing curfews, combating smuggling, and helping monitor real or suspected domestic and external opponents. In some urban areas those security activities led to serious abuses and rights violations by undisciplined CDR cadres.3 Eventually, a more coercive wing of the CNR emerged behind Captain Blaise Compaoré, drawing support from a diverse and contradictory assortment of actors: repressive Stalinist factions opposed to Sankara’s more inclusive leadership style, military officers resentful of strenuous anti-corruption measures, customary rural chiefs upset by state efforts to dilute their power, and the strongly pro-French government in neighboring Côte d’Ivoire. On October 15, 1987, soldiers loyal to Compaoré assassinated Sankara, dissolved the CNR, and established a new government under Compaoré. Compaoré’s successor regime survived for twenty-seven years, to a significant extent because of its ruthlessness.4 Despite the adoption in the early 1990s of a formal multiparty electoral system, the government remained semi-authoritarian. Repression was directed against anyone who remained loyal to Sankara’s revolutionary heritage; potential rivals within the new ruling circles (several of whom were assassinated or summarily executed); leaders of emergent opposition parties; and independent journalists, student leaders, or other activists who dared question the regime’s rights violations and increasingly evident corruption. Although Compaoré fashioned a dominant electoral machine called the Congress for Democracy and Progress (CDP), considerable power remained in military hands—but selectively. Given his own background, Compaoré was well aware of the risk of military conspiracies, so he kept the army high command divided, as his intelligence agents actively ferreted out any hint of dissension. Most central to Compaoré’s control was the twelve-hundredmember elite Presidential Security Regiment (RSP), created in 1996 by

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Colonel (later general) Gilbert Diendéré, the president’s closest military aide since the 1987 coup. The regiment was formally part of the army but served exclusively to protect Compaoré, his family, and in practice their various political and business interests. As such, the RSP was at the center of the regime’s most notorious acts of repression, such as the 1998 assassination of independent journalist Norbert Zongo, a role highlighted by an independent commission of inquiry.5 It also became enmeshed in various corruption scandals, in part to help cover them up, but for some officers, also to share in the illicit spoils. Those affairs extended beyond Burkina Faso’s own borders. For more than a decade, from the early 1990s through the early 2000s, the regime covertly supported a variety of insurgent groups in Angola, Côte d’Ivoire, Liberia, and Sierra Leone. In exchange for Burkinabè help in arranging arms shipments, the rebels often funneled diamonds and cash from illicit timber, cocoa, and other smuggling operations to key members of the regime and armed forces. Many of those transactions violated United Nations (UN) embargoes. Various UN investigative panels provided details of how politically connected individuals personally profited, and one, on Sierra Leone, specifically found Diendéré’s signature on an arms transshipment document.6 Later, when a variety of ethnic separatist and Islamist rebel groups were becoming more active in Mali and other countries of the Sahel, Diendéré established close contacts with some of their leaders, permitted them to open offices in Ouagadougou, and facilitated the payment of ransoms for the release of European hostages (in exchange for a percentage cut, according to unverified reports). At a time when terrorist attacks were hitting targets in Mali, Mauritania, and Niger, Burkina Faso was spared. According to some analysts, that reflected the existence of a tacit “nonaggression pact” between the Compaoré government and the regional insurgent forces. Such informal and often illicit connections twisted the orientation of Burkina Faso’s security and intelligence networks. Rather than protecting national interests, they served to profit members of the presidential family, their political and business cronies, and selected military officers. In the process, they also soured relations between the ranks of the armed forces and the officer corps, part of which had also become seriously corrupted. The depth of the disillusionment and disarray within the army, gendarmerie, and even the RSP itself erupted into the open in a dramatic series of mutinies across many garrisons in 2011.7 Those mutinies and accompanying popular protests by workers, students, and other citizens signaled an accelerated erosion of the regime’s cohesion and control. Provoked by an attempt to unconstitutionally extend Compaoré’s presidential mandate, unprecedented public protests unfolded over many



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months in 2013 and 2014. Despite the killing of numerous protesters, that upsurge culminated in a veritable insurrection during the last two days of October 2014. Compaoré fled the country, and a transitional regime of civilians and military figures came to power, with a mandate to prepare democratic elections. Before those could take place, a faction of the RSP, headed by Diendéré, tried to seize power in September 2015. But the attempt was defeated by widespread popular resistance, including by junior officers who succeeded in mobilizing the rest of the army against the putsch. The ring leaders were imprisoned, and the RSP itself was dissolved, with most of its troops reintegrated into other military regiments. By that November, democratic elections could be held, ushering in a new, post-authoritarian era for Burkina Faso.8 REFORM AND REORGANIZATION The installation of the new democratically elected government, after years of authoritarianism, opened the way for major reforms in the country’s state system, including its military, police, and intelligence services. The RSP’s abortive coup attempt, followed by scattered attacks by ex-RSP troops, made the need for such reforms glaringly obvious, an urgency soon reinforced by the first notable jihadist attacks. The initial steps involved removing especially corrupt and unreliable officers. President Kaboré, who also headed the Ministry of Defense, moved cautiously so as to avoid serious command disruptions or even a backlash. Some officers were retired early or given diplomatic postings to get them out of the country. Younger officers, some with greater field experience (in peacekeeping missions in Mali, for example), were promoted to senior command positions. The biggest problem was the army’s disorganization, a legacy of the previous regime’s efforts to keep it divided and at odds. The different security components still did not communicate well with each other. The intelligence agencies remained fragmented, and the most experienced network, previously linked to the RSP, was still reeling from the regiment’s dissolution. In the border zones of the north and east, where insurgents were most active, there was only limited cooperation from local villagers. Some feared jihadist reprisals if they supplied information to the authorities. Others feared the army itself, since soldiers from elsewhere in the country often regarded local residents as insurgent collaborators, subjecting them to harsh reprisals. Even before President Kaboré’s inauguration, the previous transitional government had formed a military reform commission in the wake of the RSP’s dissolution to consider how to reorganize the army. Those efforts

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continued under the newly elected government. From the few details that reached the public realm, it appeared that some reforms sought to establish clearer and more precise roles for the different command structures of the army, gendarmerie, and national police, and to improve communications and coordination among them. More publicly, there also were changes to improve the civilian government’s institutional supremacy over the security forces. Toward that end, Kaboré pledged to no longer appoint active-duty officers to his cabinet, although he made an exception in 2021 when he named a gendarme general as minister of defense. Limited security capacity was also a problem. Confronted by numerous insurgent attacks on widely scattered fronts, the military simply had too few personnel: just over eleven thousand soldiers and gendarmes combined. Because of poor roads and inadequate transport, troops could not move quickly into remote border regions against bands of highly mobile guerrillas. The air force was ill suited for surveillance or other ground support. Finally, after years of only modest increases in security spending, the 2019 budget allocated 28 percent more for the military, gendarmerie, and police, making it possible not only to recruit more uniformed personnel, but also to acquire more weapons, transportation, and training appropriate for counterinsurgency operations.9 In June 2021, President Kaboré publicly revealed that a new “special forces” unit had been established three years earlier to carry out strategic missions “outside the framework of conventional operations.”10 By that point, some sixteen hundred troops had already undergone the rigors of strenuous counterinsurgency training designed to enable them to live off the land and operate in the kind of desert terrain or dense forests favored by the insurgents.11 Alongside those wider security reforms, the country’s intelligence services were slated for a major overhaul as well. The first step in their restructuring began during the final months of the transitional regime. Just a few weeks after the defeat of the RSP’s coup attempt, the transitional authorities created the National Intelligence Agency (Agence nationale de renseignement, ANR) to oversee the work of different intelligence services. When President Kaboré came into office, he then strongly embraced the new ANR, hoping that it would help coordinate and speed the flow of essential information to enable the security forces to respond more quickly to jihadist attacks. The ANR’s first days were marred by leadership stumbles, however. Colonel Auguste Denise Barry, a minister of security under both Compaoré and the transitional government, was initially floated as its likely head. But Barry had not yet taken up his post when he fell politically suspect and was dropped. Then in March 2016 the government appointed a trusted friend of the president, Colonel François Ouédraogo of the gendarmes, as director-general of the ANR.12



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Even then, it did not appear that the agency immediately found its feet, although the secrecy that usually surrounds intelligence matters made it difficult to confidently assess the extent of progress. As of 2017, an anonymous security official remarked to researchers for the International Crisis Group, a Brussels-based think tank, that the ANR was a “big machine [that] has not really got off the ground yet.”13 The following year, to help get the ANR up and functioning, the legislature voted to allocate 15 billion CFA francs (US$26 million) specifically for the agency’s operations (by comparison, the total defense and security budget for that year was 240 billion CFA francs, about US$424 million). Parallel to that ANR allocation, the National Assembly also adopted a law to better define the management of Burkina Faso’s overall intelligence sector, as well as the duties, scope, and interrelationship of its various entities.14 The kinds of intelligence covered included gathering information on terrorism; the financing of terrorism; and other criminal activities, including money laundering, drug trafficking, fraud, smuggling, and anything else that could threaten national security. Intelligence agents and agencies could collect such information within the country and abroad by monitoring suspects, infiltrating terrorist and criminal groups, receiving information from informants, intercepting electronic and other communications, and hacking computer systems. Overall management of the different components of the intelligence sector were to fall under the new National Intelligence Council. But the primary responsibility for coordinating all intelligence-gathering activities was assigned to the ANR to operate directly under the president’s office. In effect, the law placed the ANR above all other intelligence institutions, including those of the police, military, gendarmes, customs, and forestry service. Unlike the case under previous regimes, the law explicitly affirmed that the ANR and other intelligence services would conduct their activities in a way that would safeguard the rights and freedoms guaranteed under the constitution and, in general, serve to promote “the development of a democratic society.” Intelligence agents would be liable to sanction if they violated the law, but with care taken to maintain the secrecy of intelligence operations, personnel, and informants. Clément Sawadogo, the security minister at the time, underlined the significance of the law: “Today, intelligence is a fundamental factor in the security of populations, the stability of institutions, the very stability of nations. In order to organize intelligence, we need to have clear legal instruments, something we did not have before.”15 Just three months later the government created yet another piece of the security mosaic, the Special Investigation Brigade against Terrorism and Organized Crime (BSIAT). Under the Security Ministry, the BSIAT was essentially an arm of the judicial police, with investigative powers focused

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on terrorist and organized criminal activities.16 There was a logic to such a dual focus, since a number of the jihadist groups active in the Sahel long helped finance their activities through smuggling, the drug trade, human trafficking, extortion, and kidnapping for ransom. Drawing half its agents from the national police and half from the gendarmerie and working closely with military, police, and intelligence personnel, BSIAT agents were expected to conduct investigative and analytical work designed to help judicial prosecutors build solid legal cases against terrorist and criminal suspects.17 While much of the financing for the personnel and functioning of the ANR, BSIAT, and other intelligence-related entities came directly from relevant state budget lines, external donors also provided important aid. The ANR director-general, for example, sometimes traveled with the security minister to foreign capitals in search of funding, training, and equipment. The BSIAT benefited from French, German, Belgian, UN, and European Union assistance. Operational intelligence sharing was also a vital form of external assistance. Few details became public, but the central French intelligence agency, which is active throughout the Sahel, often provided to Burkina Faso’s ANR information on jihadist forces and other threats. So did the United States, which in 2019 was credited with intelligence support during a joint FrenchBurkinabè operation to free several European hostages. The United States also flew surveillance drones out of a base in neighboring Niger. Since jihadist attacks in Burkina Faso have been frequently mounted from across its borders, especially with Mali and Niger, the most important collaboration was with the country’s Sahelian neighbors. In 2014 the governments of Burkina Faso, Chad, Mali, Mauritania, and Niger created a coordination mechanism known as the Group of Five (G5) to address shared challenges, including terrorism, cross-border organized crime, and human trafficking. Three years later they launched a joint military force, intended to eventually number five thousand troops and be flexible enough to adapt to changing threats. Its initial operations were conducted in the “three borders” region (at the confluence of the frontiers of Burkina Faso, Mali, and Niger), where insurgents affiliated with both al-Qaeda and the Islamic State were especially active. Although a G5 regional intelligence cell was established in Niger, the sharing of intelligence among the five countries still remained quite embryonic years after the group’s formation.18 Nevertheless, the international police agency Interpol had plans to directly link all the Sahelian countries to Interpol’s data-sharing system and to develop “an intelligence model and [set] up a cross-country network of analysts.”19



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SOLID STEPS AND SOME STUMBLES At least in the urban centers, Burkina Faso’s strengthened military and intelligence capabilities made it significantly harder for insurgent groups to mount major operations. Following an especially bold attack on the French embassy and national army headquarters in Ouagadougou in early May 2018, the ANR and the intelligence services of the national police and gendarmes focused on tracking down the attackers’ accomplices and support networks. Acting on information they uncovered by questioning some thirty witnesses over the next two weeks, army and gendarme units descended on a residence on the capital’s edge. Three presumed jihadists and one soldier were killed in the ensuing firefight, and a large arsenal of arms was uncovered.20 An independent newspaper commentator characterized that operation as a “rehabilitation of the ANR, whose operationalization and effectiveness had been doubted by so many Burkinabè . . . [It was] good for the morale of the troops . . . and good for the morale of the people.”21 In the areas of the greatest jihadist activity in the north and east, military forces were often able to track fleeing attackers, uncover guerrilla camps, seize weapons caches, and even set ambushes in anticipation of insurgent movements, judging from the army’s weekly security operation bulletins. The bulletin for July 19–25, 2021, for example, reported that “several dozen terrorists were neutralized” in the forests of Madjoari in the Eastern Region “on the basis of detailed intelligence.”22 One can assume that many such army operations benefited from information supplied not only by the intelligence agencies but also by local informants. For many frontline commanders, there was little question about the value of developing local networks of informants who could supply prompt and reliable information about suspected insurgents in their villages or areas. As one Burkinabè researcher termed it, “collective intelligence” could be an important attribute of a nation’s overall security. Pursuing such an approach, he said, could “make Burkinabè communities intelligent entities . . . that work to understand their realities, those of their neighborhood and those of the world, in order to better protect their vital interests.”23 While many agreed on the importance of moving in the direction of such “collective intelligence,” there were two interrelated obstacles standing in the way of recruiting many local contacts willing to work with the security forces. Most obviously, there was fear of the jihadists, who routinely assassinated anyone suspected of collaborating with the state. If local government officials and teachers could not be protected, what fate could await an ordinary villager discovered sharing information with the authorities? Yet in numerous localities, there was also fear of the army itself, especially where

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villagers belonged to the same ethnic group from which insurgents drew many of their local recruits. Historically, Burkina Faso, unlike some of its neighbors, was not known for serious ethnic conflict.24 Nevertheless, in the northern provinces where the Mali-based insurgents made their first major incursions, many inhabitants are Peulh (as Fulani are called in Francophone West Africa). The region is also exceptionally poor, even by the standards of one of the poorest countries in Africa. With local villagers feeling neglected by the national authorities and few job prospects, some young Peulh joined the various jihadist factions. They initially fought with them in Mali but in late 2016 formed a new Burkinabè group called Ansarul Islam (“guardians of the faith”), which later affiliated with a regional alliance led by AQIM. After insurgents inflicted heavy losses against the Burkinabè army and local state personnel, regular troops—who mainly belonged to other ethnic groups—retaliated. They struck at insurgent forces when they could find them but also acted with suspicion and brutality against the predominantly Peulh civilian populations. International human rights groups documented scores of summary executions and some outright massacres conducted by army troops and pro-government vigilantes.25 Many Peulh villagers were also slaughtered during insurgent attacks and for that reason should have been open to working with the security forces, but the army and vigilante atrocities hampered movement in that direction. In early 2020 the legislature approved a government bill to establish a new force of local citizens to assist the regular armed forces. Called Homeland Defense Volunteers (VDPs), they received rudimentary training in arms, communication, and surveillance and operated under the direct command of regular army officers, mainly in areas most vulnerable to insurgent attack. Although initial recruitment was uneven, some Peulh eventually joined the ranks of the VDPs. The volunteers engaged directly in counterinsurgency operations, and many gave their lives in the process. But their most valuable contribution was conducting routine patrols, alerting the security forces to the presence of landmines, and observing and reporting on the movement of unfamiliar individuals. CONCLUSION Burkina Faso is still far from an ideal system of “collective intelligence.” Not just locally, but also at the national level, citizen distrust of the authorities remains a stubborn problem, limiting people’s willingness to share information. Partly as a legacy of the long era of military rule and authoritarianism, and



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partly because of ongoing misconduct, many Burkinabè remain wary of those in uniform. Nor do the elected civilian leaders inspire much public confidence, given recurrent corruption scandals, limited attention to people’s basic grievances, and the inability of decentralized local government bodies to bridge the gap between ordinary people and those in power. Improvements in governance across the board would thus be essential for creating a political environment conducive to citizen support for security and intelligence activities. In those areas of the north and east most plagued by the insurgency, additional reforms are needed, above all to expand the presence and mobility of the armed forces so that they can better protect local communities; allow displaced people to return to their homes; restore educational, health, and other vital services; and boost investments in local economic development. The establishment of the VDPs to assist the regular armed forces was a modest step in that direction. Community mediators, traditional chiefs, and respected religious figures have conducted important work in combating ethnic tensions and stigmatization. Prosecution of soldiers, vigilantes, and others responsible for ethnic killings would likewise encourage more local inhabitants to provide the authorities with whatever information they might have about security threats. More input from below would in turn enable the national intelligence agencies, especially the ANR, to collate more accurate and larger amounts of data about the activities of local insurgents, smugglers, criminal gangs, and other sources of insecurity. Much remains to be done to reform the various security and intelligence services, strengthen civilian oversight of their operations, and improve coordination and information sharing. No single measure could achieve that, and the process would be prolonged. “An intelligence network,” President Kaboré commented, “is not something that can be established in one year.”26 Whatever the inconsistencies, mistakes, and obstacles, the broad trajectory of Burkina Faso’s recent security and intelligence efforts has been away from a narrow preoccupation with protecting only those at the top and toward a wider concern with safeguarding the citizenry and the interests of the nation as a whole. NOTES 1.  “Attaques terroristes au Burkina: Bâtir désormais une stratégie offensive” [Terrorist attacks in Burkina: From now on, build an offensive strategy], Le Pays (Ouagadougou), January 19, 2016. 2.  Frédéric Guirma, Comment perdre le pouvoir? Le cas de Maurice Yaméogo [How to lose power: The case of Maurice Yaméogo] (Paris: Editions Chaka, 1991).

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 3. Ernest Harsch, Thomas Sankara: An African Revolutionary (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2014).  4. Ernest Harsch, Burkina Faso: A History of Power, Protest and Revolution (London: Zed Books, 2017).  5. Rapport sur la cause de la mort des occupants du véhicule de marque Toyota Land Cruiser . . . dont le journaliste Norbert Zongo [Report on the cause of death of the occupants of the Toyota Land Cruiser . . . including the journalist Norbert Zongo] (Ouagadougou: Independent Commission of Inquiry, May 6, 1999).  6. Report of the Panel of Experts Appointed Pursuant to UN Security Council Resolution 1306 (2000), Paragraph 19 in Relation to Sierra Leone, S/2000/1195 (New York: United Nations, December 20, 2000).  7. Lila Chouli, Burkina Faso 2011: Chronique d’un mouvement social [Burkina Faso 2011: Chronicle of a social movement] (Lyon: Tahin Party, 2012).  8. Harsch, Burkina Faso; and Bruno Jaffré, L’insurrection inachevée: Burkina Faso 2014 [The unfinished insurrection: Burkina Faso 2014] (Paris: Editions Syllepse, 2019).   9.  “Loi de finances 2019: Priorité à la sécurité et à la défense” [2019 finance law: Priority to security and defense], Sidwaya (Ouagadougou), December 19, 2018. 10.  “Création des Forces spéciales” [Special Forces created], Le Pays, June 18–20, 2021. 11.  “Au Sahel, l’esprit commando” [Commando spirit in the Sahel], Le Monde, June 16, 2021. 12.  Alex Thurston, Escalating Conflicts in Burkina Faso (Berlin: Rosa Luxemburg Stiftung West Africa, 2019), 21. 13.  The Social Roots of Jihadist Violence in Burkina Faso’s North, Africa Report no. 254 (Brussels: International Crisis Group, October 12, 2017), 13. 14.  “Loi No. 026-2018/AN portant règlementation générale du renseignement au Burkina Faso” [Law No. 026-2018/AN on the general regulation of intelligence in Burkina Faso] (Ouagadougou: National Assembly, June 1, 2018). 15.  “Renseignement au Burkina: L’Assemblée nationale adopte une nouvelle loi pour renforcer l’efficacité du système” [Intelligence in Burkina: The National Assembly adopts a new law to strengthen the system’s efficiency], LeFaso.net (Ouagadougou), June 4, 2018. 16.  “Conseil des ministres du mercredi 19 septembre 2018” [Council of Ministers of Wednesday, September 19, 2018], LeFaso.net, September 19, 2018. 17.  Appui à la composante Police-G5 Sahel [Support for the Sahel G5 police component] (Ouagadougou: Ministry of Security, 2020). 18.  Towards a Criminal Intelligence System for the G5 Sahel (Vienna: UN Office on Drugs and Crime, December 12, 2019); and Lawrence Cline, “Trying to Coordinate Force in the Sahel: The G5 Sahel,” Small Wars Journal, 2020. 19.  Cline, “Trying to Coordinate Force in the Sahel.” 20.  “Démantèlement d’une cellule terroriste à Rayongo” [Dismantling of a terrorist cell in Rayongo], Le Pays, May 23, 2018. 21.  “Démantèlement réseau terroriste: C’est bon pour le moral” [Dismantling a terrorist network: It’s good for morale], L’Observateur Paalga, May 23, 2018.



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22.  “Zone de Madjoari: L’Epervier’ tue plusieurs dizaines de terroristes” [Madjoari zone: Operation Sparrowhawk kills several dozen terrorists], L’Observateur Paalga, July 27, 2021. 23.  Jérémie Yisso Bationo, “Construire le pays sur le socle de l’intelligence collective” [To build the country on the basis of collective intelligence], Sidwaya, March 10, 2021. 24.  Ernest Harsch, “Revolution and Nation-Building in Burkina Faso,” in Beyond Nationalism and the Nation-State: Radical Approaches to Nation, ed. llker Corut and Joost Jongerden (London: Routledge, forthcoming). 25.  “We Found Their Bodies Later That Day”: Atrocities by Armed Islamists and Security Forces in Burkina Faso’s Sahel Region (New York: Human Rights Watch, March 2019); Burkina Faso: Des témoignages d’habitants indiquent des exécutions de masse [Burkina Faso: Inhabitants’ testimonies point to mass executions] (Bamako: Human Rights Watch, July 8, 2020). 26.  “Etre chef ce n’est pas terroriser les gens” [Being a leader is not about terrorizing people], Sidwaya, January 4, 2017.

6 Burundi Intelligence Culture in Troubled Political Waters Jude Kagoro

This chapter explores the intelligence culture in Burundi and offers an em-

pirical and nuanced understanding of intelligence cultures in the context of a sub-Saharan African country characterized by continuous episodes of political violence.1 Burundi is a small landlocked country located in the heart of the Great Lakes region of Africa. Since gaining independence from the Belgians in 1962, it has experienced repetitive political turmoil, including ethnically charged civil wars, multiple episodes of genocide, military dictatorships, and several coups d’état. The country’s political landscape is marked by sharp ethnic divisions between the majority Hutu and minority Tutsi. Security agencies in Burundi, as elsewhere in Africa, have their origins in European colonial history. The logic of colonial intelligence was to support regime protection by enhancing colonial state control. Colonial powers established a security architecture to predominantly sustain power over their colonies. The postindependence ruling elites in Burundi inherited these institutions and reordered them to continue serving as political instruments.2 Burundi’s intelligence services have to a large extent emerged in the context of imposed postcolonial legal frameworks. Unlike its colonial master, Belgium, which has a long-standing tradition of intelligence services whose history stretches back to 1830, Burundi’s intelligence services are a recent creation.3 The present-day intelligence agency, the National Intelligence Service (Service National de Renseignement, SNR), was established in 2006, replacing the National Documentation (Documentation Nationale), which had been put in place in 1984. Since 2000, Burundi’s political framework has been premised on the Arusha Peace and Reconciliation Agreement, which ended a twelve-year civil war that claimed the lives of 300,000 people. Despite the peace agreement, however, the military; the 69

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police; the intelligence agency; and the ruling party, the National Council for the Defense of Democracy-Forces for the Defense of Democracy’s (CNDDFDD)’s youth militia, known as the Imbonerakure, continue to be instrumentalized to orchestrate political violence against the opposition.4 Security forces in general and intelligence services in particular are seemingly the most critical element upon which political power is anchored. The SNR runs its own detention facilities and is dominated by agents drawn from the former rebel group cum ruling party, the CNDD-FDD. The chapter finds that Burundi intelligence’s culture is marked by supporting regime security at any cost, lacks democratic or public oversight, and is intertwined with the ruling party. This chapter proceeds as follows. It provides a short overview of Burundi’s history, specifically the postcolonial mayhem. Then major aspects of the Arusha Peace Agreement and Pretoria Protocol regarding security forces and the subsequent political crisis especially after 2015 are discussed. Thereafter, the chapter turns to the intelligence services. Here, the SNR’s regime security constellations and its intimate connection with the CNDD-FDD youth militia, the Imbonerakure, are explored. The chapter further examines SNR’s surveillance-from-below tactics and its support of the CNDD-FDD party during elections. It then highlights the SNR’s role in the Burundi–Rwanda rivalry before providing a conclusion with a summary of the arguments. HISTORICAL FRAMEWORK Like many other African countries, the root causes of Burundi’s political turmoil can be traced back to divisive practices introduced during colonialism and the subsequent perpetuation of these by postcolonial politico-military elites. It seems that during the precolonial period the kingdom of Burundi was relatively well structured, with power in the hands of a secular monarchy whose authority faced limited contestation.5 Toward the end of the nineteenth century Burundi was merged with the kingdom of Rwanda, becoming Ruanda-Urundi under the Germany colonial scheme until the end of the First World War, when it became the Belgian colony.6 Between 1928 and 1934, the Belgians introduced far-reaching administrative reforms that favored the Tutsis, who were considered superior aristocrats, at the expense of the majority Hutus.7 By 1945 the proportion of Hutu chiefs declined from 20 percent in 1929 to 0 percent.8 The divisive political setup spilled over into postcolonial Burundi, with devastating consequences. Following independence in 1962, the country experienced four successful military coups (1966, 1976, 1987, and 1996), four failed coup attempts



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(1965, 1993, 2001, and 2015), and several interludes of civil war.9 Before 1993, all the presidents were from the minority Tutsi, and the country’s first Hutu president, Melchior Ndadaye, who was elected that year, was assassinated by elements in the Tutsi-dominated army four months after taking power. 10 His successor, Cyprien Ntaryamira, died in a plane crash together with Rwandan president Juvenal Habyarimana, six months after taking over. In 1996, Sylvestre Ntibantunganya, who had replaced Ntaryamira, was deposed through a coup led by Pierre Buyoya.11 Meanwhile, the civil war that had started in 1993 was raging on as extremists exploited ethnicity to mobilize support.12 In 2000, in the Tanzanian town of Arusha, nineteen parties to the Burundi conflict signed the Arusha Peace and Reconciliation Agreement, which entered into force in November 2001. The negotiations brought together participants from a large spectrum, including political parties, civil society, the army, the government, and the international community.13 Although conflict continued until 2006 when the last Hutu rebel group, the National Liberation Forces (FNL), signed a peace agreement with the government, the peace accord became one of the first steps to a formal and legal end to the war.14 This political settlement was radical in the sense that it brought an end to the domination of Burundi’s politics by the Tutsi elite since the 1930s.15 The Arusha peace agreement emphasized the need for the security forces to be politically neutral and representative of the entire population.16 The agreement stipulated that the police and the military cannot draw more than 50 percent of their members from any one ethnic group.17 Though by 2014 the army had largely met the ethnic quotas, the quotas in the police force, which is comprised of 75 percent former rebels, remain incomplete.18 The SNR, however, is exempted from the requirement for ethnic quotas.19 Between 2002 and 2006, a series of cease-fire agreements referred to as the Pretoria Protocol were reached. Notably, the Pretoria Protocol on Political, Defence and Security Power Sharing, signed in 2003, detailed how posts in the security forces would be shared.20 In the course of the negotiations, political power changed hands several times until 2005, when former CNDD-FDD rebel leader Pierre Nkurunziza took over as president following an overwhelming electoral victory.21 In what has been termed “the dangerous third term,” Burundi went into crisis after Nkurunziza forced his way into running for president in 2015. This happened despite the parliament voting against the modification of article 302 of the constitution, which prevented him from running.22 Several anti–third term demonstrations were held, and the security forces responded with excessive brutality.23 Amid the violence, General Godefroid Niyombare staged a coup against Nkurunziza in May 2015 that failed following two days of fight-

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ing. The 2015 crisis led to increased repression, political assassinations, and mass arrests by the security forces.24 About twelve hundred people died and more than 400,000 citizens fled into refugee camps.25 In June 2020, Nkurunziza died shortly before he was to hand over power to his anointed successor and former secretary general of the CNDD-FDD, Évariste Ndayishimiye, whom he had helped win the election in May the same year. INTELLIGENCE SERVICES Before 1984 there was no stand-alone agency designated for intelligence services, as the military, the police, and the gendarmerie executed all the security roles. The precursor to the SNR, popularly known as the National Documentation, was established by Decree No. 100/90 and Decree No. 100/91 of July 14, 1984. Article 245 of the 2005 Burundi constitution is devoted to defense and security institutions.26 The constitution established the National Defense Forces (FDN), which is tasked to secure the sovereignty of Burundi and protect it from external threats. The National Police of Burundi (PNB) is responsible for maintaining law and order within Burundi, and the SNR is responsible for collecting, managing, analyzing, and utilizing intelligence data for national security. The SNR was established in 2006 and is headed by a general administrator and a deputy general administrator; both have the rank of minister and are nominated by the president with the approval of the Senate. The general administrator reports directly to the president.27 SNR’s individual agents report both to the SNR hierarchy and the public prosecutor. The agents are empowered to investigate crimes, submit evidence to prosecutors, make arrests, and execute the warrants of the prosecutor. The SNR is commonly referred to as the “presidential police” because of its close association with the presidency. The agency runs its own detention facilities separate from the police. Its operatives have no specific dress code and operate in civilian clothes or wear military or police uniforms.28 There is little information about the internal structure or chain of command, and the agency is largely impenetrable.29 The SNR is exempted from the ethnic quotas condition, which impacts its culture and composition. Protocol III, article 14 of the Arusha Peace and Reconciliation Agreement stipulates that the composition of the SNR shall maintain an element of confidentiality to preserve the secrecy of its operations.30 The SNR is predominantly composed of former rebels of the CNDDFDD of Hutu extraction and is one of the ruling party’s most trusted security apparatuses.31 The agency has maintained a problematic reputation and has



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been implicated in a series of human rights abuses.32 As in other Great Lakes region countries such as Uganda, Rwanda, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Burundi’s intelligence services are militarized and subject to limited democratic oversight.33 Burundi’s militarized postcolonial history seems to have soiled the environment required to develop a professional intelligence agency serving the public interest.34 The SNR’s mission is mainly focused on combating threats against the ruling establishment.35 Its structures are present in all nineteen provinces of Burundi and can seemingly follow suspected regime opponents from province to province and district to district, as well as maintaining an awareness of people returning or leaving the country.36 There is a general perception among the population that the agency has an extensive reach and permeates all levels of society. This perception has created a general climate of mistrust, as people think that their next-door neighbors can betray them to the SNR. In addition to regular staff, the SNR utilizes Imbonerakure militia members to collect information and to surveil suspected regime opponents across the country.37 Soon after its establishment in 2006, the SNR vigorously engaged in activities it claimed were necessary to counter threats from the FNL rebels, the last armed rebel groups opposed to the government. The agency tortured and killed some of the suspected FNL members.38 The SNR was also responsible for the waves of political violence. In 2007 and 2008 several politicians were reportedly targeted by the SNR, including grenade attacks on the homes of three members of parliament who were among those that requested protection from United Nations (UN) secretarygeneral Ban Ki-Moon.39 Human Rights Watch (HRW) has documented numerous allegations of extrajudicial killing, torture, and arbitrary detention of suspected opposition supporters by the SNR, sometimes in collaboration with the National Police.40 The agency cooperates closely with the Police Responsible for Airspace Surveillance, Border Control and Registration of Foreigners (Police de l’air, des frontières et des étrangers, PAFE).41 The PAFE furnishes the SNR with names of individuals applying for travel documents and of those who cross the border. The service also keeps a close watch on displaced persons’ camps within the country. SNR agents and informers often stealthily mingle with suspected opponents of the regime across the country.42 In 2018 the British Broadcasting Cooperation (BBC) investigated allegations that the SNR had been running a secret killing house in Bujumbura where anti-government activists had been detained illegally, tortured, and killed.43 In response, the government banned the BBC in Burundi. In the same period, Burundi authorities accused Voice of America (VOA) of employing

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a journalist who at the time was wanted for participating in violence that preceded the 2015 attempted coup.44 There are limited mechanisms for parliamentary oversight of the SNR, and civil society organizations have limited access, if any, to the SNR.45 Equally, the media have been incapacitated by restrictive laws and cannot ably perform the watchdog function.46 Moreover, since 2015 several journalists have been detained and intimidated by the SNR, the police, and the Imbonerakure.47 The National Security Council was established in 2008, three years later than it was supposed to be put in place. It is supposedly meant to play a consultative role. Council members are appointed by the president and are supposed to furnish the executive with recommendations on matters of security policy, security strategy, defense, and law.48 However, the council has faced some challenges given that its chair was the immediate former president, Pierre Nkurunziza, and its annual reports were received by him.49 In 2019, the Burundi parliament analyzed draft Law No. 1/05 of March 2, 2006, on the status of staff of the SNR, and 109 of the 110 deputies voted for its amendment. Some of the act’s major changes are to restore the SNR’s image and to improve citizens’ confidence in the agency.50 THE IMBONERAKURE-SNR NEXUS The Imbonerakure, a Kirundi word meaning “those who see far,” is the youth militia wing of the ruling CNDD-FDD party. This militia group emerged in 2010 from former fighters of the CNDD-FDD that were demobilized.51 Many in Burundi and human rights groups describe the group as “armed, murderous, militarized, partisan, powerful, unaccountable, uneducated.”52 In early April 2014, the UN mission in Burundi reported that the Imbonerakure had been supplied with both weapons and uniforms of the police and the military. Several perceived political opponents, including human rights defenders, have often fallen victim to the large-scale excesses of the Imbonerakure.53 In 2019, the special adviser to the UN secretary-general on conflict prevention told the Security Council that many Burundians live in fear because of this militia.54 Following the 2015 political crisis, the Imbonerakure were increasingly involved in espionage. Reports revealed that its members go to the refugee camps in Rwanda posing as asylum seekers while they collect intelligence and forward reports to the SNR and the police.55 During the anti–third term demonstrations, the SNR relied on the Imbonerakure to identify the houses of demonstrators before executing arrests.56 At the same time, the government officially deployed a section of the Imbonerakure to supplement the



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regular forces, participating in the oppression of all those considered hostile to the government. Many were formally integrated into the security forces, including the SNR. The militia is predominantly Hutu and is often used to disseminate the pro-Hutu ideology of the ruling CNDD-FDD.57 Thus, the Imbonerakure are a backup organization to the security forces, dominate local security committees, and are used for repression across the country, especially in rural areas.58 Together with the SNR, the militia spy on military officers, especially the Tutsi, who are suspected of being sympathetic to the opposition.59 SURVEILLANCE FROM BELOW: THE HOUSEHOLD BOOKS In 2016 the government issued an order that mobile phone operators in Burundi cannot provide more than one SIM card to a single subscriber without the approval of the Agency of Regulation and Control of Telecommunication (Agence de Régulation et de Contrôle des Télécommunications).60 This order targeted many Burundians who used several SIM cards to evade perceived phone tapping by the SNR.61 Following the 2015 crisis, surveillance in private homes was bolstered by the introduction of the household books.62 The intelligence service relies on these books to monitor people’s movements, and sometimes to instigate arbitrary arrests.63 Each family head has to register the names of the persons living under their roof, including visitors, by recording their identity card numbers, date and place of birth, profession. and telephone number, and then hand in the book to the head of the district. Officially this information is procured for administrative purposes, but in practice the books have been turned into an instrument of repression and surveillance. Any person leaving their district, commune, or province is under the obligation to indicate this fact in the book.64 The presence in a home of a person whose name is not in the book is deemed sufficient grounds for an arrest.65 Before 2018, families could buy any notebook from any store, but that changed when the government introduced official household books. In 2020, the city of Bujumbura introduced a new family registration book equipped with a QR code for scanning purposes. THE SNR’S CHARACTER DURING ELECTION CAMPAIGNS In the run-up to the 2010 elections, the first general election since the SNR had been established, the agency was one of the major organs used in the

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distribution of bribes to facilitate the opposition’s fragmentation.66 The SNR went on to play a profound role in helping Nkurunziza win the contentious 2015 election. Subsequently, in December 2017, Burundi authorities issued a decree that required citizens to contribute funds for the 2020 election.67 Local officials and Imbonerakure—supported by the security forces including the SNR—set up roadblocks to check receipts and restricted access to markets, schools, water pumps, and administrative services for those who failed to comply with the decree.68 Citizens were also forced to donate money for the construction of CNDD-FDD’s local offices.69 For the 2020 election, Nkurunziza handpicked an heir, retired army general Evariste Ndayishimiye. He won the election with the help of the security forces, who were actively involved in killings, arbitrary arrests, and voter intimidation during the campaign.70 The new president is alleged to have sanctioned commitment of crimes against humanity during the 2015 crisis and at the time of the election was still being investigated by the UN and the International Criminal Court.71 In some rural locations, the Imbonerakure entered polling stations, where they harassed voters as election officials and the police turned a blind eye.72 In contrast to the previous election, the geographical layout of violence shifted from urban centers to the countryside, an indication that the opposition had gained support in rural areas hitherto dominated by CNDD-FDD.73 Both the CNDD-FDD and main opposition were led by former Hutu rebels and seemed to compete for a similar demographic of the voting population.74 THE BURUNDI-RWANDA RIVALRY When Nkurunziza ran for president in the 2005 election, he received substantial financial support from the Rwandan president, Paul Kagame.75 However, the relationship between the two soured in 2013 on the grounds that Burundi was a safe haven for groups that were hostile to Kagame. Between 2013 and 2020 there were several border skirmishes involving armed men who attacked Rwanda from Burundi.76 The attacks included torching passenger vehicles, and the June 2020 clashes involved more than one hundred armed men attacking the Rwanda Defense Forces (RDF) position near the Burundi border. Some attackers were killed while others retreated into Burundi. According to Rwanda, the military weapons captured had the Burundian army inscriptions.77 Some UN reports have blamed Burundi for training and providing logistical support to Rwandan rebels.78 In fact, top SNR officials were identified by the UN’s Group of Experts on the Democratic Republic of the Congo as



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maintaining relationships with the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda (FDLR), a Hutu rebel movement accused of perpetrating the 1994 genocide in Rwanda and facilitating the smuggling of illicit gold into Burundi.79 In 2016, Rwanda expelled about 1,700 Burundians, accusing some of espionage and fueling tensions between the two neighbors whose relations had been further strained by Burundi’s political crisis in 2015.80 Similarly, Burundi has repeatedly accused Rwanda of interfering in its political crisis. Kagame was explicitly critical of Nkurunziza’s bid to stay in power beyond his mandate, and various opponents of Nkurunziza were openly received in Rwanda.81 In 2016 the SNR arrested an alleged Rwandan spy who, according to the SNR, had previously entered Burundi in May and November 2015, to help the plotters of a failed coup to escape and to organize attacks on high-profile Burundians, respectively. Burundi also deported two high-profile Rwandans, a manager of telecommunications company Econet and a top diplomat, accusing them of espionage and inciting protests in the 2015 crisis.82 Thousands of Rwandans who lived in Burundi fled the country when the SNR went on an arresting spree of Rwandans during the 2015 crisis.83 Since the death of Nkurunziza, the intelligence agencies of the two countries have held in-person, high-level meetings to discuss the tensions and the possibility of intelligence sharing.84 In March 2021 news surfaced that Burundi felt targeted by Rwanda, and the SNR hired a United Arab Emirates security systems specialist for technological help with counterintelligence.85 CONCLUSION This chapter shows that the political dynamics of a given country have a profound effect on an intelligence agency’s nature, role, and institutional growth.86 Political instability in Burundi has inhibited the growth of a professional intelligence agency. The frequent undemocratic regime changes have not enabled Burundi to systematically build an intelligence agency. Burundi’s stand-alone intelligence services are relatively young, and the prevailing SNR was only established in 2006, replacing the National Documentation, which had been put in place in 1984. Unlike many countries, Burundi’s intelligence officers are empowered to investigate crimes, submit evidence to prosecutors, make arrests, and execute the warrants of the prosecutor. Officially, the SNR has its own detention facilities, and its head reports directly to the president. In general, Burundi’s intelligence culture is associated with regime security and violent human rights abuses. The intelligence services are particularly structured to provide regime security for the ruling CNDD-FDD party.

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The CNDD-FDD, meanwhile, has taken advantage of the ethnic quotas exemption for the SNR to fill the organ with its former rebel fighters, who are mostly Hutu. The SNR works closely with the Imbonerakure and some units in the police to curtail opposition activities, especially when political stakes are high, such as during elections. Apart from SNR’s active role in the rivalry between Burundi and Rwanda, the agency is preoccupied with domestic politics and security. This chapter offered a glimpse into how intelligence agencies in countries imbued with continuous political instability and limited democratic practices operate. This contribution is the first attempt to specifically deconstruct Burundi’s intelligence culture and sheds a valuable light on an understudied subject. It is hoped this analysis provides a springboard to understanding intelligence cultures in other countries with similar political constellations, especially in sub-Saharan African. NOTES   1.  I acknowledge the German Research Foundation, which funds my research activities. For this article I acknowledge our student assistant, Nino Manizhashvili, for digging up literature and translating texts written in French.   2.  Andrew Agaba and David Pulkol, “The General Performance and Systems of Intelligence Bodies in the Great Lakes Region,” in Changing Intelligence Dynamics in Africa, ed. Sandy Africa and Johnny Kwadjo (Birmingham, UK: GFN-SSR and ASSN, 2009), 126–131.   3.  Cf. Dirk Van Daele, “Belgium: A Modern Legal and Policy Framework for Intelligence Services with a Long Tradition,” in Handbook of European Intelligence Cultures, ed. Bob De Graaff and James M. Nyce (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2016), 29–40.  4. Nina Wilén, David Ambrosetti, and Gérard Birantamije, “Sending Peacekeepers Abroad: Burundian in Somalia,” Journal of Eastern African Studies 9, no. 2 (2015): 5.   5.  Janvier D. Nkurunziza, The Origin and Persistence of State Fragility in Burundi (Geneva: United Nations Conference on Trade and Development, 2018), 7.  6. Ibid.  7. Ibid.  8. Filip Reyntjens, Burundi: Prospects for Peace (London: Minority Rights Group International, 2000).  9. Ibid., 7–8. 10. Stephen R. Weissman, Preventing Genocide in Burundi (Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace, 1998), 6. 11. Richard Barltrop, The Negotiation of Security Issues in the Burundi Peace Talks: Country Study (London: Paul Green Printing, 2008), 10.



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12. Ibid. 13. Nkurunziza, Origin and Persistence,7. 14.  Wilén, Ambrosetti, and Birantamije, Sending Peacekeepers, 5. 15. Nkurunziza, The Origin and Persistence, 9. 16.  Arusha Peace and Reconciliation Agreement for Burundi, 2000. 17. Barltrop, Negotiation of Security Issues, 10. 18.  Bertelsmann Stiftung (BTI), Country Report: Burundi (2020), 7. 19.  Arusha Peace and Reconciliation Agreement for Burundi, Protocol III, article 14. 20. Barltrop, Negotiation of Security Issues, 17. 21.  Ibid., 10. 22.  International Crisis Group, Burundi: A Dangerous Third Term (Brussels: International Criss Group, 2016). 23. UN Security Council, Report of the Secretary-General on the Election in Burundi: Electoral Observation Mission in Burundi (July 2015), https://documents -dds-ny.un.org/doc/UNDOC/GEN/N15/204/56/PDF/N1520456.pdf. 24.  Report of the Delegation of the African Commission on Human and People’s Rights on Its Fact-Finding Mission to Burundi (African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights, December 7–13, 2015). 25.  OHCHR, Statement by Zeid Ra’ad Al Hussein, United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, on the Situation in Burundi, June 29, 2016. 26.  Burundi Constitution 2005, article 245. 27.  “‘We Flee When We See Them’: Abuses with Impunity at the National Intelligence Service in Burundi,” Human Rights Watch, October 2006, https://www .refworld.org/docid/4565e1324.html. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid. 30. Ibid, 10. 31.  International Crisis Group, Burundi, 2. 32.  Laurent Banal and Vincenza Scherrer, “OUNB and the Importance of Local Ownership: The Case of Burundi,” in Security Sector Reform and UN Integrated Missions: Experience from Burundi, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Haiti, and Kosovo, ed. Heiner Hänggi and Vincenza Scherrer (Geneva: Centre for the Democratic Control of Armed Forces, 2008). 33.  Agaba and Pulkol, General Performance and Systems, 143. 34.  Ibid., 126. 35.  Overseas Security Advisory Council, Burundi 2020 Crime & Safety Report (US Department of State, Bureau of Diplomatic Security, 2020), https://www.osac.gov /Country/Burundi/Content/Detail/Report/71799892-4d38-4f68-8b82-188007ca6e86. 36.  Repression and Genocidal Dynamics in Burundi (International Federation for Human Rights, 2016), https://www.refworld.org/docid/582b13124.html. 37.  Burundi: Missteps at a Crucial Moment (Human Rights Watch, 2005), 11, https://www.hrw.org/legacy/backgrounder/africa/burundi1105/burundi1105.pdf.

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38.  Stéphanie Pézard and Savannah de Tessières, Insecurity Is Also a War: An Assessment of Armed Violence in Burundi (Geneva: Geneva Declaration Secretariat, 2009), 18–19. 39.  “Burundi: Investigate Attacks on Opposition,” Human Rights Watch, March 11, 2008, https://www.hrw.org/news/2008/03/11/burundi-investigate-attacks -opposition. 40.  “Burundi: Intelligence Services Torture Suspected Opponents,” Human Rights Watch, July 2016, https://www.hrw.org/news/2016/07/07/burundi-intelligence -services-torture-suspected-opponents. 41. Ibid. 42. Ibid. 43.  BBC Africa Eye, “Burundi: Inside the Secret Killing House,” BBC News, December 4, 2018, https://www.bbc.com/news/av/world-africa-46428073. 44.  Solomon Salem, “Burundi Extends Bans on VOA, BBC, Deepening Media Crackdown,” Voice of America News, March 29, 2019, https://www.voanews.com /africa/burundi-extends-bans-voa-bbc-deepening-media-crackdown. 45.  “We Flee When We See Them”; and 2016 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices—Burundi (US Department of State, 2017), https://www.refworld.org /docid/58ec8a6013.html. 46.  RFI Afrique, “Media: Burundian MPs Review Repressive Laws,” RFI, March 5, 2016, https://www.rfi.fr/fr/afrique/20150305-journalistes-burundais-protection -sources-liberte-presse-loi-medias. 47.  Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders on His Mission to Burundi (United Nations, 2015), https://digitallibrary.un.org /record/831458?ln=en. 48.  Security Sector Reform Monitor: Burundi (Waterloo: Centre for International Governance Innovation, 2010), 2. 49. Ibid. 50. “Burundi MPs Debate on the Re-organization of the National Intelligence Body,” Region Week, May 29, 2019, https://regionweek.com/burundi-mps-debate -on-the-re-organization-of-the-national-intelligence-body/. 51.  “Burundi: Intelligence Services Torture Suspected Opponents,” Human Rights Watch, July 2016, https://www.hrw.org/news/2016/07/07/burundi-intelligence -services-torture-suspected-opponents. 52. Ibid. 53.  Desire Nimubona, “Who Are the Imbonerakure and Is Burundi Unravelling?,” New Humanitarian, April 28, 2015. 54.  “Burundians Live in Fear, UN Special Adviser Tells Security Council,” UN News, March 9, 2017, https://news.un.org/en/audio/2017/03/624612. 55.  “Burundi: Intelligence Services.” 56. “‘Just Tell Me What to Confess To’: Torture and Other Ill-Treatment by Burundi’s Police and Intelligence Service since April 2015,” Amnesty International, August 2015, https://www.amnesty.org/download/Documents/AFR1622982015 ENGLISH.pdf.



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57.  André Guichaoua, “Burundi and Rwanda: A Rivalry That Lies at the Heart of Great Lakes Crises,” Conversation, August 15, 2016, https://theconversation.com /burundi-and-rwanda-a-rivalry-that-lies-at-the-heart-of-great-lakes-crises-63795. 58.  International Crisis Group, Burundi, 4. 59.  Ibid., 14. 60.  Joint Submission to the Universal Periodic Review of Burundi by Article 19, the Collaboration on ICT Policy in East and Southern Africa (CIPESA), the East Africa Law Society, the Pan African Lawyers Union (PALU), and the East and Horn of Africa Human Rights Defenders Project (Defend Defenders), June 2017, https:// www.refworld.org/docid/5954f8e94.html. 61. Ibid. 62. Dorine Niyungeko, “Household Notebooks: From the Files to the Bwiza Zone,” Les voix du Burundi, January 6, 2021, https://www.iwacu-burundi.org/cahiers -de-menage-des-files-indiennes-a-la-zone-de-bwiza/. 63. Ibid. 64. Pierre Benetti, “In Burundi, It’s Dangerous to Go to a Different Hill Than One’s Own,” Libération, June 20, 2016, https://www.liberation.fr/planete/2016/06/20 /au-burundi-c-est-dangereux-d-aller-sur-une-autre-colline-que-la-sienne_1460812/. 65. Ibid. 66.  Nadia Molenaers, Gervais Rufyikiri, and Stef Vandeginste, Burundi and Its Development Partners: Navigating the Turbulent Tides of Governance Setbacks (Institute of Development Policy, 2017), 10. 67. “Burundi: Elections ‘Levy’ Opens Door to Abuse,” Human Rights Watch, December 6, 2019, https://www.hrw.org/news/2019/12/06/burundi-elections-levy -opens-door-abuse. 68.  Maggie Fick, “Burundi Ruling Party Militia Forcing Citizens to Fund 2020 Vote: Rights Group,” Reuters, December 6, 2019, https://www.reuters.com/article /us-burundi-rights-idUSKBN1YA0FC. 69.  “Burundi Opposition Party Picks Agathon Rwasa to Run for President,” Al Jazeera, February 16, 2020, https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2020/2/16/burundi -opposition-party-picks-agathon-rwasa-to-run-for-president. 70.  Sewat Ladd, “Widespread Violence Rises ahead of Burundi’s 2020 Election,” Reliefweb, May 20, 2020, https://reliefweb.int/report/burundi/widespread-violence -rises-ahead-burundis-2020-election. 71.  “Burundi Opposition Party”; and Jo Griffin, “Not Just Where People Kill Each Other: The Man Hoping to Transform Burundi,” Guardian, March 10, 2020, https:// www.theguardian.com/global-development/2020/mar/10/on-a-mission-to-heal-the -man-with-a-plan-to-transform-burundi. 72.  “Burundi: Intimidation, Arrests during Elections,” Human Rights Watch, June 2020, https://www.hrw.org/news/2020/06/01/burundi-intimidation-arrests-during -elections. 73.  Ladd, “Widespread Violence Rises.” 74. Ibid. 75.  Guichaoua, “Burundi and Rwanda.”

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76. James Tasamba, “Rwanda, Burundi Intel Chiefs Meet to Diffuse Tensions: Sharing Intelligence Critical to Address Cross-Border Insecurity, Says Senior Rwandan Official,” Anadolu Agency, August 26, 2020, https://www.aa.com.tr/en/africa /rwanda-burundi-intel-chiefs-meet-to-diffuse-tensions/1954315#. 77. Ivan R. Mugisha, “Rwanda, Burundi Military Intelligence Chiefs Meet to Quell Tension,” East African, August 26, 2020, https://www.theeastafrican.co.ke/tea /news/east-africa/rwanda-burundi-military-intelligence-chiefs-meet-1926340. 78.  Julius Bizimungu, “Rwanda, Burundi Move to Restore Security Ties,” New Times, Kigali, August 27, 2020, https://www.newtimes.co.rw/news/rwanda-burundi -move-restore-security-ties. 79.  United Nations Security Council, Final Report of the Group of Experts on the Democratic Republic of the Congo (New York: UN, 2009), 36–37. 80.  Mugisha, “Rwanda, Burundi Military Intelligence.” 81.  Guichaoua, “Burundi and Rwanda.” 82.  Morgan Winsor, “Burundi Deports Rwandan National Accused of Spying after Rwanda’s President Criticizes Pierre Nkurunziza’s Third Term Bid,” International Business Times, May 14, 2015, https://www.ibtimes.com/burundi-deports-rwandan -national-accused-spying-after-rwandas-president-criticizes-1922320. 83.  AFP, “Burundi Parades Alleged Rwandan Spy,” AFP, March 13, 2016, https:// www.africanews.com/2016/03/13/burundi-parades-alleged-rwandan-spy/. 84. Ibid. 85.  Kazim Abdul, “Burundi Intelligence to Track Phones with UAE Tec,” Military Africa, March 13, 2021, https://www.africanmilitaryblog.com/2021/03/burundi -intelligence-to-track-phones-with-uae-tech. 86.  For a similar observation, see Wilson Boinett, “The Origins of the Intelligence System of Kenya,” in Changing Intelligence Dynamics in Africa, ed. Sandy Africa and Johnny Kwadjo (Birmingham, UK: GFN-SSR and ASSN, 2009), 15.

7 Cabo Verde The Intelligence Services and Key Challenges Nilton Fernandes Cardoso and João Paulo Madeira

Privileged

information that supports decision-making is an indispensable element of any state foreign and security policy. The intelligence services, also known as secret or information services, exist in almost all countries, playing essential roles in a modern state.1 In general terms, the intelligence services are governmental organizations engaged in information collection and analysis on issues, individuals, and organizations relevant to decisionmaking processes on foreign policy, national defense policy, and public order maintenance. For this reason, agencies specializing in information collection and knowledge production are indispensable. This chapter explores Cabo Verde’s intelligence culture. It highlights threats against the Cabo Verde archipelago’s security, with emphasis on the fight against terrorism, organized crime, drug and arms trafficking, money laundering, and financial and economic crime. Cabo Verde has sought, since 1990, to improve its ability to counter these threats. To do this, the country has carried out reforms by creating the National Police (Polícia Nacional, PN), reforming the Judiciary Police (Polícia Judiciária, PJ), Armed Forces (Forças Armadas, FA), and strengthening the National Civil Protection System (Sistema Nacional de Proteção Civil, SNPC). In addition to these reforms, Cabo Verde’s Security Information Service (Serviço de Informações da República, SIR) and the National Security System (Sistema de Segurança Nacional, SSN) were created. The latter was established to enhance national security and generate a system of support, articulation, and coordination of the different forces responsible for security within the national territory. According to article 2 of the Decree-Law no. 51/2013 of December 20, the SSN involves “the coordinated and integrated use of forces and services intended to the prevention and protection from 83

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risks and threats against population and patrimony, the repression of hostile and illegal actions, as well as the assistance, rescue and help to the populations affected by attacks or other catastrophes.”2 This system encompasses all state institutions engaged in security matters, depending on the prime minister, and includes the PN, the PJ, the SIR, the FA, the Maritime Authority, the Aeronautical Authority, the bodies responsible for radio frequency control and the protection of information and communication systems, and other organizations with security functions.3 This chapter analyzes legislation and SIR’s organization to better understand the archipelago’s intelligence culture and argues for more transparency about intelligence processes. EVOLUTION AND ORGANIZATION Despite having a small population of about 550,000 people, Cabo Verde has a land surface of 4,033 square kilometers (about 2,400 square miles) over an oceanic area of approximately 87 miles in radius, with about 1,000 kilometers (about 620 miles) of coastline and a maritime area of national responsibility of 734,265 kilometers (about 450,000 miles).4 As a result, providing security is a complicated matter. The country’s 2005 Strategic Concept of Defense and National Security argues that a democratic constitutional state must have intelligence collection, processing, sharing, and proper use subject to democratic oversight.5 The government sees compatibility with the secrecy of information provided to advise decision-makers along with the integrity of the democratic constitutional state. Broadly speaking, intelligence services emerged as a response to the country’s needs in terms of internal and external security. Yet it was only in the early 2000s that the government enacted laws regulating the functioning, missions, and accountability mechanisms of the Information Services of the Republic. The Information System of the Republic was first formally established in 2005 by Law no. 70/VI/2005 and is the most important legal instrument that regulates Cabo Verde’s intelligence services.6 The SIR’s purpose is providing intelligence for preserving unity, sovereignty, territorial integrity, and national independence as well as countering threats to democracy and the rule of law. It answers directly to the Office of the Prime Minister, who is responsible for informing the president about the SIR’s activities, presiding over the National Security Council, coordinating and guiding SIR’s actions, and approving national intelligence policy, among other issues. Concerning its composition, the SIR is made up of administrative bodies and entities that directly or indirectly produce relevant information for defense, security, and foreign affairs. According to article 8 of the Law no. 70/



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VI/2005, the SIR is the central intelligence service endowed with administrative and financial autonomy, which is based in Praia. Additionally, the Armed Forces have institutions responsible for intelligence to guarantee military security and the fulfillment of the missions assigned to them, but the Military Intelligence Service depends on the minister of defense through the chief of staff of the Armed Forces.7 According to law, the SIR is responsible for obtaining, analyzing, and processing information relating to all activities that threaten or may threaten the security of the state as defined by the National Security Council. Broadly speaking, these include protecting citizens and democratic institutions, safeguarding sovereignty, guaranteeing the internal and external security of the state, promoting interagency relations, and coordinating the activities of the administration that use technical means or encryption procedures to guarantee their security.8 The SIR can access any information held by other government institutions or services that are relevant to its functions, except for those regarding cases pending in court under judicial or state secrecy. Yet the SIR can obtain such information if it can demonstrate necessity under the Information System of the Republic. Meanwhile, all information that may harm the democratic state is considered a state secret.9 Therefore, the legislation prevents intelligence officers from testifying and being questioned about any matters relating to state secrets.10 According to the Annual Information Plan, the guidelines of the prime minister, and the law, the SIR must transmit information officially and automatically to the country’s public agencies or services when necessary. The SIR is also allowed to transmit information to foreign public organs as well as international and supranational organizations in accordance with legal limits.11 The intelligence services are limited in what they can research, as the collection and analysis of information must be done for a security mission. In addition, in the exercise of their powers, the intelligence services must choose, among the various measures and procedures suitable, those that, presumably, least harm the targeted individuals or goods.12 Additionally, the law provides the Supervisory Commission, a body elected by the National Assembly, to provide the SIR with oversight. The Supervisory Commission is composed of three deputies who are elected by secret ballots and with a majority of two-thirds of the present deputies.13 The commission operates together with the National Assembly and is responsible for monitoring and overseeing the SIR’s activities to ensure respect for the Constitution and the law and fundamental rights of the citizens.14 As part of its duties, the commission presents an annual report to Parliament.

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Concerning the SIR’s operations, Decree-Law no. 55/2009 was approved in December 2009 and regulates the SIR’s legal framework. The service is under the prime minister, who approves the National Information Policy and the Annual Information Plan, establishes SIR directives, approves the SIR’s annual budget (including classified expenditures), creates SIR’s stations overseas by classified dispatch, and establishes regional SIR offices.15 The SIR is headed by a director general, appointed by the prime minister and assisted by a deputy director general for intelligence and a deputy director general for foreign relations. It consists of the Office of Support, the Data Center, the Department of Internal Protection, the Department of Analysis, the Department of New Information Technologies and Communications, and the Administrative Department, which answers directly to the director general. In addition to these services, the Department of Technical Operations operates under the office of the deputy director general for intelligence and the Department of International Relations, and the Protocol Office operates under the office of the deputy director general for foreign relations.16 There is no organogram, organizational chart, or any other reference for the public, likely due to operational security reasons. The same legislation requires that the SIR inform the relevant entities when it discovers illegal acts that require criminal investigation or prosecution. This must be carried out safeguarding the provisions of the law. In this context, as set out in article 10 of Law no. 70/VI/2005 and article 18 of Decree-Law no. 55/2009, the SIR has a Data Center responsible for processing, handling, and storing the data collected in the scope of its activities.17 The Magistrates Commission supervises the center’s activity. The commission is composed of three magistrates from the Public Ministry, whose headquarters are located in the Attorney General’s Office in the capital, Praia, Santiago Island. It inspects the programs and information with periodic samples. Other than this entity, no other body outside the SIR has direct access to the information and data stored in the Data Center.18 NATIONAL LEGISLATION AND REGULATORY FRAMEWORK Since the early 2000s, legislation and other frameworks have improved national security with the aim of building the integrated system. Most notably, the January 2011 Strategic Concept of Defense and National Security (CEDSN) defines the country’s global strategy in terms of security and defense objectives and policy.19 It takes a holistic, multidimensional, and comprehensive view of national defense.



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Cabo Verde is a small country with few resources, which requires the conservation and management of its resources along with ensuring peace, social stability, and public tranquility. The CEDSN proposed strategic actions for the effective application of the Security and Defense National Policy (PNSD) for interoperability between the Armed Forces and the police as well as other security services when necessary. The CEDSN provides guidelines on security and defense, such as instruction in effectiveness and efficiency, and harmonizes sectoral security policies for activities. Regarding intelligence, the CEDSN reiterates the importance of developing a national system for collecting and processing information related to crime, terrorism, and activities that undermine national independence, territorial integrity, national unity, and the constitutional order. In addition, it notes that gaining the technical capacity to support intelligence and the acquisition of skilled professionals are fundamental needs. In 2013, Decree-Law no. 51/2013 of December 20, establishing the National Security System (SSN), was approved to integrate forces and services in preventing threats to the public and property as well as aiding and supporting victims of attacks and disasters.20 Indeed, it integrated the Armed Forces, police, civil protection, intelligence agencies, and other state agencies’ activities to promote security. Regarding its structure, the legislation stipulates in article 3 that the following organizations integrate the SSN: the Armed Forces, the SIR, the civil protection services, the maritime and aeronautical authority system, the agencies responsible for radio frequency control and protection of information and communication networks and systems, and other bodies with security functions, such as land management and planning and management of the Land Register and Geographic Information System. The organizations that comprise the SSN are the National Security Council (CSN), the Operational Security Coordination Commission (CCOS), the Government’s National Security Adviser (CSNG), and the National Security Office (GSN). The CSN in particular is a consultation and coordination body for national security and information matters. It is presided over by the prime minister and includes, among others, the SIR director general, who provides advice to the prime minister or, with his permission, to other national security officials. Notably, the prime minister may convene specialized CSN meetings on information matters.21 The Government Program of the VIII Legislature (2011–2016) established the security of the fundamental government structures as one of the strategic priorities of national security. Considering that Cabo Verde was not immune to threats that could affect state structures’ ability to function, Parliament adopted the critical infrastructure regime in 2014, with Decree-Law no. 27/2014

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of May 16.22 One year was given for the identification and designation of the country’s critical infrastructures, but this was not accomplished.23 The Ministry of National Defense (MDN) is the department tasked with critical infrastructure policy and can propose the adoption and direct the implementation of the National Plan for Critical Infrastructure Protection (PNPIC). The MDN is responsible for proposing and implementing a national strategy for critical infrastructure protection and deciding whom to include on the critical infrastructure list. Additionally, within the MDN is the Critical Infrastructure Protection Coordination Commission (CCPIC), the consultive and coordinating body in matters of critical infrastructures protection, which works for public and private entities. The CCPIC is presided over by the minister of national defense and includes the national director of defense, the national director of the National Police, the commander of the National Guard, and the director general of the Information Service of the Republic. The process of identifying potentially critical infrastructures is a task of the Central Executive Body for Critical Infrastructure Protection (OECPIC) in coordination with the SIR.24 In March 2016 Resolution no. 21/2016 was enacted, which defines the National Strategy for Cybersecurity (ENCS).25 Its mission includes protecting the country against cyber threats, assigning responsibilities to national actors for meeting strategic objectives (particularly concerning the creation of appropriate legislation and mechanisms for addressing computer incidents), and promoting network cooperation by national and international institutions to combat cyber threats.26 The same legislation created the National Cybersecurity Nucleus (NNCS), a high-level unit whose mission is to coordinate, accompany, and monitor the process of implementing the ENCS. It also gave the NNCS the responsibility to prepare and submit, annually, a report on the progress of ENCS implementation for consideration and approval by the government member responsible for cybersecurity. The annual and final reports must present a critical assessment of the progress made in achieving the objectives advocated by ENCS and propose corrective measures and actions.27 The National Cybersecurity Center (CNCS) was also established to ensure that Cabo Verde uses cyberspace in a free, reliable, and secure way by promoting the continuous improvement of national cybersecurity and international cooperation. The CNCS is also in charge of defining and implementing measures and instruments necessary to anticipate, detect, and react to threats. The CNCS works, without prejudice to its administrative and financial autonomy, with the National Security Office, which corresponds to the National Cybersecurity Authority.28 Subsequently, Decree-Law no. 9/2021 of January 29, 2021, approved the cybersecurity legal regime, aimed at guaranteeing a high level of security



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for networks and information systems in Cabo Verde. This legal document adopts Directive C/DIR. 1/08/11 of the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), aimed at gradual normative convergence with the communities, organizations, and other states with which Cabo Verde cooperates with on cybersecurity issues. Yet digital resilience in Cabo Verde cannot be achieved only by the government. Indeed, a large body of skilled professionals and Cabo Verdean experts are working in national and international private entities. Cybersecurity is the sum of joint efforts by government bodies, the business community, organizations, and citizens, both nationally and internationally. ANALYSIS AND DISCUSSION By examining legislation surrounding the SIR, this chapter finds that despite government efforts to increase state security and guarantee constitutional freedoms, there should be more transparency and a review of intelligence processes. Indeed, the limitations on accessing information about the SIR impacts the public’s understanding in negative ways. It is important for the public to know whether the current legal framework enables the SIR to counter threats that arise for the Cabo Verde archipelago. The laws highlight the SIR’s evolution, especially after the approval of Law no.70/VI/2005, the first effort to improve the coordination and articulation of the intelligence community in a territorially dispersed country, consisting of ten islands and thirteen islets. After the 2005 law, intelligence needed to be improved, so it became a permanent activity. Following the approval of Decree-Law no. 55/2009, published on December 7, 2009, which regulated the SIR, one week later Resolution no. 36/ 2009 was approved for the regulation of the SIR’s Data Center. Despite these laws, one can conclude that while SIR is under the Office of the Prime Minister’s direct responsibility, the office’s power regarding intelligence is limited. The National Police and the Judiciary Policy are responsible for investigating cases that will later be sent to courts, prosecutors, and other national authorities for further investigation. Shared responsibility is rarely practiced, resulting in the risks of underreporting or duplication, which affect the investigative and intelligence work. This situation impacts the effectiveness of preventive measures and efficiency at various levels of management and specialized personnel.29 Two commissions supervise the SIR. The Magistrates Commission of the Public Prosecutor’s Office controls the legality of access to citizens’ data, and the Supervisory Commission of the National Assembly provides broader

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oversight. Both commissions periodically receive the reports produced by the SIR to monitor its activities. While these commissions are theoretically responsible for oversight according to the law, this is not the case in practice. The lack of actual oversight is mainly due to inefficiency and ineffectiveness, as well as to cuts in commission budgets. For both the government and public, the intelligence and security services are delicate subjects. Notably, civil society sectors and some Cabo Verdeans—who still have the memory of abuses during the one-party regime (1975–1990)—have an oversight role. Indeed, older citizens recall repression by the political police and the National Directorate of Security.30 Politician Humberto Cardoso’s Movement for Democracy (MpD) warning in 2015 that the African Party for the Independence of Cabo Verde (at the time in power) was appointing national experts to advise the government on the SIR’s creation demonstrates such concern. Cardoso noted that “the Government’s insensitivity to the matter of asserting a clear and unreserved difference between police activity and intelligence activity was manifested in the choice of advisers, recruiting technicians other than police departments to advise them. Diplomats, magistrates, high-ranking military personnel are invited. Never the police.”31 Cardoso’s statement was made the day after the approval of the law creating the SIR, but also criticized those opposed to its creation. Emanuel Brito, a lieutenant colonel in the Cabo Verde Reserves, also pointed out that the country urgently needed a National Security Strategy that would take into account other countries’ experiences and practices.32 However, Brito said it should be prepared by national experts appointed by the institutions responsible for countering different threats, such as terrorism, drug trafficking, violent crime, smuggling of migrants, illicit trafficking of arms, and money laundering. As for personnel, the first director of the SIR was António Nascimento, a career diplomat who remained in office until February 2015, when Paulo Augusto Costa Rocha replaced him. The latter served as central director of the Criminal Investigation Department of the Judiciary Police and the deputy of Carlos Reis, while he remained the PJ’s head. In June 2016, António Varela was appointed as the new director, succeeding Paulo Rocha, who assumed the position of minister of internal administration. Regarding the government’s commitments, the Government Program of the IX Legislature 2016–2021 points to a human-focused security approach; supervision and control of the maritime space; and participation in international systems to combat international trafficking of drugs, arms, and human beings. It also proposed “zero tolerance” as a solution for crime, preventive interventions, redefining the state’s security role, and growing cooperation at the international level.



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Concerning the Government Program and the Motion of Confidence 2021– 2026, the government intends to create the secretary of internal security under the minister of internal administration, with broad powers of command, direction, control, and operational coordination of the police forces. This would bolster internal security, considered a part of the more comprehensive National Security System, to complement the defense and intelligence system. In particular, it would aid the prevention of terrorism and violent extremism as a dimension of the internal security strategy. The plan’s implementation must be done in articulation with the defense sector, under the coordination of the secretary of internal security, involving the forces and services of security, and the National Civil Protection Authority. CONCLUSION This chapter explored Cabo Verde’s intelligence culture by highlighting the SIR’s solid legal framework. However, there are concerns over how intelligence is managed. First, critics note its autonomy and management in isolation, which clashes with the Strategic Concept of Defense and National Security of Cabo Verde.33 The concept provides for the creation of a system of data sharing, which includes the defense forces and security services. Moreover, it defines a global and collaborative approach to combat relevant threats, including organized crime, terrorism, and proliferation of nuclear and other mass destruction weapons. Second, to prevent such threats it is necessary to efficiently share information. In this sense, the intelligence services should correspond with a common language, common concepts, and instruments to facilitate cooperation between the institutions involved. Third, participation in multilateral mechanisms is essential in the context of mutual assistance, cooperation based on respect for sovereignty and territorial integrity. Most researchers dealing with this issue consider that island states, such as Cabo Verde, need to establish external partnerships to obtain human, material, logistical, and technological resources with medium and long-term effects. The cooperation must be adapted to the reality of Cabo Verde to respond effectively to the threats that arise in this subregion, as they exceed the state’s capacities to deal with them.34 Finally, public information and transparency about the country’s intelligence structure, organization, and functioning are scarce. To promote public trust and scholarly research about security threats, more transparency must be made available about debate and analyses with experts, academics, and civil society leaders.

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NOTES   1.  The concept of intelligence can be defined as all the information collected, organized, or analyzed with the aim of meeting the needs of a decision-maker. In its broad sense, intelligence is the same as knowledge or information. However, in this work, the word intelligence refers to collecting information without the consent, cooperation, or awareness of the targets of such action. That is to say, there are more limited sets of structured informational flows. In the strict sense, intelligence is the same as secret or confidential information. Jennifer Sims, “What Is Intelligence? Information for Decision Makers,” in U.S. Intelligence at the Crossroads: Agendas for Reform, ed. Roy Godson, Ernest R. May, and Gary James Schmitt (New York: Brasseys, 1995), 47–57; Abram Shulsky, “What Is Intelligence? Secrets and Competition among States,” in U.S. Intelligence at the Crossroads: Agendas for Reform, ed. Roy Godson, Ernest R. May, and Gary James Schmitt (New York: Brasseys, 1995), 17–27; Marco Cepik, “Inteligência e Políticas Públicas: Dinâmicas operacionais e condições de legitimação” [Intelligence and public policies: Operational dynamics and conditions for legitimation], Security and Defense Studies Review 2 (Winter 2002/2003): 246–267.  2. Decree-Law no. 51/2013, December 20, Official Bulletin, no. 69, series I, article 2, 2277. Establishes the National Security System.   3.  Ibid., article 3.   4.  Resolution no. 5/2011, January 17, Official Bulletin, no. 3, series I, 132. Approves the Strategic Concept of Defense and National Security.  5. Ibid., 129–140.  6. Ibid., 129–140.   7.  Law no. 70/VI/2005, June 27, Official Bulletin, no. 26, series I, article 18, 771. Defines the Information System of the Republic.   8.  Ibid., article 9, 769. Defines the Information System of the Republic.  9. State secret covers data and information whose dissemination is likely to harm the sovereignty, independence, integrity, and unity of the national territory; the defense of the democratic institutions established in the Constitution; the free exercise of the respective functions of the sovereign bodies; the free exercise of fundamental rights, freedoms, and guarantees established in the Constitution and in the law; the internal and external security of the Republic of Cabo Verde; the preparation of military defense; the military security; and the fundamental national interests. Law no. 70/VI/2005, article 28, 773. 10. Ibid. 11.  The document establishes at least three conditions: (1) when there is an obligation to do so; (2) when it is helpful for SIR’s mission; and (3) when the body, public service, or organization receiving the information needs it to defend substantive security interests. Article 5 of the Law no. 70/VI/2005, 768; and Decree-Law no. 55/2009 of December 7, Official Bulletin, no. 46, series I, 1019–1025, which regulates the legal regime applicable to the Information System of the Republic. The transmission of information to other private entities can only be carried out if needed for protecting the democratic order or for the security and defense of Cabo Verde. Article 28 of the



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Law no. 70/VI/2005, 768; and article 10 of the Decree-Law no. 55/2009, December 7, Official Bulletin, no. 46, series I, 1021, which regulates the legal regime applicable to the Information System of the Republic. 12.  Law no. 70/VI/2005, article 4, 768. 13.  The election of the members of this commission is done by nominal or multinominal list, depending on whether there are one or more vacant seats to be filled. Membership is for the term of the legislature. 14.  In addition, the Supervisory Committee assesses the activity reports of the SIR and the Military Intelligence Services to issue opinions on legislation. Law no. 70/ VI/2005, article 21, 768. 15.  Decree-Law no. 55/2009, December 7, Official Bulletin, no. 46, series I, article 11, 1021–1022. Regulates the legal regime applicable to the Information System of the Republic. 16.  Ibid., article 14, 1022–1023. 17. Resolution no. 36/2009, December 14, Official Bulletin, no. 47, series I, 1062–1065. Approves the regulation of the Data Center of the Information Service of the Republic. 18.  Law no. 70/VI/2005, June 27, Official Bulletin, no. 26, series I, article 10, 769–772. Defines the Information System of the Republic. 19.  Resolution no. 5/2011, January 17, Official Bulletin, no. 3, series I, 129–140. Approves the Strategic Concept of Defense and National Security. 20. Decree-Law no. 51/2013, December 20, Official Bulletin, no. 69, series I, 2277–2281. Establishes the National Security System. 21. Decree-Law no. 51/2013, December 20, Official Bulletin, no. 69, series I, article 5, 2278. Establishes the National Security System. 22.  Decree-Law no. 27/2014, May 16, Official Bulletin, no. 33, series I, 1119– 1124. Establishes the procedures of identification, designation, and protection of critical infrastructures and the responsibilities for the conception, definition, coordination, and execution of policies on this matter. 23.  Jorge Tolentino, Cabo Verde no Mundo: Os desafios do século XXI [Cabo Verde in the world: The challenges of the 21st century] (Praia: Autor e Fundação José Maria Neves para a Governança, 2017). 24.  According to Article 19 of the Decree-Law no. 27/2014, May 16, one year after the designation of an infrastructure as critical, the OECPIC is in charge of carrying out an evaluation of the threats to that critical infrastructure’s subsectors. This task must be done in articulation with the SIR. 25.  Resolution no. 21/2016, March 7, Official Bulletin, no. 14, series I, 531–549. Approves the National Strategy for Cybersecurity. 26. Ibid. 27.  Ibid., article 9, 533. 28.  Decree-law no. 9/2021, January 29, Official Bulletin, no. 9, series I, 200–206. Approves the cybersecurity legal regime. 29.  Ernestina Cilá Russo de Almeida, “Gestão das Informações Criminais entre as Forças de Segurança Pública de Cabo Verde na Perspetiva da Prevenção da Criminalidade” [Management of criminal information between the Public Security Forces

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of Cabo Verde from the perspective of crime revention] (MA thesis, Universidade de Cabo Verde/Universidade Federal do Pará, 2020). 30.  José Tomaz Wahnon C. Veiga, A “Democracia” Nacional Revolucionária—O Projecto Totalitário do PAIGC/CV, Cabo Verde 1975–1990 [The national revolutionary “democracy”—The totalitarian project of the PAIGC/CV, Cabo Verde 1975– 1990] (Praia: Pedro Cardoso Livraria, 2021). The publication of Veiga’s book on the threshold of the legislative elections brought to light new elements. The book seeks to demonstrate, based on statements and official documents of the regime then in power, the logic of implementing a model of power exercise in which the monopoly of legitimate political activity was granted to a single party, excluding any others. Thus, that party’s ideology became the official ideology of the state. It also demonstrates the implications that this option had for how the country is governed. Veiga cites the Law of Rumor (Lei do Boato), one of the first political measures adopted three months after the Declaration of Independence, which established the tolerable limits for criticism of the government and the ruling party. “The idea of conspiracy was used by those in power in several key moments to justify repression” (187). 31.  “Serviço de Informações da República: Ninguém fala, é segredo” [Republic Information Service: Nobody speaks, it’s a secret], Expresso das Ilhas, February 23, 2015, https://expressodasilhas.cv/politica/2015/02/23/servico-de-informacoes-da -republica-ninguem-fala-e-segredo/44034. 32. Emanuel Brito, Cabo Verde: Uma Plataforma de Segurança Internacional [Cabo Verde: An international security platform] (Praia: Autor, 2017). Brito criticized earlier events, such as the Ministry of Internal Administration’s ordering the expansive Internal Security Plan for the 2009–2011 triennium. It was authored by an official of the Public Order Police and three Portuguese specialists, two of them officers of the Public Security Police. Two directly related institutions were formally absent from the process: the Judiciary Police and the National Drug Control Commitee (Comissão de Coordenação do Combate à Droga). 33.  Resolution no. 5/2011, January 17, Official Bulletin, no. 3, series I, 129–140. Approves the Strategic Concept of Defense and National Security. 34.  João Paulo Madeira, “Security Challenges for Small Island Developing States: The Case of Cape Verde,” Revista de Relaciones Internacionales, Estrategia y Seguridad 14, no 2 (2019): 155–177.

8 Cameroon An “All of Society Affair” Intelligence Culture Manu Lekunze

This chapter examines Cameroon’s intelligence culture. It argues that Cam-

eroon maintains an “all of government,” and in some cases, an “all of society” intelligence culture. Though Cameroon has designated intelligence services, the presidency expects intelligence gathering at all levels of government. The government expects loyal citizens (ordinary members of society), to some extent, to inform on their neighbors if they suspect “subversive” activity. Consequently, intelligence gathering and reporting are pervasive in society. Moreover, the belief that anyone could collect information on anyone and any issues for the authorities serves as a tool for the authorities to create fear to maintain their power. Thus, Cameroon has an “all of society affair” intelligence culture. The history of intelligence in Cameroon shows that its intelligence culture extends back several centuries to the traditional African polities that initially occupied the area now known as Cameroon and the Sokoto Empire. Historical analysis reveals a coexistence of revolutionary tendencies in society and deeply conservative forces in government. Notably, a jihadist revolution that aimed to preserve/restore religious conservatism founded the Sokoto Empire. A revolution that aimed to topple colonial rule under Germany led to the partition of Cameroon into French and British protectorates to restore colonial rule. The Union of the Peoples of Cameroon (Union des populations du Cameroun, UPC) revolution in the 1950s led to a neocolonial, independent Cameroon. The current head of state (2022), President Paul Biya, has held power for four decades. Naturally many sections of society would like to see change, and there are ongoing separatist and Islamist insurgencies in Cameroon.

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The interaction between revolutionary tendencies in society and government conservatism (counteracting forces) significantly shapes Cameroon’s political and security systems, including its intelligence community and culture. Cameroon’s security architecture (including the intelligence services) maintains a countersubversive (counterrevolutionary or counterinsurgency) posture. The pursuit of stability in a presumed potentially unstable context is a significant objective of the government in Cameroon. Thus, a core objective of several Cameroonian governments, from the Sokoto Empire to the present, has invariably been preserving the status quo. This chapter results from an extensive analysis of documents, including presidential decrees, relating to the creation and reorganization of intelligence services, secondary historical materials, and interviews of serving and retired Cameroon intelligence officers and scholars familiar with intelligence in Cameroon. The chapter includes three sections. The first section discusses the history of intelligence in Cameroon. The second section discusses the role of intelligence in Cameroon with attention to specific agencies and the pervasiveness of intelligence reporting in society. The final section discusses the critical influences on Cameroon’s intelligence culture. INTELLIGENCE HISTORY Contemporary Cameroon emerged out of the German amalgamation of traditional African polities in the area now known as Cameroon. The polities included the decentralized littoral and the forest regions’ polities, the chiefships of the Bamiléké, the kingdoms of the Bamoun and Tikar, and the principalities of the Kotoko (sultanates and lamidats of the Muslims), to name a few.1 Most of these polities were previously part of the Sokoto Empire or where its political culture was significantly influential. The Germans mainly borrowed from the political cultures of the north to administer their entire territory. The British and the French expanded on a similar basis. For example, the Germans introduced chiefships, such as those in the north to the south.2 The British and French inherited the chiefships and created more where necessary. In effect, European colonialism assisted the spread of the Sudanic civilization in Cameroon.3 Hence, this section begins with a brief historical analysis from the emergence of the Sokoto Empire. In the early 1800s, areas that would later become part of Cameroon experienced significant transformation in political organization because of the emergence of the Sokoto Empire. The Usman Dan Fodio revolution began in the Hausa states (currently part of Nigeria) and swept through West Africa.4 It created a multipolity state with a keen interest in political and religious



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conservatism in the context of the Sokoto Empire’s and the other nineteenthcentury traditional African polities’ political systems being authoritarian.5 Governance rested mainly on hereditary chiefs, sultans, or emperors guided by custom, tradition, and religious belief. Customary rule requires stability in customs, norms, values, and religious beliefs of society. In such societies, conservatism is a necessary social force. The security apparatus of the polities invariably collected information on citizens and external actors (especially foreign traders). The Fulani jihadist war (holy war) of the early 1800s was a “revolution” to restore or preserve “authentic” Islamic values. The historical episode initiated two counter currents in Cameroon’s political history that persist to date. First was the government’s objective to preserve a desired political order (as seen in the objective of the leaders of the Hausa states to preserve their political order).6 Second was the existence of revolutionary tendencies in society (as seen in Usman Dan Fodio’s desire to reform the Hausa states and expand the Sokoto Empire).7 Once the Sokoto Empire became the status quo, areas of Cameroon under the Hayatou leadership were quick to align with the Mahdi revolution when it arose, and Mahdist movements became a force in Cameroon even under German rule.8 In effect, conservatism in the face of possible revolution or a history of revolutionary tendencies significantly shapes political and security institutions, including Cameroon’s intelligence community going back to the Sokoto Empire. Cameroon became a colonial territory in 1884. The Germans, then the French and British, arrived in Cameroon with an already established intelligence culture. As colonizing powers, one primary objective of their intelligence was to prevent native rebellion or a revolution that would displace the colonial system. As colonized people, a desire to be free from external rule persisted within society. The different versions of indirect rule of the imperial powers only modified indigenous political cultures and security practices in governing the territory. For example, the British divided their parts of Cameroon into separate native authorities governed through separate customary laws. Native mobilization colony-wide became significantly challenging because the British compartmentalized the natives into separate subnational (colony) entities. As a result, counterrebellion/counterrevolution was at the heart of the design of colonial political systems. Intelligence that contributed to maintaining the status quo was of paramount importance to the colonial government. The Germans, French, and British maintained elaborate intelligence networks within and outside of Cameroon to prevent “revolutionary” elements.9 The imperial powers continued collecting information through customary authorities who governed their parts of the territory on behalf of the “imperial powers.”10

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In 1916, during the First World War, the allies defeated Germany in Central Africa and seized Cameroon. The British and French shared Cameroon. The British allowed German plantation managers to remain in their part of Cameroon, British Southern Cameroon. The loss of Germany’s African territories, including Cameroon, became part of the postwar humiliation of Germany. As Germany rebuilt during the rule of Adolf Hitler in the 1930s, talk about the recovery of German African territories swelled in Berlin, Paris, and London.11 During this period, French and British intelligence activities increased in Cameroon because of the fear of possible German instigation of a “native uprising.”12 In the late 1940s, the UPC championed anti-colonial agitation in Cameroon. The anti-colonial struggle morphed into an insurgency when the French banned the UPC in 1954.13 Subsequently, the UPC created the Cameroon National Liberation Army (l’Armée nationale de libération du Kamerun, ANLK) as its armed wing. The ANLK insurgency triggered a counterinsurgency effort from France. That security dispensation intensified intelligence gathering in Cameroon. The counterinsurgency turned Cameroon into, effectively, a police or militarized state. The French colonial government established several secret police and military organizations to collect information and investigate possible anti-colonial activities of Cameroonian nationalists.14 From 1960, the newly independent Cameroon state and President Ahmadou Ahidjo’s government had to consolidate their power and defeat an ongoing insurgency. The state largely absorbed the colonial state’s intelligence culture. Once again, a government had to preserve a political order amid radical revolutionary activity. In response, Ahidjo’s government adopted a counterinsurgency or counterrevolutionary posture similar to that of the French colonial government that preceded him. When President Biya inherited power in 1982, the intelligence community reduced its aggressive collection of information and the employment of brutal interrogation techniques consistent with torture.15 However, reports of brutal interrogation techniques by the intelligence community emerged during the prodemocracy civil strife in the early 1990s. The dreaded intelligence chief, Jean Forchive, made a comeback in the 1990s as the chief campaign agent of President Biya in Noun, the western region of Cameroon, during the first presidential election in October 1992.16 Similiarly, Amnesty International made allegations of torture against the Directorate-General for External Research (Direction Générale de la Recherche Extérieure, DGRE) in the current fight against Boko Haram.17 Biya has now been in power for forty years. Naturally there is a segment of the population that prefers immediate and significant political change. There



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are also elements within the regime who would prefer continuity even with a change of leader, due to Biya’s age. Moreover, the 1961 reunification of parts of Cameroon partitioned in 1916 created an Anglophone minority with separatist tendencies. Since 2017, separatist agitation has turned into an armed insurgency in Cameroon’s North West and South West regions, pushing Cameroon to intensify its counterinsurgency/subversive posture. An Islamist insurgency by Boko Haram and the Islamic State, West Africa Province (ISWAP), mainly based in Nigeria, continues to threaten Cameroon’s territorial integrity. The conservative current (regime continuity) continues to flow against a revolutionary current (people who seek change, separatists, and Islamist insurgencies). Consequently, managing the coexistence of revolutionary tendencies and counterrevolution/counterinsurgency remains a significant objective of political order in Cameroon, from the Sokoto Empire to the present. THE ROLE OF INTELLIGENCE The primary objective of intelligence gathering is to furnish the government with information necessary for regime stability. The chief, sultan, emir, emperor, or more recently, president, is often the ultimate symbol of the status quo. One of the primary objectives of intelligence is preserving incumbency as a proxy for the status quo or conservatism. Removing the incumbent is tantamount to a revolution or rebellion. Thus Cameroon’s presidency and the president are the ultimate destinations of all intelligence. The nature and history of Cameroon’s political order make renseignement (intelligence) an all of government and, in some cases, an all of society, affair. In effect, the presidency expects all government structures to write fiche speciale (information reports) to their hierarchies, intended to reach the presidency at the top of the hierarchy. Anyone in society can write a fiche speciale on any issue they think the government lacks insight into. In other words, every good citizen should be a volunteer intelligence officer to ensure nothing terrible happens to the status quo. The general belief among members of the public that anyone could report to the government (every loyal citizen is effectively a part-time intelligence officer) contributes to maintaining fear among the general public, which bolsters the incumbent’s power over society. Nonetheless, Cameroon operates two strands of intelligence services: embedded intelligence organs and stand-alone intelligence organs. The embedded organs are more pronounced in the military organs than in the civilian organs of government, but report writing is pervasive in the prefectural

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system. Hence, this section focuses on the military and stand-alone services in the full knowledge that significant intelligence gathering occurs in most government structures, the ruling party, Cameroon’s Peoples Democratic Movement (Rassemblement démocratique du Peuple Camerounais, RDPC), and the general public. EMBEDDED INTELLIGENCE SERVICES The first strand of the intelligence community in Cameroon is embedded within different parts of Cameroon’s security apparatus. Cameroon’s military and paramilitary forces are an integral part of internal governance, including intelligence services. Cameroon embeds multiple intelligence organs in its military and police service corps at multiple levels. The military- and policeembedded intelligence organs report through a command chain that ends with the Office of the President. The Cameroon Armed Forces (Force Armee du Cameroon, FAC) constitute the core of Cameroon’s “modern” security apparatus.18 It includes the Land Army (L’Armée du Terre), Air Force (L’Armée de l’Air), Navy (La Marine Nationale), Presidential Guard (Garde Présidentielle), and Firefighter Corps (Corps Sappeur Pompière). The FAC includes a division of military security (Division de la Security Militaire), mainly known as SEMIL, principally a military intelligence unit. It has antennae in all ten regions of Cameroon. In addition, all the corps have their own intelligence departments that collect information on relevant issues, such as the Air Force Military Security Antenna (Antenne de la Securite Militare de l’Armee de l’Air) and Military Security Antenna of the Navy (Antenne de las Securite Militaire de la Marine).19 The military intelligence organs focus mainly on operational intelligence. The activities of these different embedded organs include collecting information on other security corps and intelligence services. Cameroon divides its territory into interarmy military regions (regione militaire iterarmee, RMIA). Each RMIA combines two administrative regions. A secteur militaire (military sector) corresponds to an administrative region. Each secteur militaire has an office of “intelligence and transmission” (Bureau des Renseignements et des Transmissions). The embedded intelligence services also fit into the different administrative or military and paramilitary organizational structures. The paramilitary elements of Cameroon’s security apparatus, such as the National Gendarmerie (Gendarmerie Nationale) and the Cameroonian Police Force (Police Camerounaise) under the General Delegation of National Security (Délégation Générale à la Sûreté Nationale, DGSN), have units that



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collect information on nonmilitary activities in society. The DGSN maintains the Directorate of General Intelligence (Direction des Renseignement Generaux), which gathers intelligence on various Cameroonian internal and external issues but mainly focuses on intelligence for law and order. It is embedded in police posts in the regional, divisional, and subdivisional levels. The DGSN also includes the Directorate of Territorial Surveillance (La Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire), mainly known by its French acronym DST. The DST has antennes (posts) across the national territory, mainly in divisional headquarters. Their primary purpose is counterintelligence with a focus on foreign intelligence activities in Cameroon. The National Gendarmerie also uses its Secretary of State for Defense (Secretaire d’Etate a la Defense, SED) for intelligence purposes, which gathers information on highprofile individuals of interest to the regime. A convocation from the SED remains a dreaded event for most Cameroonians.20 The National Gendarmerie maintains its own intelligence unit, Service Renseignements. The current approach of embedding intelligence organs within the security apparatus has historical precedence. The traditional African polities in the space that is now Cameroon embedded intelligence gathering into the general security apparatus. Following this trend, the police and army retained a degree of intelligence-gathering capabilities. For example, the Dogari of the lamidats of northern Cameroon performed intelligence duties.21 Before Cameroon’s independence, the colonial governments embedded intelligence collection in both civilian administration and the military. Attempts at complete society surveillance were significant because the colonial government was always conscious of its status as an external occupier. THE PRIMARY INTELLIGENCE SERVICE The General Directorate of External Research (Direction Générale de la Recherche Extérieure, DGRE) is Cameroon’s primary stand-alone intelligence agency. Its agents come from the police, gendarmerie, army, and civilians. Historically similar outfits used names such as Brigade Mixed Mobile (BMM), demonstrating its mixed-services nature.22 The DGRE conducts internal and external intelligence despite the deceptive exterieur (outside) in its name. The DGRE reports directly to the Office of the President. Its headquarters is in Yaoundé, and it embeds agents in embassies and consulates worldwide. It also maintains liaison offices and agents throughout Cameroon’s territory. The DGRE often operates facilities or shares them with the military, police, or gendarmerie where appropriate.23

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The DGRE collaborates with friendly external intelligence services to serve Cameroon’s security objectives. Serving officers acknowledge that DGRE meets its objectives through traditional tools with limited use of twenty-first-century technologies. They also acknowledge that the service is significantly underdeveloped, understaffed, poorly trained, and poorly remunerated. As a result, officers do whatever they can with the little they have.24 The dedicated stand-alone intelligence agencies began to crystallize during colonialism. In 1961, President Ahidjo’s government established the General Directorate for Studies and Documentation (Service d’Etudes et de la Documentation, SEDOC) as the key intelligence agency.25 Its primary objective was providing intelligence to consolidate a new government over the recently independent Cameroon and defeat the revolutionary UPC. Such services have gone through several names over the years, including SEDOC, the Directorate-General for External Research (Direction Générale d’Etudes et de la Documentation, DIRDOC), the State Secretariat for Internal Security (Secrétariat d’État à la Sécurité Intérieure, SESI), the National Center for Studies and Research (Centre National des Etudes et de la Recherche, CENER), and now DGRE. Cameroon’s core intelligence services from colonial agencies to DGRE have always maintained a reputation for using brutal techniques in extracting information from suspects. The mention of their names or their directors’ names (especially Jean Forchive) instills fear. As recently as 2017, Amnesty International reported allegations against the DGRE of severe torture of Boko Haram suspects.26 Rumors that the DGRE maintains secret prisons/torture centers around Cameroon abound.27 THE INFLUENCES ON CAMEROON’S INTELLIGENCE CULTURE This section explores the most influential factors on Cameroon’s intelligence culture. The factors include the history of the coexistence of government conservatism and revolutionary/subversive tendencies in society, the nature of Cameroon’s presidency, Cameroon’s experiment in reconciling two colonial legacies, and its internal and international threat environments. First, the country has a long history of coexistence between government conservatism (tendencies to maintain the status quo) and revolutionary tendencies in society. The overriding objective of intelligence in Cameroon is maintaining stability through the arrest or slowdown of social and political change. The intelligence services achieve this goal mainly through capabilities in finding, intimidating, and (in some cases) eliminating opponents of the status quo (individuals or groups with revolutionary/rebellious tendencies).



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Cameroon’s history has prompted its intelligence services to mainly focus on internal threats and citizens of interest abroad. Maintaining the status quo against revolutionary tendencies in society requires keeping firm control over the internal political system and society. That level of control requires having significant information on regime members, the governed society, organizations, individuals, and (to a lesser extent) external actors seeking social or political change. For example, the overfocus on internal intelligence gave Ahidjo’s CENER the reputation for being political police rather than an intelligence agency.28 The second influential factor on Cameroon’s intelligence culture is Cameroon’s multipolity, multiethnic nature. Cameroon is a hybrid (Francophone and Anglophone) postcolonial state, an ongoing experiment in reconciling two colonial legacies. The only other African state that attempted a similar experiment to reconcile different colonial legacies, Somalia, is a typical failed African state. Unity in diversity and territorial integrity are crucial elements of Cameroon’s national security objectives. Cameroon’s multipolity, multiethnic nature ensures that at least one internal group is always not satisfied with the overall internal balance of power at any time. The frequent use of the term subversive in Cameroon’s conception of security demonstrates the constant need to maintain “order” against a constant fear of revolution (elements within society willing to subvert the system).29 Cameroon’s “countersubversive” posture threads throughout its history. Gathering information on “subversives” is a crucial influence on the intelligence community and culture. The third influential factor on the intelligence community is the nature of Cameroon’s presidency. Scholars have described Cameroon’s presidency as a combination of attributes of “a British-style Governor-General, a Fifth Republic [of France] president and an American chief executive.”30 The Cameroon constitution establishes the paramountcy of the president in the executive field. The president is the head of state, the armed forces, police, and judiciary, and is “chief of chiefs.” The paramountcy of the presidency relies on extensive internal intelligence. The military-and police-embedded intelligence organs report through a command chain that ends with the president. The stand-alone strand reports directly to the Office of the President. There is no other oversight or accountability outside of the presidency. Consequently the presidency is the ultimate destination and consumer of intelligence. Another influence on the intelligence culture, related to the presidency, is coup proofing in Cameroon. The centrality of the presidency in intelligence gathering constitute significant influence on Cameroon’s intelligence culture.

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Coup proofing is an essential element of Cameroon’s security because of Cameroon’s postindependence history’s president-for-life tendencies. Hence, the intelligence services and intelligence organs embedded within the corps of the security apparatus collect information on each other. In such circumstances, coup planning is extremely challenging, as another intelligence organ is always spying on, for example, the next military service. The president’s control over information and the security services ensures the maintenance of the status quo. The fourth influential factor on Cameroon’s intelligence culture is Cameroon’s dependence on friendly powers for external intelligence. Exiles, externally organized groups, and potential unfriendly states seeking regime change shape Cameroon’s international threat environment. Cameroon relies on a web of diplomatic relations to guarantee external regime support. In the late 1950s the emerging Cameroonian elite negotiated a decolonization settlement with France, including military and diplomatic accords. The accords reserved a role for France in support of Cameroon’s external defense.31 Cameroon has since diversified such accords but continues to rely on friendly powers for intelligence on possible external threats from “subversive exiles,” organized groups, and other potentially unfriendly states. This dependence also means the international capabilities of Cameroon’s intelligence community are relatively underdeveloped.32 CONCLUSION This chapter traced the history of Cameroon’s intelligence culture and services. It highlighted how the foundations of Cameroon’s political system and intelligence culture extend back to the Sokoto Empire and traditional African polities that occupied the space now known as Cameroon. Currently, Cameroon maintains two primary strands of intelligence services. The first is embedded in the overall security apparatus and the second is a standalone intelligence agency that draws its agents primarily from the armed forces. However, the presidency maintains a general expectation that all government and loyal citizens should inform the hierarchy on subversive activities. This chapter argued that Cameroon has an “all of government” and, in some cases, an “all of society” intelligence culture. It demonstrated how the political history of Cameroon, the composition of its society, nature of the its polity and presidency, and its threat environment are critical determinants of its intelligence culture. Key to these overall trends is the countersubversive/ counterrevolutionary government posture that coexists with revolutionary tendencies in society, which has shaped the nature of intelligence in the country.



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NOTES  1. Adalbert Owona, “La naissance du Cameroun (1884–1914)” [The birth of Cameroon, 1884–1914], Cahiers d’études africaines (1973): 16–36.  2. Peter Geschiere, “Chiefs and Colonial Rule in Cameroon: Inventing Chieftaincy, French and British Style,” Africa 63, no. 2 (1993): 151–175.   3.  Edwin Ardener, “The Political History of Cameroon,” World Today 18, no. 8 (1962): 341–350.   4.  Joseph Paul Smaldone, “Historical and Sociological Aspects of Warfare in the Sokoto Caliphate” (PhD diss., Northwestern University, 1970).   5.  Toyin Falola Smaldone and Matthew M. Heaton, A History of Nigeria (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008).  6. Ibid.  7. Ibid.  8. Fanny Pigeaud, Au Cameroun de Paul Biya [In Paul Biya’s Cameroon] (N.p.: Karthala, 2011).   9.  Elizabeth Rechniewski, “1947: Decolonisation in the Shadow of the Cold War; the Case of French Cameroon,” Australian and New Zealand Journal of European Studies 9, no. 3 (2021): . 10.  Author interview with Cameroon scholar familiar with intelligence issues, July 2021, Douala, Cameroon. 11.  R. A. Austen, R. Derrick, and J. Derrick, Middlemen of the Cameroons Rivers: The Duala and Their Hinterland, c. 1600–c. 1960 (Cambridge University Press, 1999); and A. H. Charteris, “The German Colonial Claim: Historical Background,” Australian Quarterly 9, no. 2 (1937): 5–22. 12. Ibid. 13.  Rechniewski, “1947.” 14. Author interview with retired intelligence officer, August 2021, Yaoundé, Cameroon. 15.  Author interview with senior intelligence officer, August 2021. 16. Pigeaud, Au Cameroun de Paul Biya. 17. “Cameroon’s Secret Torture Chambers: Human Rights Violations and War Crimes in the Fight against Boko Haram,” Amnesty International, 2017, https://www .amnesty.org/en/documents/afr17/6536/2017/en/. 18.  Manu Lekunze, Complex Adaptive Systems, Resilience and Security in Cameroon (New York: Routledge, 2019). 19.  Décret No. 2021/541 du 06 septembre 2021 portant nomination de Responsables au Ministère de la Défense [Decree No. 2021/541 of September 6, 2021 appointing officials to the Ministry of Defense]. 20.  Author interview with DST agent, July 2021, Douala, Cameroon. 21. Lekunze, Complex Adaptive Systems. 22.  Albert Mukong, Prisoner without a Crime: Disciplining Dissent in Ahidjo’s Cameroon (N.p.: African Books Collective, 2009). 23.  Author interview with DGRE agent, July, 2021, Douala, Cameroon. 24. Ibid.

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25.  Author interview with Cameroon scholar familiar with intelligence issues, July 2021. 26.  “Cameroon’s Secret Torture Chambers.” 27.  Author interview with Cameroon scholar familiar with intelligence issues, July 2021, Douala, Cameroon. 28. Pigeaud, Au Cameroun de Paul Biya. 29. Lekunze, Complex Adaptive Systems. 30.  Ndiva Kofele-Kale, “Cameroon and Its Foreign Relations,” African Affairs 80, no. 319 (1981): 197–217. 31. Ibid. 32.  Author interview with DST agent, July 2021.

9 Central African Republic A Troubled Country with a Troubled Intelligence Culture David Vogel

The Central African Republic (CAR) is one of the most troubled countries on the African continent, surrounded by mostly failed or failing states in an extremely fragile region. With only six decades of independence, the country has experienced multiple coups d’état and wars. Besides the quest for power among the local interest groups, the former colonial power France, ambitious regional states, and some “newcomers” such as the United States, Russia, and China have also to tried to build influence in the country. Considering that only a few years in the current millennium could be described as peaceful, researching CAR’s intelligence culture is challenging. This is all the more daunting when taking into account that CAR’s internet penetration is the fourth lowest in the world, which raises obstacles when researching the subject. This chapter provides a brief introduction to CAR’s intelligence services and culture by examining key historical events, actors, and issues. It has four parts that provide an overview of the country’s background, intelligence history and culture, and foreign relations and actors, and then conclude with a discussion about broad aspects of CAR’s intelligence culture. Making use of published material in several languages, it provides the first concise overview of CAR’s intelligence. BACKGROUND CAR is a landlocked country of 622,984 square kilometers (387,104 square miles) and shares borders (clockwise from the north) with Chad, Sudan, South Sudan, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, the Republic of the Congo, and Cameroon (total length: 5,920 kilometers/3,679 miles).1 The 107

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country has not been stable for over a decade, and hundreds of thousands of people have been forcibly displaced. Indeed, the population varies greatly by source; it is estimated to be 4,745,185 (2019) by the World Bank, 4.8 million (2020) by the UN Population Fund, and 5,990,855 (July 2020) by the Central Intelligence Agency’s public World Factbook.2 Though there are about eighty ethnic groups, only two are responsible for half of the population: the Baya (28.8%) and the Banda (22.9%), while six other more major groups are above 5%. As for religion, 89.5% of the people follow the Christian faith and 8.5% identify themselves as Muslims, according to an estimate in 2010.3 The economy is the fifth poorest in the world and is heavily dependent on unmechanized agriculture (43.2% of the gross domestic product [GDP]), with the undeveloped industry representing only 16% of the GDP.4 Forestry and mining (diamond and gold) are the backbones of the economy, but illegal logging and mining activities are estimated to be a larger portion of the economy. Moreover, the country has a US$468 GDP per capita.5 This poor situation is coupled with an extremely limited transportation system: there are only 700 km of paved roads, only one airport with paved runways (Bangui), around 900 km (about 550 miles) of navigable river (Ubangi River, with only one port, at Bangui), and no railway system.6 The lack of development is demonstrated in other aspects of society. Though there are multiple cellular providers present, only 32% of the population have a subscription, and only 4.3% of the population have access to the internet (less than 1% broadband).7 The health-care system is greatly underfinanced resulting in only 0.07 physician per 1,000 inhabitants; CAR has the fifth worst maternal and third worst infant mortality rates in the world, and the fifth lowest life expectancy at 54.2 years (total population). The literacy rate is just 37.4%.8 The Human Development Index (2019) is 0.397, the second lowest after Niger.9 This situation has its roots in the country’s history. Since gaining independence from France in 1960, CAR has been ruled by a series of autocratic leaders, even including a short period of turning the republic into an empire in the late 1970s. This relative measure of stability changed on May 28, 2001, when rebels stormed strategic locations in the capital, Bangui, in an unsuccessful coup attempt sponsored by former president André Kolingba. Though it failed to deliver the expected outcome, it divided the armed forces into two factions: supporters of then president Ange-Félix Patassé and their opponents, the supporters of General François Bozizé.10 Two years later, the latter faction was successful in overthrowing Patassé, Even though he had been elected president, armed opponents began revolting in 2004, starting the Central African Bush War.



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Three years later a peace agreement was reached, but the fraudulent election that delivered him a second term in 2011 sparked tensions again. An alliance of rebel militia groups was formed called Séléka (“coalition” in Sango, the native language), which launched a successful attack on Bangui in March 2013, overthrowing Bozizé. Séléka leader Michel Djotodia assumed the presidency and established the National Transitional Council, which elected Catherine Samba-Panza as interim president in January 2014, but the predominantly Muslim Séléka and its enemy, the Christian militias, called “Anti-Balaka,” continued to fight. This resulted in mass killings and displaced hundreds of thousands of people. Unsatisfied with the situation, Séléka leaders declared the independence of the Republic of Logone (Dar al-Kuti) in the northeastern region of CAR (the stronghold of the Popular Front for the Rebirth of Central African Republic, Front populaire pour la renaissance de la Centrafrique, FPRC), representing roughly one-third of the country.11 In December 2015 a first round of presidential elections was held, followed by a second round in February 2016. Though many people could not participate because they were refugees outside of the country, the results were internationally recognized to help restore peace. Faustin-Archange Touadéra, Bozizé’s former prime minister (2008–2013), was elected president, vowing to work for unity and development; he was subsequently reelected in December 2020. During the first two decades of the new millennium, the activities of armed groups determined the events in the country along with the presence of international forces from France (Operation Sangaris, December 2013–October 2016), Russia (advisers, military training, January 2018–ongoing), and the international community (United Nations Multidimensional Integrated Stabilization Mission in the Central African Republic, MINUSCA, April 2014– ongoing; European Union Training Mission in the Central African Republic, EUTM-RCA, March 2015–ongoing).12 Currently, there are fourteen armed groups recognized by the government and the international community, which are all signatories of the Khartoum peace agreement of 2019.13 There are other smaller armed groups and “self-defense groups” of varying sizes, strength, and influence, controlling around 80% of the country. This leaves mostly the capital and a few other locations under central government control. CAR’S INTELLIGENCE HISTORY AND CULTURE To maintain relative political stability, different CAR administrations needed intelligence. The first civilian intelligence organization was the Directorate of General Intelligence (Direction des Renseignements Généraux, DRG),

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established in 1969, which was renamed Directorate of Networks and General Intelligence (Direction de Réseaux et Renseignements Généraux, DRRG) five years later. In 1981 the name was changed again to Directorate of Administrative Police Services (Direction des services de police administrative, DSPA), and another organization, the Directorate of Territorial Surveillance (Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire, DST), was established that mostly conducted surveillance of foreigners. DSPA was renamed National Research and Documentation Center (Centre National de Recherche et Documentation, CNRD) under the Kolingba administration, but in 1993 it was reorganized as the National Research and Investigation Center (Centre National de Recherche et Investigation, CNRI) by the incoming Patassé administration. CNRI and a smaller organization, the Investigation, Research and Documentation Section (Section d’enquête, de recherche et de documentation, SERD), conducted parallel work, together numbering around 250 employees. Both were officially dismantled in 1997. CNRI’s personnel and weapons were then transferred to the Special Force for the Defense of the Republican Institutions (Force spéciale de défense des institutions républicaines, FORSDIR), which was also manned by the members of the Presidential Guard, resulting in a higher number of members (642 to 900 depending on the source). In 2000 President Patassé transformed FORSDIR into the Presidential Security Unit (Unité de sécurité présidentielle, USP), in a reform move to incorporate it into the armed forces, at least on paper.14 Besides the civilian intelligence service under the Ministry of Public Security, there have been “uniformed” counterparts, simply called B2s for the Armed Forces of the CAR (Forces armées centrafricaines, FACA) and the Gendarmerie. According to official records, there was no real coordination between the intelligence services until the General Directorate of State Documentation (Direction Générale de la Documentation d’Etat, DGDE) was created in 2000. It was under the direction of a presidential adviser, reporting directly to the head of state, which helped stabilize its financial situation. In 2008 the DGDE was dissolved and the National Documentation Office (Bureau National de Documentation, BND) was founded. In a parallel structure, the Directorate General of the Central African Police (Direction Générale de la Police Centrafricaine, DGPC) was implemented in all police stations. It consisted of “intelligence units” made up of one or two police officers dressed in civilian clothes whose mission was collecting information.15 After the successful 2013 coup by Séléka, Nourredine Adam was appointed minister of security and then director general of the Extraordinary Committee for the Defense of Democratic Acquisitions (Comité extraordinaire de défense des acquis démocratiques, CEDAD). The organization is



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often considered an intelligence service, but it functioned more like Adam’s private political police, carrying out arbitrary arrests, acts of torture, and executions.16 The current intelligence service of the Touadéra administration is the State Documentation Service Directorate (Direction de service de la documentation d’Etat, DSDE). Unlike other states in the subregion, CAR does not have an external intelligence service because it is continuously facing limitations in human resources and material, as well as financial difficulties, within the police, the Gendarmerie, and the existing intelligence services. The level of the intelligence services’ professionalism and effectiveness depends on three factors: human resources, equipment (technical resources), and legal framework. Regarding the legal framework, CAR’s constitution itself does not deal with the intelligence services, only briefly mentioning the security forces, but referring to “organic laws” to determine their organization and functions.17 Certain laws are waiting to be adopted, and the system lacks transparency. Due to the inadequate financial resources in CAR, technical equipment is limited, likely largely outdated, and mostly dependent on donations from friendly entities. However, the most significant problem is probably a human resource issue best demonstrated by Aristide Briand Reboas (Aristide-Briand Reboasse), the first director of BND, who previously worked as a cashier at a gas station in Tours, France, with no formal education. After two years as director, Reboas was arrested on corruption charges and mismanagement on the instructions of the president, who blamed his intelligence chief for “his mafia practices” and his mismanagement of funds.18 Subsequently, Reboas was also charged with influence peddling and forgery.19 Reboas’s situation was not unique. DGPC agents reportedly work without any real training, and intelligence operatives have been recruited from among activists of political parties.20 More recently, following Patassé’s administration, some training was organized at the National Police Academy in partnership with Mossad, Israel’s intelligence service.21 The DSDE’s low level of professionalism has been highlighted by a member of the service. This person told the local media that “out of around 1,000 files produced per week, only 10 are usable, the remainder, only stories invented from scratch.” Although nearly one hundred DSDE officers had been sent to Burkina Faso and Rwanda to undergo training exclusively for intelligence, the person said “the problem is that more than half cannot write or read their names properly.”22

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FOREIGN RELATIONS AND ACTIVITIES The main global powers have a presence in CAR, and several countries have diplomatic missions in CAR. In addition to African countries in Bangui, there are only a few embassies, including those of China, France, the Russian Federation, and the United States. Besides these ambassadors, the European Union (EU) has a presence, and there are vacant positions of the Holy See and Qatar. Washington, D.C.’s friendly approach to a democratic CAR is through humanitarian aid, development aid, and security assistance (like the fiftyseven light military vehicles received in June 2018). Additionally, the chief of the Intelligence Unit of MINUSCA’s Force is always an American officer.23 China has also been aiming for a closer relationship with CAR, and Beijing financed and constructed the country’s only stadium.24 It has also canceled CAR’s debt and engaged in military assistance by providing more than seventy military vehicles and the training of twenty members of the Presidential Guard. China’s interest in the country is driven by CAR’s natural resources, sought by several Chinese mining companies. There is no publicly available information about China’s intelligence activities or their relations with the armed groups. Yet since the arrival of the Chinese private security company (PSC) DeWe Security, “security camps” have been set up, and even though the PSC is not as markedly visible, operatives presumably carry out intelligence activities.25 Regarding African states, Chad has particularly demonstrated influence. Chadian president Idriss Déby forced Djotodia’s resignation in January 2014 and shaped the subsequent electoral process. Ex-Séléka leader Nourredine Adam (FPRC) is Chadian on his mother’s side, and Mahamat Al-Khatim (Central African Patriotic Movement, Mouvement patriotique pour la Centrafrique, MPC) is a Chadian citizen. Both reportedly maintain close relationships with Chad’s National Security Agency and officers in the Chadian Armed Forces.26 All the other states surrounding CAR are preoccupied with their own security challenges and mostly focus on those issues. Further information on intelligence involvement from neighboring countries is not available in publicly accessible records, with the exception of Cameroon, which engages in limited intelligence activities, concentrating on the border areas.27 The international community is also present in CAR. Regarding the intelligence capabilities of the UN peacekeeping mission, MINUSCA, it has a Joint Mission Analysis Centre (JMAC), a multidisciplinary and integrated structure (civilian-military-police) that provides analyses for the senior leadership of the mission at strategic and operational levels.28 The MINUSCA Force itself has an Intelligence Section (U2) manned with intelligence professionals from



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troop-contributing nations. It is responsible for the entire intelligence cycle but has limited technical capabilities (number and level of sophistication of drones). Besides the designated section, MINUSCA also has a nationwide network of military observers, who act as the “eyes and ears of the mission” in their area of responsibility.29 The other international force operating in CAR is EUTM-RCA. As an EU military operation, it is covered by Athena, a mechanism that handles the financing of EU military operations under the EU’s common security and defense policy. When requested, Athena may finance the acquisition of information, theater-level intelligence, reconnaissance, and surveillance, including air-to-ground surveillance and reconnaissance and human intelligence.30 Of all the foreign actors, France has the longest history in the region and thus the deepest knowledge of CAR. The relationship between Paris and Bangui has gone through various phases over the decades. In several key moments France, and specifically the French intelligence services, intervened in the country, either helping or acting against the CAR administration. In 1975 French president Valéry Giscard d’Estaing publicly declared himself a “friend and family member” of Jean-Bédel Bokassa, CAR’s president from 1966 to 1976 and emperor of Central Africa from 1976 to 1979. Yet toward the end of the decade, the Renseignements Généraux, the French intelligence service, learned about Bokassa’s deepening relationship with Libyan president Muammar al-Gaddafi. This partnership was seen as undesirable by Paris, which launched Operation Caban using an undercover commando squad from SDECE (Service de Documentation Extérieure et de ContreEspionnage), France’s external intelligence agency, on September 20, 1979, which was followed by Operation Barracuda to remove Bokassa from power. Military interventions were not only against but also aimed at helping CAR’s leaders. Operation Sangaris from 2013 to 2016, the seventh and so far the last, French military intervention in the CAR, was requested by President Bozizé to help stabilize the deteriorating security situation after armed tensions started between the Séléka and the Anti-Balaka groups. It was launched to assist the state, which was unable to maintain order, and the UN voiced concerns about potential genocide. Having finished the operation in October 2016, the French left a smaller “tactical reserve” in the country.31 To support these operations and not lose ground in the country, France has active defense agreements with CAR and has maintained an intelligence capability in the country since the latter gained independence. The Defence Intelligence and Security Directorate (Direction du renseignement et de la Sécurité de la Défense, DRSD) and its predecessors, as well as the DirectorateGeneral for External Security (Direction générale de la sécurité extérieure, DGSE) and its predecessors, have reportedly been operating in the country.32

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Furthermore, the deputy chief of the Intelligence Unit of MINUSCA’s Force is always a French officer. Although not new to the continent, Russia abandoned Africa after the end of the Cold War for political and economic reasons. More recently, Moscow has started to work its way back to the continent with a stronger presence in the sub-Saharan region for the same two reasons. President Touadéra seemed to be an ideal partner for Russia as both countries faced limitations. Russia is sanctioned, so it needs new partners both politically and economically, while CAR is limited because of its poor security situation and sanctions. Additionally, CAR needs weapons and military equipment, while Russia needs a market for its defense industry, and CAR can offer mining concessions for Russian companies (gold, diamonds, or uranium). As a result, it is likely Russia needs intelligence for supporting the pro-Russian Touadéra administration and to support its own activities. Since CAR’s government has only limited influence, Russia also needs to have good connections with other actors, most notably the FPRC, the armed group that controls the northeast and has an essential border crossing point to Sudan (Am Dafok–Umm Rawq). Since President Touadéra returned from Sochi in October 2017, several agreements have been signed giving access to various Russian companies and individuals.33 Officially, the first 5 military and 170 civilian instructors from Russia arrived in CAR in late January 2018 to train CAR service personnel.34 Two months later, forty Russian Special Forces troops were assigned to Touadera’s security detail (previously provided by MINUSCA’s Rwandan contingent). In a parallel development, Valery Zakharov, a Russian citizen with alleged ties to the Federal Security Service (Federalnaya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti, FSB), the Russian intelligence services, was appointed national security adviser to the president (he also obtained Central African nationality). One of Zakharov’s chief assistants and interpreters is Dmitry Sytyi, the general director of Lobaye Invest, a mining subsidiary of the Russian company M-Finans, which was granted a permit to start operations at the gold and diamond fields in Lobaye and Haute-Kotto prefectures. Besides the key figures, there are several other Russian individuals who can be directly linked to one of the oligarchs closest to Vladimir Putin, Yevgeniy Prigozhin, the alleged owner of the Russian private military company, Wagner Group, and the Saint Petersburg–based Internet Research Agency (IRA), the infamous “Troll Factory” sanctioned by Washington, D.C. Sytyi is listed among IRA’s employees in the Translation Section, responsible for manipulating public opinion as “Manipulation Publicist,” and Zakharov can be found on Wagner’s payroll by the assigned number “M-5658.” Wagner and the locally registered Sewa Security Services—now also responsible for Touadéra’s security—are at several key locations in the country, not only near major mining sites, but also at airstrips (Ndelé, Birao, Ouadda, and Berengo), which allows them to avoid



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Bangui M’Poko International Airport and keep a low profile, and at military training camp sites in Bambari, Bangassou, Bangui, Berengo, Bouar, Dekoa, Paoua, and Sibut. In parallel, employees and assets of Wagner, Sewa, and Lobaye Invest have been seen supporting various armed groups in CAR and Sudan. In January 2018 Russian emissaries spoke with Nourredine Adam in Khartoum, as well as with Ali Darassa (Union for Peace in the Central African Republic, Unité pour la paix en Centrafrique, UPC) and Al-Khatim in their respective strongholds. On March 29, 2018, Russian representatives met former president and former Séléka leader Djotodia in Cotonou, negotiating for access to platinum and mercury mines not controlled by the CAR government.35 In early 2018 Wagner also launched training for former Séléka fighters in Sudan.36 Subsequently, a CNN team that arrived reported on their activities and was placed under surveillance and harassed, and media with close ties to Prigozhin launched a campaign to discredit the news channel.37 Though these activities are only an indirect sign and do not necessarily mean intelligence involvement, it is worth mentioning that Russia has started offering a great number of various courses and training programs for military officers, lawyers, and students from CAR in Russia. Additionally, several individuals in key positions have also been invited to conferences or trainings with one or two weeks of extra vacation time in Russia.38 While countries offering scholarships can be interpreted as a sign of goodwill, it has been revealed to be a pattern for Russian intelligence to recruit foreigners when the individuals with the abovementioned backgrounds travel to Russia.39 CONCLUSION With such a troubled history, many years of continuous civil wars, and armed conflicts in the country, it is challenging to research CAR’s intelligence culture. The lack of public records, especially the lack of online material, and the often contradictory pieces of information, make any kind of assessment a real challenge. Yet some broad conclusions can be drawn from the limited information. CAR’s intelligence services have been facing several challenges that need to be addressed to improve professionalism. First, different administrations brought constant changes to the intelligence community, which prevented the services from establishing good practices. It is also likely that the majority of the personnel were replaced, since members are usually recruited from the party’s supporters. Second, the lack of professional education and the insufficient technological background contribute to a low level of accuracy

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and effectiveness. Thus, the intelligence services do not have sufficient research and analytical capacity. Third, there is a good climate for bribery due to low salaries and the overall poor financial situation of the country, and with around eighty ethnic groups present and none making up more than 30% of the population, there is no such thing as national identity. People are often loyal to their ethnic group and hostile to certain other ethnic groups. Fourth, there are coordination challenges between the services and a lack of international cooperation with other nations’ intelligence services. Fifth, the legal framework and the parliament’s intelligence oversight role need to be strengthened to prevent the services from becoming a personal tool for leaders. Sixth, the growing presence of foreign intelligence services and the appearance of foreign private military companies contribute to the complex situation, which needs solutions to bring lasting peace and stability to the “country of rumors.” NOTES   1.  Andrea Balogh, János Besenyő, Péter Miletics, and Dávid Vogel, La République Centrafricaine [The Central African Republic] (Szeged: Honvéd Vezérkar Tudományos Kutatóhely—Centre Universitaire Francophone de l’Université de Szeged, 2016), 9–11.   2.  “Population, Total—Central African Republic,” World Bank, 2021; “World Population Dashboard—CAR,” United Nations Population Fund, 2021, https://www .unfpa.org/data/world-population/CF https://data.worldbank.org/indicator/SP.POP .TOTL?locations=CF; and “Central African Republic,” in The World Factbook (Central Intelligence Agency, 2021), https://www.cia.gov/the-world-factbook/countries /central-african-republic/.  3. Ibid.  4. Ibid.  5. “GDP per Capita (Current US$)—Central African Republic,” World Bank, 2021, https://data.worldbank.org/indicator/NY.GDP.PCAP.CD?locations=CF&most _recent_value_desc=false.   6.  “Central African Republic.”  7. Ibid.   8.  This low age is the mixed result of diseases (even treatable ones), malnutrition, the inadequate health-care system, the precarious food security, and the ongoing armed conflicts. This latter factor is also responsible for the high illiteracy rate. “Central African Republic.”   9.  “Human Development Index (HDI) Ranking—From the 2020 Human Development Report,” Human Development Data Center, 2021, http://hdr.undp.org/en/data. 10. Devon Douglas-Bowers, “Colonialism, Coups and Conflict: Understanding Today’s Violence in the Central African Republic,” Occupy.com, February 2,



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2015, https://www.occupy.com/article/colonialism-coups-and-conflict-understanding -todays-violence-central-african-republic#sthash.LGtNSbKv.dpbs. 11.  Balogh et al., La République Centrafricaine, 147–160. 12.  “France Ends Sangaris Military Operation in CAR,” BBC News, October 31, 2016, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-37823047; Kiril Avramov and Ruslan Trad, “Expanding Global Footprint: Russia Builds on Syria Experiments in Central Africa,” Defense Post, May 9, 2018, https://www.thedefensepost.com/2018/05/09 /russia-central-african-republic-pmc-opinion/; “MINUSCA fact sheet,” UN Peacekeeping, 2021, https://peacekeeping.un.org/en/mission/minusca; and EU Training Mission in Central African Republic, “About Military Training Mission in the Central African Republic (EUTM RCA),” EU External Action Service, June 20, 2016, https:// eeas.europa.eu/csdp-missions-operations/eutm-rca/3907/about-military-training -mission-central-african-republic-eutm-rca_en. 13. “Political Agreement for Peace and Reconciliation in the Central African Republic,” United Nations/ReliefWeb, March 8, 2019, https://reliefweb.int/report /central-african-republic/political-agreement-peace-and-reconciliation-central-african. 14. Eric G. Berman, La République Centrafricaine: Une étude de cas sur les armes légères et les conflits [The Central African Republic: A case study on small arms and conflict] (Geneve: Small Arms Survey, 2006), 17–18. President Patassé also created CAR’s likely first PMC, the Central African Society for Protection and Surveillance (Société centrafricaine de protection et de surveillance, SCPS), a private army of around one thousand to fifteen hundred employees. Berman, La République Centrafricaine, 20–21. 15.  Ministere de la Defense Nationale, des anciens combattants, de victimes de guerre, du desarmement de la restructuration de l’armee, Rapport final du Comite preparatoire du séminaire national sur la réforme du secteur de la sécurité en Republique Centrafricaine [Final report of the Preparatory Committee for the National Seminar on Security Sector Reform in the Central African Republic] (Bangui, 2008), 113–114. 16.  Council of the European Union, “Règlement d’exécution (UE) 2017/906 du Counseil” [Council Implementing Regulation (EU) 2017/906], Journal Officiel de l’Union Européenne, May 29, 2017, https://eur-lex.europa.eu/legal-content/FR/TXT /HTML/?uri=CELEX:32017R0906&from=DE. 17.  “République Centrafricaine Constitution du 30 mars 2016” [Central African Republic Constitution of March 30, 2016], Journal Officiel de la République Centrafricaine 57, no. 3 (April 5, 2016): 9. 18.  “Lu pour vous dans l’Indépendant : Centrafrique: Le patron des renseignements sous les verrous” [Central African Republic: The boss of intelligence behind bars], Centrafrique Presse, February 8, 2010, http://centrafrique-presse.over-blog .com/article-lu-pour-vous-dans-l-independant-centrafrique-le-patron-des-renseigne ments-sous-les-verrous-44495473.html. 19. Reboas and his successor, Claude-Richard Gouandjia, both had ambitions for the presidential race of 2016. “Le patron des renseignements sous les verrous” [The boss of intelligence behind bars], RFI, March 29, 2010, https://www.rfi.fr/fr /contenu/20100329-le-patron-renseignements-sous-verrous; Decret No. 11.053

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rapportant les dispositions du Decret No. 10.053 du 08 mars 2010, portant nomination d’un Directeur General du Bureau National de la Documentation (BND), Journal Officiel de la République Centrafricaine, December 20, 2011, 31; Pierre Inza, “Centrafrique: Présidentielle 2015; L’ancien ministre puissant de la sécurité [Central African Republic: Presidential 2015; The powerful former minister of security],” Corbeau News Centrafrique, August 7, 2015, https://corbeaunews-centrafrique.com /centrafrique-presidentielle-2015-lancien-ministre-puissant-de-la-securite. 20. This way intelligence services are more loyal to the regime they support than to the laws, for example often using wiretapping, even though it is prohibited. Ministere de la Defense Nationale, Rapport final du Comite preparatoire, 113–114; Boubacar N’Ddiaye, Au delà de la Demobilisation—Défis et opportunités pour une réforme du sexteur de la sécurité en République centrafricaine [Beyond demobilization—Challenges and opportunities for security sector reform in the Central African Republic] (Washington, DC: Multi-Country Demobilization and Reintegration Program [MDRP], 2007), 9–11. 21. Ministere de la Defense Nationale, Rapport final du Comite preparatoire, 113–114. 22. Gisèle Moloma, “Centrafrique: Quand les renseignements de la Présidence tournent à l’escroquerie [Central African Republic: When information from the presidency turns into a scam],” Corbeau News Centrafrique, July 12, 2017, https:// corbeaunews-centrafrique.com/centrafrique-quand-les-renseignements-de-la-presi dence-tournent-lescroquerie. 23. John R. Bolton, “Remarks by National Security Advisor Ambassador John R. Bolton on the Trump Administration’s New Africa Strategy,” White House, December 13, 2018, https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefings-statements/remarks-national -security-advisor-ambassador-john-r-bolton-trump-administrations-new-africa -strategy. 24.  Axel Dreher, Andreas Fuchs, Bradley Parks, Austin M. Strange, and Michael J. Tierney, “Aid, China, and Growth: Evidence from a New Global Development Finance Dataset” (AidData Working Paper no. 46, 2017). 25.  Charles Clover, “Chinese Private Security Companies Go Global,” Financial Times, February 26, 2017, https://www.ft.com/content/2a1ce1c8-fa7c-11e6-9516-2d 969e0d3b65. 26.  International Crisis Group, “Avoiding the Worst in Central African Republic,” ICG, September 28, 2017, https://www.crisisgroup.org/africa/central-africa/central -african-republic/253-avoiding-worst-central-african-republic. 27. Ibid. 28. Melanie Ramjoué, “Improving United Nations Intelligence: Lessons from the Field” (Geneva Centre for Security Policy (GCSP) Policy Paper No. 19, August 2011), 1–5. 29.  “Les Milobs font appel aux nouvelles technologies pour la collecte de renseignements” [Milobs use new technologies for intelligence gathering],” MINUSCA, Geneva Centre for Security Sector Governance, September 21, 2018, https://issat .dcaf.ch/Learn/Resource-Library2/Videos/Les-Milobs-font-appel-aux-nouvelles -technologies-pour-la-collecte-de-renseignements-MINUSCA-CAR.



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30. “Athena—Financing Security and Defence Military Operations,” European Council—Council of the European Union, 2021, https://www.consilium.europa.eu /en/policies/athena/. 31.  Andrew McGregor, “How Russia Is Displacing the French in the Struggle for Influence in the Central African Republic,” Eurasia Daily Monitor, May 15, 2018, https://jamestown.org/program/how-russia-is-displacing-the-french-in-the-struggle -for-influence-in-the-central-african-republic/. 32.  “La Direction du renseignement et de la sécuritéde la défense (DRSD)” [The Defense Intelligence and Security Directorate], Fédération Nationale des Associations Parachutistes, October 2017, fnapara.fr%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2017 %2F10%2FDirection-du-Renseignement-et-de-la-Securite-de-la-Defense-2017.pdf; and Karl Sörenson, Beyond Françafrique: The Foundation, Reorientation and Reorganisation of France’s Africa Politics (Stockholm: Swedish Research Agency, 2008), 36, 57. 33.  The first two meetings between CAR and Russian entities were organized in September 2017 in France and Switzerland by Firmin Ngrébada, current CAR prime minister, who in March 2013—when Séléka rebels overthrew President Bozizé— sought refuge as a member of the presidential cabinet at the Russian embassy, where he spent several days in the company of Ambassador Lobanov. Mathieu Olivier, “Russia’s Murky Business Dealings in the Central African Republic,” Africa Report, August 23, 2019, https://www.theafricareport.com/16511/russias-murky-business -dealings-in-the-central-african-republic/. 34. In fact, it is likely that the first group of Russian individuals arrived even earlier: seven specialists of M-Invest (including Dmitry Sytyi), a Russian company under US sanctions, arrived in CAR at the invitation of President Touadéra on September 21, 2017, to study the opportunities for exploration and extraction of mineral resources in CAR. Final Report on the Murder of Orkhan Dzhemal, Aleksandr Rastogruev and Kirill Radchenko in the Central African Republic, The Dossier Center, October 25, 2019, https://dossier.center/car-en/. 35.  It is worth mentioning that Djotodia speaks fluent Russian since he went to study in the Soviet Union, where he spent around ten years. Louisa Lombard, “Central African Republic: President Michel Djotodia and the Good Little Putschist’s Tool Box,” African Arguments, April 2, 2013, https://africanarguments.org/2013/04 /central-african-republic-president-michel-djotodia-and-the-good-little-putchists -tool-box-by-louisa-lombard; and “Centrafrique: Moscou sollicite l’ex-Séléka via Michel Djotodia” [Central African Republic: Moscow seeks ex-Séléka via Michel Djotodia], Jeune Afrique, April 5, 2018, https://www.jeuneafrique.com/mag/547435 /politique/centrafrique-moscou-sollicite-lex-seleka-via-michel-djotodia. 36.  Shankara Narayanan, “The Mercenaries behind Russian Operations in Africa,” The Jamestown Foundation, November 15, 2019, https://jamestown.org/the-merce naries-behind-russian-operations-in-africa. 37.  “Threats, Lies and Videotape: Prigozhin’s Long-Running War on Free Media,” Bellingcat, August 20, 2020, https://www.bellingcat.com/news/africa/2020/08/20 /threats-lies-and-videotape-prigozhins-long-running-war-on-free-media.

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38. Patricia Huon and Simon Ostrovsky, “Russia: The New Power in Central Africa,” Coda Media—Disinformation, December 19, 2018, https://www.codastory .com/disinformation/russia-new-power-central-africa/. 39. “Matters of Priority for Russian Intelligence in 2020,” Institute for Global Threats and Democracies Studies, December 24, 2020, https://igtds.org /blog/2020/12/24/matters-of-priority-for-russian-intelligence-in-2020/.

10 Chad An Armed Intelligence Culture Ketil Fred Hansen

This

chapter examines the intelligence culture in Chad with attention to the transformations and developments from its independence from France in 1960 until the death of President Idriss Déby in April 2021. Chad, a spacious country in Central Africa with a population of about seventeen million people, has experienced numerous violent conflicts, including both civil wars and proxy wars (Libya, Sudan). Chad has always been and still is heavily militarized.1 This chapter argues that Chad’s intelligence culture is more about protecting the president than aiding the rule of law and addressing national security threats. Drawing from fieldwork in N’Djamena, official documents, blogs, newspaper articles, and reports from various nongovernmental organizations in addition to scholarly literature, it consists of five chronologically organized parts covering the period from the presidency of François Tombalbaye through that of Idriss Déby. UNDER CHAD’S FIRST PRESIDENT, FRANÇOIS TOMBALBAYE, 1960–1975 On August 11, 1960, France granted Chad political independence, providing the country with political autonomy and electoral representation.2 At independence, Chad did not have its own intelligence or army. However, only four days after taking office, President François Toumbalbaye signed a defense accord with France. On May 27, 1961, Toumbalbaye established the Chadian National Army (Armée Nationale Tchadienne, ANT) with a structure resembling France’s armed forces. By the end of the year, 750 troops served in the ANT.3 Four years later, under French president Charles de Gaulle’s initiative, 121

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the defense accord with France was expanded, increasing technical military assistance and French engagements, including intelligence. The new deal signed on May 19, 1964, included a unified command for all Chadian security forces under a French general, and nearly doubled the number of French officers in Chad to train and restructure the security apparatus.4 A small air force piloted by Frenchmen was also included. When the French Army agreed to provide security in Chad, the ANT was restricted in its security mission. Yet when the French military commanders left the Bourkou-Ennedie-Tibesti (BET) region in 1965, the ANT started recruiting seriously and playing a deeper role in national security. By the end of 1966, the ANT included 1,850 “undisciplined and poorly trained” troops.5 French military intelligence, the Second Bureau (Deuxieme Bureau) of the Army, was the agency for political and military intelligence in colonial Chad.6 In 1960, France’s civilian intelligence service established an Africa branch of the External Documentation and Counter-Espionage Service (Service de Documentation Extérieure et de Contre-Espionnage, SDECE). The SDECE immediately installed a civilian liaison and intelligence officer (Poste de Liaison et de Renseignement, PLR) in Fort Lamy, the capital. Until 1967, intelligence in Chad was entirely carried out by the French. This situation changed when President Toumbalbaye established the Chadian Security Unit (Compagnie Tchadiennes de Securité, CTS), a paramilitary element directly under the Office of the President, in 1967.7 Formed and then equipped by Israel until 1972, parts of the unit functioned as the presidential guard.8 CTS also included a mixture of well-paid and well-equipped mobile elite troops and intelligence officers, incorporating officers within the ANT.9 A former French colonel, Camille Gourvenec, served as a hired security adviser to Tombalbaye. For years, Gourvenec headed both the National Nomadic Guard (la Garde Nationale et Nomade, GNN) and the Centre for Coordination and Exploitation of Intelligence (Centre de Coordination et d’Exploitation du Renseignement, CCER). In 1971 the GNN consisted of about thirty-five hundred troops and was similar to the ANT in size, but was far better trained and equipped.10 The CCER was both an intelligence unit and a secret police service, performing various forms of “colonial policing.”11 The agents, called “indicateurs,” were an important part of the security system. Some of these agents were paid on a monthly basis to report suspicious conversations in their villages or cities. Others, like “Mariam” (as all women selling Gala beer were known), were paid only if they provided important information. In the early 1970s Chad’s capital had some eight hundred “Mariams.”12 In 1970 the Special Intervention Brigade (Brigade Spéciale d’Intervention, BSI) was added under the CCER to deal with physical threats, arrests, torture, and even assassinations. Notably, Ahmed Abdallah was accused of planning a coup



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with the help of Libya’s leader, Muammar Gaddafi. He was arrested and tortured to death in 1970 by BSI agents. Additionally, BSI agents also murdered Outel Bono in Paris, in August 1973, when he planned to start a Chadian political opposition party. Tombalbaye trusted and also relied on a national police security unit (Sûrté Nationale) and received material assistance from Morocco, which improved the capability of the CTS and the ANT.13 Following the creation of the rebel movement National Liberation Front of Chad (Front de libération nationale du Tchad, FROLINAT) in 1966, most of President Tombalbaye’s armed forces and intelligence concentrated on fighting Chadian insurgents. Heavy armed resistance from the various fractions of FROLINAT made Toumbalbaye more dependent on military aid from France. From 1969 to 1972 about two thousand French soldiers helped Toumbalbaye fight FROLINAT.14 Tombalbaye’s mistrust of and paranoia about fellow Chadians made him rely on Moroccan personal guards and French intelligence. When he was killed in a coup on April 13, 1975, it was revealed that his French security adviser, Camille Gourvenec, had played a double role, providing the coup’s leaders with vital intelligence.15 The new president, Felix Malloum, continued to use Gourvenec as a security adviser but ordered French forces to leave Chad. UNDER PRESIDENTS FELIX MALLOUM AND GOUKOUNI OUEDDEI, 1975–1982 A year later, fearing both internal rebels and Libya’s forces, President Malloum signed a new military cooperation agreement with France that included military intelligence and training.16 Publicly, Malloum focused on national unity and democracy, but neither was seriously pursued.17 Unable to convert dissatisfaction with Tombalbaye’s regime into acceptance of his own, Malloum militarized politics and power in Chad further, using about 40 percent of the state budget for forms of security, including military and intelligence.18 Struggling against the FROLINAT rebels supported by Libya, Malloum resigned and fled to Nigeria in March 1979, leaving Chad in disarray. A climate of serious institutional distrust under Malloum’s military government increased during the 1979 to 1982 civil war. As scholar Robert Buijtenhuijs has explained, “the north sank into complete chaos.”19 In fact, “lawlessness, corruption, and extortion were common, and few of the functions of administration were fulfilled” in Chad when President Goukouni Oueddei and his military transitional government (Gouvernement d’Union Nationale et de Transition, GUNT) ruled.20 While Malloum had relied on French intelligence and military support, President Oueddei depended entirely on Libya for

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intelligence.21 Civil war in Chad ended when Hissène Habré, leader of a FROLINAT faction, took power on June 7, 1982, supported by France and the United States. Habré quickly established a more violent intelligence culture. UNDER PRESIDENT HISSÈNE HABRÉ, 1982–1990 Scholar Sam Nolutshungu described how the Chadian state under Habré’s rule “‘functioned’ only so long as French aid and French arms—and the French Secret Services—were content to make it work.”22 In October 1982 Habré proclaimed the Fundamental Law, an autocratic constitution under which the president was given broad powers. Habré was both the supreme commander of the National Army and head of the independent and constantly expanding Presidential Guard.23 At the army’s headquarters in N’Djamena, about twenty trusted officers divided responsibility for five bureaus, including one (B2) for intelligence. Habré soon expanded intelligence collection.24 On January 26, 1983, Habré established the Bureau of Documentation and Security (Direction de la Documentation et de la Sécurité, DDS) as a separate intelligence and political police service to be used against his political opponents. The DDS was responsible for the collection and centralization of all intelligence.25 Habré appointed all important officials within the DDS, and the DDS director reported directly to him.26 From its establishment in January 1983 to Habré’s ouster in December 1990, four different Gouran (the same ethnic group as Habré) served as DDS directors. After Habré’s fall, it was revealed that one DDS director, a nephew of Habré, Guihini Korei, had been a double agent, working for France toward the end of his career.27 Habré was notorious for his unscrupulous surveillance of political opponents and brutal investigation methods. In the mid-1980s, 25 bureaus employing 127 DDS agents operated throughout the country. These officers supplied the DDS headquarter in N’Djamena with intelligence daily via radio. All the bureaus had their own local informants (“indicateurs”). Working in regular services, schools, or businesses like bars or taxis, they informed authorities about individuals or groups critical of the regime.28 Depending on the importance of the information, they could receive up to 20,000 CFA (Central African CFA franc), a considerable sum in the mid-1980s.29 The DDS included numerous specialist units. The Special Rapid Intervention Brigade (Brigade Spéciale d’Intervention Rapide, BSIR), an armed DDS branch with members who wore uniforms, as opposed to the civilian dress of other DDS agents, was responsible for making arrests of subjects detected by civilian DDS agents. Mahamat Djibrine, nicknamed “El-Djonto,” was the leader of the DDS unit for investigation for many years and responsible for



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elimination of oppositional Chadians abroad. A special prison unit, headed by Abakar Torbo, included the notorious “la piscine” in N’Djamena, where many thousands lost their lives either through inhumane prison conditions or by torture.30 Human Rights Watch reported that the DDS was responsible for some forty thousand deaths during Habré’s rule.31 The DDS received foreign financing from the beginning. US president Ronald Reagan (1981–1989) supported Habré in a proxy war against Gaddafi in Libya, and the United States became the firmest foreign backer of the DDS.32 In July 1983 the United States and Chad signed a mutual defense assistance agreement. Over the following years, some forty Chadian officers from various security branches participated in a five-week course in the United States on security, including methods of investigation and intelligence gathering.33 American advisers from the embassy regularly met with the director of the DDS to exchange information. In addition, according to the DDS’s first director, Saleh Younous, a reported Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) source, was “constantly by his side” providing advice.34 The CIA also trained DDS personnel in Chad on a regular basis.35 Habré also made use of American satellite intelligence, which was considered superior to French.36 Toward the end of his career, Habré even employed former US marines as his bodyguards.37 Similarly, France supported Habré and his regime officially all through his reign, but in reality only until mid-1989.38 The French Directorate-General for External Security (Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure, DGSE) (called SDECE until 1982), exchanged intelligence with DDS and trained their agents.39 Nevertheless, France also used DGSE agents as counterinsurgents to penetrate and divide various movements in Chad as well as infiltrate both Chadian bureaucracy and the military.40 The DDS was also part of a transnational network of security and intelligence services, known as “Mosaïque.” Allegedly financed by the United States, Mosaïque grouped Israel with some francophone African countries with the aim of exchanging intelligence, implementing joint operations and surveilling opponents.41 Intelligence was often provided directly to Habré by the police, the Presidential Guard, and the National Army contouring formal hierarchies.42 The National Security (Sûreté Nationale, SN), under the Ministry of Interior, had two bureaus dealing with intelligence, one called Security (Securité) and the other Intelligence Services (Renseignements Généraux).43 While Security was mostly concerned with policing, the Intelligence Services employed some 180 men all over the country in the mid-1980s, and its information passed from the director of security through the minister of the interior to the president. From 1987 to 1990, Director of Police Touka Haliki headed the Intelligence Services.

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The Presidential Guard (Garde Présidentielle, GP) was an independent part of the armed forces, operating in semi-secrecy under the direct leadership of the president.44 In 1987 this guard consisted of 3,600 well-equipped, well-paid and trained troops. This made, despite its numerical inferiority, the GP more powerful than the national army. The GP employed mostly Toubou/Gouran men to ensure loyalty to Habré. Undoubtedly, Habré increasingly relied more on the GP to maintain his own security and control adversaries. While one part of the GP always kept close to the president, other units operated throughout the country, sometimes in close collaboration with the DDS and the Presidential Investigation Services (Service d’Investigation Présidentielle, SIP). SIP was a special intelligence unit directly connected to the president and physically located next to his palace. Similarly, the unit arrested individuals suspected of representing a physical threat to the president and placed them in a prison that was connected physically to the presidency.45 Habré also relied on intelligence from the ANT. When Habré took power, most pilots were still foreign contractors (including French and Zairian). By 1987 an increased number of Chadians received pilot training, either in France or the United States, and one of them was future coup leader and president Idriss Déby. Habré’s army consisted of various gangs, troops, and officers from different rebel movements and former national armies. Many soldiers were similar to warriors, having no professional or formal training but only practical combat experience.46 They obeyed their leaders but not always their officers, making the organizational patterns of the security forces flexible but chaotic.47 Former rebels were often subject to “scrutiny by various intelligence networks within the military.”48 Indeed, trusted soldiers spied on their army comrades and reported to the president’s office or the DDS. While Westerners often regarded Chad as anarchic, blurred boundaries were a normality that opened opportunities and negotiations for Chadians.49 UNDER PRESIDENT IDRISS DÉBY, 1990–2021 French intelligence and military support were fundamental to Habré’s fall on December 1, 1990. Two of President Habré’s most trusted men, General Idriss Déby and General Hassan Djamous, both unsuccessfully tried to oust Habré on April 1, 1989. Djamous was captured and tortured to death during interrogations by DDS agents.50 Déby, however, managed to flee to Sudan, where in March 1990 he established an insurgent movement called the Patriotic Salvation Movement (Mouvement Patriotique du Salut, MPS).51



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Supported by Libya and Sudan, Déby trained about two thousand men with the objective of ousting Habré.52 France secretly backed Déby while officially supporting Habré and his regime. French president François Mitterrand knew that Paul Fontbonne, a former French colonel employed at the DGSE, delivered intelligence to Déby and the MPS rebels from Darfur to N’Djamena.53 After the coup, another six French DGSE officers traveled to N’Djamena to support Déby, including training his bodyguards.54 France did not use their military force in Sparrowhawk (Epervier) stationed in N’Djamena to stop Déby and his MPS rebels. Only some six thousand troops out of twenty thousand in the ANT actually fought for Habré to stop Déby’s advance.55 Déby quickly dissolved the DDS and establish the Centre for Research and Coordination of Intelligence (Centre de Recherche et de Coordination des Reassignments, CRCR).56 However, there were no significant differences between the two, as many former DDS agents continued to work for CRCR.57 That is why the Sovereign National Conference, organized from January to April 1993, called for CRCR’s dissolution. Déby dissolved the CRCR, but with the Decree on June 8, 1993 he established the National Security Agency (Agence Nationale de Sécurité, ANS). Placed under President Déby’s direct authority, the ANS was given a broad mandate for various types of intelligence and surveillance but was formally limited in the ability to arrest and detain people. Additionally, the ANS could not interfere with the responsibilities of the police or the gendarmerie.58 These limitations were, however, only formalities. In fact, the ANS worked on issues officially under the responsibility of the army, the gendarmerie, the police, the intelligence services, and military intelligence.59 The ANS appears to have handled every issue President Déby instructed it to act on. It was described as “the armed wing of the MPS” and as a “counterintelligence organization.”60 The ANS has arrested, tortured, and eliminated people. A prominent example includes the murder of the vice president of the then newly founded League for Human Rights (Ligue des Droits de l’Homme, LDH), lawyer Joseph Béhidi, who was shot dead by ANS agents in front of his house on February 16, 1991. The ANS’s structure resembled the DDS’s structure.61 The ANS operated both in Chad and abroad. The ANS’s External Research Directorate (Direction de Recherche Exterieure) collected intelligence about the security of the state, which included political opponents. In Chad, the agency had bureaus in all regions of the country, reporting daily to the director in N’Djamena. The director was appointed by presidential decree and often with kin relationships to the president or the first lady. Two contemporary examples include director Ahmed Kogri, who was the First Lady’s uncle, and Deputy Director Idriss Yousouf Boy, who was one of president Déby’s nephews.62

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It is publicly unknown how many people worked for the ANS.63 Its agents were never in uniform and infiltrated many milieus with ease. Some were on a regular pay list and had specific duties in a hierarchy. The top-ranked officers were often recognized by the population as they typically drove luxurious four-wheel drive vehicles with dark windows.64 However, most indicateurs were paid according to the information provided. The ANS was restructured in 2017, but details remain classified. Nevertheless, the new mandate declared that the ANS should “[d]etect, forestall and prevent all activities of espionage, subversion and destabilization directed against the interests of the state and Nation, in coordination with the other services or bodies.”65 Human rights activists argued that the new structure made it legally easier to arrest critics, as the ANS restructuring apparently made it easier to respond to any threat. When it comes to arresting, torturing, and eliminating troublesome people, there was no clear-cut division between the ANS and the Republican Guard. In October 2005, the Republican Guard was reorganized and renamed the General Directorate of Security Services for National Institutions (Direction Générale de Service and Sécurité des Institutions de l’Etat, DGSSIE).66 During the night between February 2 and 3, 2008, Ibni Oumar Mahamat Saleh, believed to be behind an attempted coup, was abducted from his home by agents from the DGSSIE; he has never been seen again.67 The DGSSIE was under direct presidential command, and its troops were better paid, trained, and equipped than the regular army.68 Its troops, consisting mostly of Zaghawa, were present all over the country and enjoy quasiimmunity as they operate arbitrarily as judges and executors. From its initial 1,640 troops in 2005, in the early 2020s the DGSSIE employed about 7,000 men and was led by trusted family members and in-laws of Déby.69 Headed by President Déby’s son, Mahamat “Kaka” Idriss Déby, from 2014 to 2021, when he replaced his father as Chad’s president, the DGSSIE was the most important element in Déby’s security and intelligence apparatus. Apparently the budget of DGSSIE was more important than that of the entire ANT. In 2021 the defense and security budget represented 30 to 40 percent of Chad’s gross domestic product (GDP).70 Cyber security and surveillance became increasingly important. On February 10, 2005, Déby established the National Agency for Cyber Security and Electronic Certification (Agence Nationale de Sécurité informatique et de Certification électronique, ANSICE). The agency works on preventing hacking of sensitive government information but also controls cybermedia. From April 10, 2016, to December 2, 2016, social media platforms (Face-



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book being the most important in Chad) and SMS messaging applications were disrupted in Chad “for security reasons” as the government feared riots when Déby was reelected president for a fifth term.71 For months in 2020, the speed of internet was also reduced officially “to reduce hate speech on social media.”72 The ANSICE surveyed phone conversations and SMS messages of people suspected of supporting the opposition.73 FOREIGN RELATIONS UNDER DÉBY During the first four years of Déby’s rule, Chad was by far the most significant recipient of French military aid in Africa, and the most radical government restructuring was in the ANT.74 After oil production started in 2003, Déby invested more in security and defense, becoming less dependent on military aid from France and the United States.75 However, in 2008 France helped Déby with intelligence by flying six Mirage F1-CT planes over the Chadian territory to inform Déby about armed rebel activities.76 In 2014, France sent twelve military advisers, with a €12 million (about US$14 million) budget, to Chad to help restructure the National Army. On a yearly basis, some fourteen hundred military personnel, including the leadership of military intelligence, receive training from France.77 Since 2013, Chad’s participation in the French-led fight against terror in the Sahel has resulted in flows of foreign monetary support for Chadian elite troops, including training, equipment, and salaries.78 Chadian intelligence has benefited from increased sophistication and improved collaboration with France and the United States (US).79 In February 2019, Déby relied on French intelligence and active air bombing to stop another coup attempt.80 This led to a new security and defense accord between Chad and France signed on September 4, 2019, in which military intelligence and training of troops were central.81 To reduce reliance on France and the United States for intelligence, Chad restored diplomatic ties with Israel in January 2019. Israel is considered one of the most advanced developers of intelligence and surveillance material in the world.82 Moreover, regarding Chad’s short-term goals in establishing diplomatic ties, questions were raised about the nature of the relationship.83 Chad also seeks to further diversify security and surveillance capabilities by collaborating more closely with China, Saudi Arabia, and Turkey. Mahamat “Kaka” Idriss Déby, interim president since April 20, 2021, appears to have followed this trend.

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CONCLUSION This chapter demonstrates that Chad’s intelligence culture was marked by brutality and impunity from independence through the reign of President Idriss Déby. Even though Chad built its own intelligence apparatus from 1967, the country still relies on foreign powers, especially France and the United States. Since the mid-1980s French and US intelligence in Chad have sometimes collaborated, sometimes competed to ensure good relations with the Chadian regime and provide accurate intelligence to the regime in power. Though official records about Chadian intelligence are classified, it is evident that intelligence plays a major, if not essential, role in national politics in Chad. Political and military adversaries of the regime in power are often “taken care of” by various branches of the intelligence apparatus. Additionally, internal conflicts have been described as “intelligence driven.”84 It is unlikely that the death of President Idriss Déby in April 2021 will significantly change the intelligence culture in Chad. Mahamat “Kaka” Idriss Déby, one of President Déby’s sons, enacted a constitutional coup when he declared himself president of the Military Transitional Council and interim president of Chad on April 20, 2021. Previously the young (age thirty-seven when he took power) four-star general led the Chadian forces in the United Nations Multidimensional Integrated Stabilization Mission in Mali (MINUSMA) and, from 2014 until the death of his father, headed the DGSSIE, a mixture of presidential guard and intelligence unit closely connected to the palace. Mahamat Déby appears likely to continue the personalistic forms of intelligence built on fear. Indeed, intelligence in Chad directed more toward informing and protecting the president and his family rather than supporting law enforcement, combating crime, and protecting and defending the country and its institutions, continues. NOTES 1.  Ketil Fred Hansen, “A Democratic Dictator’s Success: How Chad’s President Deby Defeated the Military Opposition in Three Years (2008–2011),” Journal of Contemporary African Studies 31 (4): 583–599; and Judith Scheele, “L’Afrique militarisée: Perspectives historique” [Historical perspectives on the militarization of Africa], Politique Africaine 161/162 (2021). 2.  Nathaniel Powel, France’s Wars in Chad: Military Intervention and Decolonization in Africa (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2021), 1–2. 3.  Mahamat Saleh Yacoub, Tchad: Des rebelles aux seigneurs de guerre [Chad: From rebels to warlords] (N’Djamena: Al-Mouna, 2005), 34–35; and Ketil Fred Hansen, “Chad: Armed Presidents and Politics,” in Oxford Research Encyclopedia of Politics, ed. William Thompson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020). I de-



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liberately use the acronym ANT for the Chadian National Army under the ruling president’s control throughout the chapter, although its formal denomination varied throughout the period (ANT, FAT, FANT, and FAP).  4. Nathaniel Powell, “Experts in Decolonization? French Statebuilding and Counterinsurgency in Chad, 1969–1972,” International History Review 42, no. 2 (2020): 322–324.  5. Damien Mireval, Tchad: Les guerres secrèts de la France [Chad: The secret French wars] (Paris: Va editions, 2021), 65.  6. Jean-Pierre Bat, “Le 2e bureau en Afrique équatoriale française” [The 2nd office in French Equatorial Africa], Revue historique des armées, no. 273 (2014).   7.  Djimtola Nelli and Gagsou Golvang-Bayo, Tchad: Le conseil supérieur militaire et l’exercice du pouvoir [Chad: The higher military council and the exercise of power] (N’Djamena: Al-Mouna, 2008), 86.  8. Samuel Decalo, Historical Dictionary of Chad (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 1997), 122; International Crisis Group, Les défis de l’armée Tchadienne [The challenges of the Chadian Army], 2021, 3, https://www.crisisgroup.org/fr/africa/cen tral-africa/chad/298-les-defis-de-larmee-tchadienne. Diplomatic relations with Israel ceased in 1972. Tomas Collelo, Chad: A Country Study (Washington, DC: Federal Research Division, Library of Congress, 1990), 167.   9.  Mahamat Saleh Yacoub, “L’armée et le pouvor au Tchad (1960–1979)” [The army and the power in Chad], in Tchad, quarante ans d’independance (N’Djamena: CEFOD, 2002), 29. 10. Collelo, Chad, 176; and Decalo, Historical Dictionary of Chad, 61. 11. Mireval, Tchad, 93–98. 12.  Nelli and Golvang-Bayo, Tchad, 87. 13.  Ibid., 86–87. 14. Robert Buijtenhuijs, “Chad in the Age of Warlords,” in History of Central Africa, ed. D. Birmingham and P. M Martins (Essex: Longman, 1998), 23. 15.  David H. Henderson, Conflict in Chad 1975 to Present (Quantico, VA: Marine Corps Command and Staff College, Strategic Issues, 1984). 16.  Raphaël Granvaud, Que fait l’armée française en Afrique? [What is the French army doing in Africa?] (Marseille: Agone, 2009), 312; and Collelo, Chad, 198. 17.  Hansen, “Chad.” 18. Collelo, Chad, 142; Marielle Debos, Living by the Gun in Chad (London: Zed Books, 2016), 46; and Sam Nolutshungu, Limits of Anarchy: Intervention and State Formation in Chad (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1996), 98. 19.  Buijtenhuijs, “Chad in the Age of Warlords,” 25. 20. Nolutshungu, Limits of Anarchy, 174. 21. Powell, “Experts in Decolonization?,” 328, argued that Habré had already received intelligence support from France in 1987. 22. Nolutshungu, Limits of Anarchy, 271. 23. Collelo, Chad, 157. 24. Collelo, Chad, 157. 25.  Human Rights Watch, The Plain of the Dead: The Chad of Hissène Habré (1982–1990), 2013, https://www.hrw.org/sites/default/files/reports/chad1213sum mary_english.pdf.

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26.  Romesh Silva, Jeff Klingner, and Scott Weikart, “State Coordinated Violence in Chad under Hissène Habré,” HRDAG.org, 2010, 31. http://www.hrdag.org/about /chad.shtml. 27.  Human Rights Watch, Plain of the Dead, 2013. 28.  Nelli and Golvang-Bayo, Tchad. 29.  Human Rights Watch, Plain of the Dead, 2013. 30.  Silva, Klingner, and Weikart, “State Coordinated Violence,” 31–32. 31.  Human Rights Watch, Allié de la France, condamné par l’Afrique: Les relations entre la France et le régime tchadien de Hissène Habré (1982–1990) [Ally of France, condemned by Africa relations between France and the Chadian regime of Hissène Habré (1982–1990], 2016, www.hrw.org/fr/report/2016/06/28/allie-de-la -france-condamne-par-lafrique/les-relations-entre-la-france-et-le-tchad. 32. Collelo, Chad, 166; Granvaud, Que fait l’armée française en Afrique?, 93; and Debos, Living by the Gun in Chad, 60. 33. Human Rights Watch, Enabling a Dictator: The United States and Chad’s Hissène Habré 1982–1990, 2016, 42; and Collelo, Chad. 34.  Human Rights Watch, Enabling a Dictator. 35. Decalo, Historical Dictionary of Chad, 153; and Human Rights Watch, Enabling a Dictator. 36. Nolutshungu, Limits of Anarchy, 210. 37. Decalo, Historical Dictionary of Chad, 217. 38.  Human Rights Watch, Enabling a Dictator, n266. 39.  Ministère des Armées, “Cérémonie des trente ans de la DGSE” [Ceremony of the 30th anniversary of the DGSE], 2012, https://www.defense.gouv.fr/dgse/tout-le -site/ceremonie-des-trente-ans-de-la-dgse; and Decalo, Historical Dictionary of Chad, 153. 40. Nolutshungu, Limits of Anarchy, 71; and Human Rights Watch, La plaine des morts le Tchad de Hissène Habré 1982–1990, 2013, 94, https://www.hrw.org/sites /default/files/reports/chad1013frwebwcover_0.pdf. 41. Granvaud, Que fait l’armée française en Afrique?, 93; and Human Rights Watch, Enabling a Dictator, 38. 42.  Human Rights Watch, La plaine des morts, 17. Passalet even suggested that Idriss Déby was responsible for secret services within the sole political party UNIR and often was informed by intelligence first, before President Habré. Samy Passalet, Tchad: Deby vers une fin fatale; Les guerres de succession [Chad: Deby towards a fatal end; The wars of succession] (Paris: Publibook, 2009), 20–23. 43.  Human Rights Watch, Allié de la France, 107. 44. Collelo, Chad, 179. 45.  Human Rights Watch, La plaine des morts, 110. 46.  Roland Marchal, “An Emerging Military Power in Central Africa? Chad under Idris Déby,” Sociétés politiques comparées 40 (2016): 18. 47. Collelo, Chad, 179–183. 48.  Ibid., 206. 49. Debos, Living by the Gun in Chad, ch. 3; and Julien Brachet and Judith Scheele, The Value of Disorder: Autonomy, Prosperity, and Plunder in the Chadian Sahara (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), ch. 6.



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50.  Presumably by Habré himself. See David Styan, “Chad’s Political Violence at 50: Bullets, Ballots and Bases,” in Francophone Africa at Fifty, ed. Tony Chafer and Alexander Keese (Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 2018), 241. 51. See Mario J. Azevedo and Samuel Decalo, Historical Dictionary of Chad (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2018) for more on Black September 1984, when entire Hadjaraï communities were killed by Habré’s forces. 52. Debos, Living by the Gun in Chad; and Decalo, Historical Dictionary of Chad. 53. Debos, Living by the Gun in Chad, 64; Mireval, Tchad, 318–319; and Glaser, 104–105. 54.  Varsia Kovana, Précis des guerres et conflits au Tchad [Details of wars and conflicts in Chad] (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1994), 75; and Jean-Marc Gadouillet, Confidences explosives d’un maître espion de la DGSE [Explosive confidences of a master spy of the DGSE] (Paris: Robert Laffont, 2016). 55.  Azevedo and Decalo, Historical Dictionary of Chad, 64. 56  Amnesty International, Tchad: De vaines promesses [Chad: Empty promises], 1995, https://www.amnesty.org/fr/documents/AFR20/003/1995/fr/. 57.  Jean-Pierre Bat et al., “Renseigner et administrer la teurreur sous Hissein Habré: La Direction de la documentation et de la sécurité” [Informing and administering the terror under Hissein Habré: The Documentation and Security Directorate], Champ pénal 17 (2019), https://doi.org/10.4000/champpenal.10450; Reed Brody, “Bringing a Dictator to Justice: The Case of Hissène Habré,” Journal of International Criminal Justice 13, no. 2 (2015): 214; and Ali Abdel-Rhamane Haggar, Et demain le Tchad . . .Verbatim [And tomorrow Chad . . . Verbatim] (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2009), 69. 58.  Decree 302, June 8, 1993, article 243, Criminal procedure code, https://www .justice.gov/eoir/page/file/997276/download. 59.  Amnesty International, Tchad; and Amnesty International, Between Recession and Repression: The Rising Cost of Dissent in Chad, 2017, https://www.justice.gov /eoir/page/file/997276/download; and Ngonn Lokar, “Politique: L’opposition en appelle à la solidarité des Tchadiens contre l’ANS” [Politics: Opposition calls for solidarity of Chadians against ANS], Tchadinfos, May 12, 2016, https://tchadinfos.com /politique/politique-lopposition-en-appelle-a-la-solidarite-des-tchadiens-contre-lans/. 60.  Lokar, “Politique”; and Chad: Country Report on Human Rights Practices (US Department of State, 1996), http://www.state.gov/www/global/human_rights/1996 _hrp_report/chad.html. 61.  Labida Gondeu, “Notes sur la sociologie politique du Tchad” [Notes on the political sociology of Chad] (Working paper no. 006, Sahel Research Group, University of Florida, 2013), 6. 62.  Kogriwho served until June 2020, and Boy served until April 2021. 63.  Interviews with civil society leaders and central MPS members in Ndjamena, October and November 2020 and May 2018. 64.  Illegal in Chad. 65.  Decree No.008/PR/2017. 66.  Amnesty International, Tchad. 67.  Brahim Ibni Oumar Mahamat, interview by Aurélie Bazzara, Le Point, February 2, 2017, https://www.lepoint.fr/afrique/tchad-brahim-ibni-oumar-saleh-on-doit -inscrire-une-nouvelle-page-de-notre-histoire-02-02-2017-2101919_3826.php.

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68.  International Crisis Group, Les défis de l’armée Tchadienne, 23. 69.  Global Security, “Chadian National Army” (s.d.n.l.), https://www.globalsecu rity.org/military/world/africa/cd-army.htm. 70.  International Crisis Group, Les défis de l’armée Tchadienne, 4. 71.  CIPESA, “State of Internet Freedom in Chad 2019: Mapping Trends in Government Internet Controls, 1999–2019,” 2020, https://www.opennetafrica.org/?wpfb _dl=82. 72.  Ketil Fred Hansen, “Chad,” in Africa Year Book, ed. Albert Awedoba et al. (Leiden: Brill, 2021). 73.  Amnesty International, Between Recession and Repression. 74. Amnesty International, Tchad; and International Crisis Group, Les défis de l’armée Tchadienne, 6. 75.  Ketil Fred Hansen, “Oil for Education in Chad: How an Oil Pipeline Agreement to Enhance Democracy and Development Became a Resource Curse,” in Savoir et corruption, ed. Lisbet Holtedahl and Rachel Issa Djesa (Paris: Karthala, 2017). 76. Granvaud, Que fait l’armée française en Afrique?, 307. 77. Ambassade de France au Tchad, La coopération de sécurité et de défense [Security and defense cooperation], https://td.ambafrance.org/La-cooperation-de -securite-et-de-defense. 78.  Alessio Iocchi, “The Danger of Disconnection: Oscillations in Political Violence on Lake Chad,” International Spectator 55, no. 4 (2020); and Ketil Fred Hansen, “Chad: Realpolitik and Aspirational Deprivation,” in The Oxford Handbook of the African Sahel, ed. Leo Villalon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2021). 79.  Cognita, “Projet d’appui à la formation et à la sécurité publique au Tchad” [Support project for training and public security in Chad], 2020, https://ec.europa .eu/trustfundforafrica/sites/euetfa/files/secutchad_-_paroles_de_beneficiaires _-_coginta_juin_2020.pdf. 80.  Hansen, “Chad”; and International Crisis Group, Les défis de l’armée Tchadienne. 81. Alwihdainfo, Le Tchad et la France signent des accords de sécurité et de défense [Chad and France sign security and defense agreements], 2020, https://www .alwihdainfo.com/Le-Tchad-et-la-France-signent-des-accords-de-securite-et-de -defense_a76860.html. 82.  Jeune Afrique, Entre surveillance des opposants et des terroristes, le juteux marché de l’espionnage en Afrique [Between surveillance of opponents and terrorists, the juicy spy market in Africa], January 29, 2020, https://www.jeuneafrique.com /mag/886073/politique/entre-surveillance-des-opposants-et-des-terroristes-le-juteux -marche-de-lespionnage-en-afrique/. 83.  Leah Mandler and Carmela Lutmar, “Israel’s Foreign Aid to Africa & UN Voting: An Empirical Examination,” Peace Economics Peace Science and Public Policy 25, no. 4 (2019): 1–7. 84. Mireval, Tchad, 333.

11 The Comoros Intelligence in the Shadows of the Turbulent Past Gábor Sinkó

This chapter explores the Comorian intelligence culture by describing the

security environment and intelligence services’ activities and history. It primarily focuses on the National Directorate of Documentation and State Protection and the Financial Intelligence Unit, but also discusses the National Directorate of Territorial Surveillance, which deals with general intelligence, and the Coordination for the Fight Against Terrorism organization, which serves as the country’s coordinating body for counterterrorism efforts. While significant reforms have occurred in each intelligence service, it is unclear whether the services can overcome ongoing challenges and undergo positive transformations in the near future. This is the first academic study about the Comorian intelligence services. There has been a lack of research on the topic for several reasons. On the one hand, the Comoros established its intelligence services relatively late; on the other hand, no books or academic articles are available about the country’s intelligence apparatus to reference. Most of the information about the country’s intelligence services is from United Nations (UN) and International Monetary Fund (IMF) documents as well as major Comorian newspapers, such as La Gazette des Comores (Gazette of the Comoros), Habari za Comores (Comoros News), and Mayotte Hebdo (Mayotte Weekly). Only in the last few years have reports on human rights issues been published that mention Comorian intelligence services’ activities. Additionally, these reports are few and often critical. Moreover, the lack of research about the Comoros’ history, politics, and laws makes it challenging to research the country’s security environment.1 The greatest obstacle to conducting academic research in the Comoros is the prevalence of oral traditions and the lack of historical documentation.2 This chapter contributes to intelligence 135

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studies scholarship by synthesizing the limited sources to understand Comorian intelligence services. The chapter is organized in three sections. The first part scrutinizes the most impactful moments in the archipelago since gaining independence. In particular, the section examines a series of coups d’état, most of which were allegedly instigated by mercenaries, that hindered the development of the Comoros in the economic, political, and social spheres. It also explores the environment in the early 2000s, characterized by growing United States (US) interests and the beginning of US–Comoros cooperation against terrorism when the Comorian military, civil, and financial intelligence services were established. The second section explores the country’s intelligence community with attention to the major intelligence services, their establishment, and their evolution. Specifically, it highlights their relations with other agencies, structures, and resources. The final section is the conclusion, which offers a summary of key aspects of contemporary Comorian intelligence culture, including its relatively recent creation and lack of transparency, as well as challenges facing the intelligence services. BACKGROUND The Comoros, or as officially known the Union of the Comoros, is an archipelago at the northern end of the Mozambique Channel in the Indian Ocean consisting of three islands—Anjouan, Grande Comore and Mohéli—while claiming a fourth, Mayotte, which is under French administration.3 It is a constitutional, multiparty republic and is a member of the African Union, the African Development Bank, the Arab League, the European Development Fund, the International Monetary Fund, the Indian Ocean Commission, and the World Bank. After being an official French colony for more than sixty years, the island country—with the exception of Mayotte—declared unilateral independence on July 6, 1975.4 It is, however, a peculiar independence. France has an air and naval base with a small number of troops in the Comoros. France also is one of the country’s major trading partners, and not only did it provide bilateral and development aid, but it also sent technocrats, military experts, and police officers to the islands after independence.5 In July 1975, Ahmed Abdallah Abderemane became the first president of the country, but within a month he was ousted in a French-inspired coup d’état and replaced by Said Mohammed Jaffar, who, due to divisions in the regime, was forced to give up power to Minister of Defense and Justice Ali Soilih the following year.6 Soilih was a young populist leader and a radical socialist with strong anti-French sentiments. He went on to destroy the already shaky



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and impoverished economy by forcibly propagating socialism, damaging the archives of the government, and crushing the existing social structures in the country.7 Having witnessed the Comorian revolutionary chaos for nearly three years, the French withdrew their civil servants and suspended the provision of aid, which paved the way for the economy’s disintegration and the regime’s collapse.8 Then they entrusted Bob Denard, a French Navy officer and later mercenary, to intervene and reinstall former president Ahmed Abdallah in 1978. As a first line of defense and the state’s main security apparatus, the Presidential Guard (Garde Presidentielle, GP) was created under the leadership of Denard, who gathered a group of mercenaries and Comorians from the national army.9 As the GP was only answerable to the president and operated outside the traditional chain of command, Denard consolidated his power and became influential in the islands’ economic and political spheres.10 It became apparent that Denard’s men did not intend to leave the islands. Tensions began to emerge between the mercenary commanders and local guards (Commando Noir), which culminated in the 1985 and 1987 rebellions. Though the local guards were quickly and brutally suppressed, the gap between the Comorian population and President Abdallah was growing.11 Notably, opposition from the youth began, rooted in the belief that the country’s national sovereignty was challenged by the mercenaries.12 Moreover, it was rumored that Denard and his men were involved in the transportation of arms shipments through Grande Comore to the National Resistance of Mozambique (Resistência Nacional Moçambicana, RENAMO) forces in Mozambique and later to Iran.13 South Africa and Rhodesia (Zimbabwe) allegedly assisted the GP, and in return those countries were allowed to establish listening posts in the Comoros. The archipelago proved to be beneficial strategically since maritime movements through the Cape of Good Hope route could be tracked, thereby providing the country with intelligence about the events of the Mozambican Civil War.14 By the end of the 1980s, neither France nor South Africa wanted to continue supporting the mercenary regime, and President Abdallah also wanted the white foreigners gone.15 In 1989 he was killed in a coup, and Mohamed Said Djohar, president of the Supreme Court, succeeded Abdallah and became the head of an interim government after ousting the constitutional successor.16 What remained after his departure was a legacy of mercenaries, weak state institutions, lack of progress, and a culture of misconduct and impunity. There were gross human rights violations in the form of violently suppressing the 1985 and 1987 rebellions, the 1989 workers’ and students’ demonstrations, and the bloody clashes between the separatists and the Comorian armed forces on the islands of Anjouan and Mohéli in 1997.17 The separatist movements further contributed to political divisions and instability.

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In the early 2000s, the Comoros was characterized by relative peace and stability as a result of the adoption of the 2001 Constitution and its amendment in 2009. There was a federal presidency that rotated among the islands every five years to avoid future coups and promote democracy.18 Indeed, this was an important change for a country that had experienced more than twenty successful and attempted coups d’état since the 1970s.19 Then in 2018—at the initiative of Azali Assoumani, the current president of the Comoros— another round of amendments was approved by referendum, which abolished the rotating presidency, the Constitutional Court, and vice presidential posts. It also allowed the president to be elected for two five-year-terms.20 The opposition claimed that Assoumani’s intention was to hold onto power, while the president argued that the changes were necessary to “consolidate national unity, peace and stability and support the strengthening and preservation of socio-religious values” in the Comoros.21 In any case, Assoumani won the 2019 presidential election, which, in addition to being neither free nor fair, was thought to be marred by irregularities, including ballot stuffing.22 Despite progress in the last two decades, the country is still suffering the consequences of mercenarism. Frequent coups d’état led to numerous government changes that hampered stability and nation building. Meanwhile, Comorians’ lives are marked by a lack of economic and educational opportunities. In the absence of political continuity and good governance, they trust more in their local communities than in the government, which is rife with corruption and not transparent. There are constant rumors and fears about coups d’état, demonstrating that stability is a recent phenomenon.23 Moreover, the National Commission for Preventing and Fighting Corruption (Commission Nationale de Prévention et de Lutte contre la Corruption, CNPLC) was dismantled and ceased investigating corruption. Although Assoumani did not have the authority to overturn the law, the president simply chose not to renew the commission’s mandate and the appointment of its members.24 INTELLIGENCE COMMUNITY The Comoros is a relative latecomer in the establishment of intelligence services. The beginning of the country’s contemporary postcolonial intelligence activities coincided with the Comorian government’s efforts to forge closer ties with the United States and involvement in the UN’s anti-terrorism efforts in the early 2000s.25 This cooperation proved beneficial for both parties. On the one hand, the Comoros could distance itself from the French, who were the population’s only window outside Africa, and Comorians were offered alternatives to the chaos that has defined their history since the mid-1970s.



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On the other hand, the United States after September 11, 2001, was worried that terrorist organizations could gain a foothold in the archipelago, which had been politically unstable.26 Although it is a Muslim country, it was unimaginable during the 1980s and 1990s that the Comoros could serve as a recruitment pool for extremists. French and other Francophone universities had been preferred by Comorian students, but with the increased obstacles to obtaining a visa to these countries after 2001, students were forced to continue their studies in Egypt, Madagascar, Morocco, and Sudan or accept scholarships to schools in the Persian Gulf.27 Moreover, one of the country’s nationals, Fazul Abdullah Mohammed (who was al-Qaeda’s leader in East Africa), was indicted for his involvement in the embassy bombings in Nairobi, Kenya, and Dar es-Salaam, Tanzania, in 1998 and in the 2002 Mombasa, Kenya, attacks.28 Fearing the spread of Islamist violence upon the students’ return to the country and that terrorists, such as Fazul, might find refuge on the islands, the United States started counterterrorism cooperation with the Comoros in 2003.29 To demonstrate their willingness to be an active participant against terrorism, the Comoros ratified the International Convention for the Suppression of the Financing of Terrorism on September 25, 2003. Following that, Decree No. 05-034/PR of May 19, 2005, established the National Directorate of Documentation and State Protection (Direction Nationale de la Documentation et de la Protection de l’Etat, DNDPE) to “suppress any national or transnational terrorist organization or enterprise.”30 More importantly, it is the main civil and military intelligence service in the country, combining civilian personnel with the police and the Gendarmerie.31 A police commissioner is in charge of the service, and it is under the authority of the director of the Cabinet of the President of the Union. In addition to countering terrorism, the DNDPE is entrusted with providing intelligence summaries to the Comorian authorities and collecting and analyzing intelligence for the country’s national security.32 Although it mainly deals with external intelligence, the DNDPE also plays a central role in criminal investigations.33 It cooperates with the Gendarmerie and the police, which is facilitated because the commander of the Gendarmerie and the DNDPE could be the same person.34 One of the DNDPE’s greatest achievements occurred in 2008, when it announced the dismantling of an illegal immigration network in the archipelago. It involved foreigners traveling to the islands from Malaysia, Singapore, and Sri Lanka. While they had entered the country legally, they falsified documents with the intention of fleeing to Europe. To preserve the Comoros’ international image, police commissioner Mfoihaya Mohamed, head of the DNDPE at the time, said the country would end all human trafficking on the islands. Indeed, this was

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important in light of the first investigations pointing toward Comorian complicity revealing Comorian nationals’ involvement in the trafficking.35 Additionally, the DNDPE was an implementing partner of the UN Peacebuilding Fund’s Security Sector Reform Program 2012–2013, whose tasks were to strengthen command and control structures, provide infrastructural and logistical support, organize training and secure the country’s maritime borders. The DNDPE received computer equipment, furniture and rolling stock as part of the reform efforts. Moreover, the compilation, organization, and analysis of intelligence was greatly improved within the intelligence service. This was due to the establishment of a database, effective security information management, and archive training received by twenty intelligence officers in March 2012. This capacity building paved the way for rehabilitating the DNDPE’s infrastructure (including its archive and meeting room) for the purpose of securing the country’s archives.36 Unfortunately—owing to administrative and logistical difficulties as well as corruption—only half of this latter activity was completed by 2013. The DNDPE is assisted by the National Directorate of Territorial Surveillance (Direction Nationale de la Surveillance Territoriale, DNST), which was created to fight terrorism and organized crime in the Comoros. Like the DNDPE, the DNST is also under the authority of the director of the Cabinet of the President of the Union and has many divisions, including the International Criminal Police Organization (Interpol) national central bureau; the secretariat; administrative, financial, and logistical units; and directorates for general intelligence, immigration/emigration, and combating terrorism and organized crime. Additionally, it has the Economic and Financial Brigade, the Combined Anti-Drug Brigade (consisting of customs agents, gendarmes, and the DNST personnel), and the Anti-Terrorism Unit.37 Since money laundering and terrorism financing constitute growing threats not only to the Comorian but to global security, the country is continuously taking measures to battle these crimes. However, establishing a system for anti–money laundering/combating the financing of terrorism (AML/CFT) is a challenge. The archipelago requires support in the form of training and capacity building.38 The Comorian government took steps toward establishing a unified AML/CFT framework with Ordinance No. 03-002/PR of 2003, creating a unit responsible for “gathering, analyzing, and transmitting intelligence on clandestine financial circuits and money laundering.”39 Although the Financial Intelligence Unit (FIU) was set up that year, it did not become operational until 2008, when members were appointed. Another challenge was the islands’ different AML/CFT legal frameworks. While Grande Comore issued the 2003 Ordinance, Anjouan and Mohéli introduced their own separate laws, creating obstacles in jurisdiction sharing



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between the islands. Consequently, Ordinance No. 09-002/PR was published in 2009 and is in force throughout the Comoros, providing common AML/ CFT legislation applicable on the archipelago.40 This prompted significant changes for the FIU, as it was no longer solely a unit for financial intelligence but also became responsible for judicial investigations. The 2009 Ordinance made provisions for changes to the FIU’s structure. According to Article 18, the government agency now has an integrated system with three different levels: a steering committee at the level of the finance, justice, and interior ministers and armed forces; an operational division that includes the directors of the DNST, Customs, the Gendarmerie, the prosecutor of the republic; and a general secretariat under the authority of the Central Bank of the Comoros (Banque Centrale des Comores, BCC).41 The FIU has been criticized because it is supposed to be an independent government body but, in reality, has had close ties with the BCC that appoints its general secretary. This person not only heads the operational division that “gathers, processes and disseminates intelligence in the field of combating clandestine financial circuits and money laundering,” but is entrusted with managing the agency’s operational resources.42 According to a 2010 IMF report, until then the FIU had not received, analyzed, or disseminated any suspicious transaction reports (STRs). It is hard to assess how independent and autonomous the unit truly is, but it seems to have gained limited autonomy.43 Other criticisms are about incompetence in uncovering funds from unlawful sources (allegedly linked to terrorist financing), contradictions in legal provisions (due to differences in the texts of orders and decrees), and inability to conduct money laundering and terrorist financing investigations (due to the lack of competent personnel).44 The Comorian government has worked to remedy some of the FIU’s shortcomings. With support from the Common Market for Eastern and Southern Africa Maritime Security Programme (COMESA–MASE), FIU analysts received tactical and strategic analytical training, and government officials learned risk management to properly apply risk-based approaches.45 COMESA also organized capacity-building programs and workshops for FIU officials in 2019 with the objective of disrupting illicit financial networks. Moreover, information and communications technology (ICT) equipment and software were delivered to the FIU in 2020. COMESA hoped this would pave the way for improved information sharing so money laundering and piracy can be battled more effectively to improve security. Another goal was for the ICT support to improve the recruitment of competent staff. Last, the FIU was moved away from the BCC’s influence, which should provide it with more operational independence.46

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In October 2014, the Comorian government established the Coordination for the Fight Against Terrorism (Coordination de la Lutte Anti-Terroriste, CLAT) organization. It is responsible for coordinating government counterterrorism efforts. CLAT is in constant cooperation with both the security services (DNDPE, the National Police, and the Gendarmerie) and the FIU, as it receives information from these government agencies.47 CLAT was set up with the intent of gathering and analyzing information about terrorism, but it also coordinates military actions and the exchange of operational information as well as assisting in other measures related to national security.48 Yet CLAT’s most important task is the daily analysis and synthesis of data compiled in reports for the government and counterterrorism agencies. Notably, in 2021, as a member of the Southern African Development Community (SADC), the Comoros pledged intelligence-related support for Mozambique’s fight against terrorism.49 It would be beneficial for Comorian’s security and foreign relations for CLAT to continue building collaborative and cooperative relations with international organizations in the future.50 CONCLUSION When one looks at the Comorian intelligence services, it is clear they were created during and were influenced by the country’s turbulent history. Successive coups d’état and the presence of mercenaries on the islands from the 1970s to the mid-1990s are connected to many problems the Comoros is still grappling with: political instability; weak state institutions; human rights violations; and lack of significant progress in the economic, political, and social spheres. This has undoubtedly impacted the intelligence culture, which has also faced slow and uneven development. Although the Comoros has achieved some development following the adoption of the 2001 constitution and its amendment in 2009, the more recent amendment in 2018 and irregularities in the 2019 presidential elections brought old challenges and insecurities to the surface. To improve its international reputation, the Comoros started cooperating with the United States in the global war on terrorism during 2003. In that year, the FIU was established with the purpose of combating money laundering and terrorist financing. Two years later the DNDPE was created, which became the country’s main civil and military intelligence service. Despite the fact that both the FIU and the DNDPE have been operational for more than fifteen years, their effectiveness is not clear. While they have received support from the UN and COMESA, the Comoros’ intelligence culture remains plagued by political influence, incompetence, and a lack of



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transparency. Moreover, the island country’s intelligence services are rife with a number of administrative, legal, and logistical difficulties due to political, economic, and legislative challenges. Like its government institutions, the Comoros’ overall development is hampered by limited resources and capacity. Good governance, coupled with the strengthening of democracy and respecting the rule of law, is crucial for the Comoros to make progress with institutional capabilities and living conditions. Comoros must take steps to professionalize its intelligence services, including being effective and transparent as well as accountable to the public. NOTES  1. Report of the Working Group on the Use of Mercenaries as a Means of Violating Human Rights and Impeding the Exercise of the Right of Peoples to SelfDetermination (United Nations General Assembly, Human Rights Council 27th Session, 2014), 7.  2. Ibid., 11.  3. Martin Ottenheimer and Harriet Ottenheimer, Historical Dictionary of the Comoro Islands (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 1994).  4. Peter Sidler, “Poverty and Dependence on the Comoros,” Swiss Review of World Affairs 39, no. 6 (September 1989): 28.   5.  Denis Venter, “The Comorian Comitragedy: Final Curtain on Abdallahism?,” Africa Insight 20, no. 3 (1990).  6. Eliphas G. Mukonoweshuro, “The Politics of Squalor and Dependency: Chronic Political Instability and Economic Collapse in the Comoro Islands,” African Affairs 89, no. 357 (1990): 561.   7.  Peter Sidler, “Comoros: Paradise Lost for a Mercenary,” Africa Report 34, no. 6 (November-December 1989): 5; and Aidan Hartley, “Comoros: Paradise Lost,” Africa Report 35, no. 1 (March–April 1990): 38.   8.  Said Ali Kamal, “Regime in Comoros Ousted by Military,” New York Times, May 14, 1978, https://www.nytimes.com/1978/05/14/archives/regime-in-comoros -ousted-by-military-new-rulers-proclaim.html.  9. Report of the Working Group on the Use of Mercenaries, 6. 10.  Helen Chapin Metz, Indian Ocean: Five Island Countries,3rd ed. (Washington, DC: Library of Congress, Research Division, 1995), 159. 11.  Madagascar, Comoros, Country Profile, 1989–90 (London: Economist Intelligence Unit, 1990), 34; and “Comoros: Denard Dethroned,” Africa Events 6, no. 1 (January 1990): 7. 12.  Madagascar, Mauritius, Seychelles, Comoros, Country Report no. 1 (London: Economist Intelligence Unit, 1990), 45. 13.  Venter, “Comorian Comitragedy,” 142. 14.  Sidler, “Poverty and Dependence on the Comoros,” 28. 15. Metz, Indian Ocean, 164.

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16.  “President of Comoro Islands in Assassinated,” New York Times, November 28, 1989, https://www.nytimes.com/1989/11/28/world/president-of-comoro-islands -is-assassinated.html. 17.  Kristen A. Harkness, When Soldiers Rebel: Ethnic Armies and Political Instability in Africa (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 219; and Simon Massey and Bruce Baker, Comoros: External Involvement in a Small Island State, African Research Programme Paper (London: Chatham House, 2009). 18 Wahany Johnson Sambou, “Comores, un systéme électoral pas comme les autres” [Comoros, an electoral system unlike any other], Africa News, February 24, 2016, https://fr.africanews.com/2016/02/24/comores-un-systeme-electoral-pas -comme-les-autres/. 19.  “Intrigue in the World’s Most Coup-Prone Island Paradise,” Economist, December 22, 2018, https://www.economist.com/middle-east-and-africa/2018/12/22 /intrigue-in-the-worlds-most-coup-prone-island-paradise. 20.  For a similar discussion on authority and power in the intelligence services of Somalia, see Sinkó Gábor, “Different Times, Same Methods: The Impact of the National Security Service on the Operations of the National Intelligence and Security Agency,” Journal of Central and Eastern European African Studies1, nos. 1–2 (2021); and Sinkó Gábor and Besenyő János, “Comparison of the Secret Service of al-Shabaab, the Amniyat, and the National Intelligence and Security Agency (Somalia),” International Journal of Intelligence and CounterIntelligence (2021). 21.  “Discours á la Nation: Le président Azali annonce un référendum pour adapter les insitutions á l’émergence 2030” [Speech to the nation: President Azali announces a referendum to adapt the institutions to the emergence of 2030], Habari za Comores, April 29, 2018, https://www.habarizacomores.com/2018/04/discours-la-nation-le -president-azali.html. 22.  2020 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Comoros (United States Department of State, March 30, 2021). 23.  Report of the Working Group on the Use of Mercenaries. 24.  Comoros: Freedom in the World 2018 Country Report (Freedom House, 2018), https://freedomhouse.org/country/comoros/freedom-world/2018. 25.  U.S. Relations with Comoros: Bilateral Relations Fact Sheet (United States Department of State, 2020). 26.  Matthew B. Dwyer, “Comoros: Big Troubles on Some Small Islands,” Center for Strategic & International Studies, April 14, 2008, https://www.csis.org/analysis /comoros-big-troubles-some-small-islands. 27.  Philippe Lacoste and Lionel Leignel, “L’éducation aux Comores: Un modèle français en phase de lente hybridation” [Education in the Comoros: A French model in a phase of slow hybridization], Revue Tiers Monde 3–4, nos. 226–227 (2016): 212. 28. Jeffrey Gettleman, “Somalis Kill Mastermind of 2 U.S. Embassy Bombings,” New York Times, June 11, 2011, https://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/12/world /africa/12somalia.html. 29.  Amir Bobah A., “Les autorité comoriennes prennent des engagements fermes contre le terrorisme et la criminalité organisée” [Comorian authorities make firm



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commitments against terrorism and organized crime], La Gazette des Comores, July 16, 2005, https://www.comores-online.com/mwezinet/presse/hzk.htm. 30.  “Letter dated 29 July 2005 from the Chairman of Security Council Committee Established Pursuant to Resolution 1373 (2001) Concerning Counter-Terrorism Addressed to the President of the Security Council” (United Nations Security Council, 2005), 6. 31. A. S. Kemba, “Comores: Le président Azali nomme un gouvernement de fidèles” [Comoros: President Azali appoints government of faithful], Le Journal de Mayotte, August 30, 2021, https://lejournaldemayotte.yt/2021/08/30/comores-le -president-azali-nomme-un-gouvernement-de-fideles/. 32.  Union of Comoros: Detailed Assessment Report on Anti-Money Laundering and Combating the Financing of Terrorism. IMF Country Report No. 10/320 (Washington, DC: International Monetary Fund, 2010), 25. 33. “Mab Elhad, le missionnaire de la poésie des Comores” [Mab Elhad, the missionary of poetry from the Comoros], Habari za Comores, January 3, 2018, https://www.habarizacomores.com/2018/01/mab-elhad-le-missionnaire-de-la-poesie .html; and A. O. Yazid, “Politique/L’opposition crie á une ‘véritable chasse á l’homme’” [Politics/Opposition shouts at a “real manhunt”], La Gazette des Comores, August 2, 2018, http://lagazettedescomores.com/politique/politique-/-l%E2 %80%99opposition-crie-%C3%A0-une-%C2%AB-v%C3%A9ritable-chasse -%C3%A0-l%E2%80%99homme-%C2%BB-.html. 34.  Toufé Maecha, “Interview Abdallah Rafick: Réconcilier la gendarmerie et la population” [Interview [with] Abdallah Rafick: Reconciling the gendarmerie and the population], La Gazette des Comores, March 19, 2018, http://lagazettedescomores .com/soci%C3%A9t%C3%A9/interview-abdallah-rafick-r%C3%A9concilier-la-gen darmerie-et-la-population-.html. 35. Mariama Halidi, “Comores-Migrations: Quatre Sri-lankais arrêtés pour leur implication dans un réseau d’immigration vers l’Europe” [Comoros-migration: Four Sri Lankans arrested for their involvement in an immigration network to Europe], Nouvelles Fraiches des Comores, October 8, 2008, http://halidiallaoui.over-blog .com/article-23551943.html. 36.  Fonds de Consolidation de la Paix rapport descriptif final du programme: Réformé du Secteur de la Sécurité en Union des Comores [Peacebuilding Fund final program narrative report], REF-SEC project no. 00073453 (United Nations Peacebuilding Fund, 2018), https://info.undp.org/docs/pdc/Documents/COM/Rapport%20 narratif%20de%20fin%20de%20projet_RSS%20Version%20Finale.doc. 37.  Union of Comoros: Detailed Assessment Report, 25; and Aparna Garg, “Central Authority for Reporting” (presented at Anti Money Laundering Forum, International Bar Association, London, November 6, 2012), https://www.anti-money laundering.org/africa/Comoros.aspx. 38.  Mwangi Gakunga, “Comoros’ Capacity to Fight Money Laundering Strengthened,” COMESA, October 4, 2019, https://www.comesa.int/comoros-capacity-to -fight-money-laundering-strengthened/. 39.  Garg, “Central Authority for Reporting.” 40.  Union of Comoros: Detailed Assessment Report, 24.

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41.  “Ordonnance No. 09-002/PR du 6 mars 2009 relative aux, blanchiment, financement du terrorisme, confiscation et coopération internationale en matiére de produits du crime” [Ordinance No. 09-002/PR of March 6, 2009 relating to, money laundering, financing of terrorism, confiscation and international cooperation in matters of the proceeds of crime], Union des Comores, Moroni, March 6, 2009, 13–14. 42.  Ibid., 13. 43.  Union of Comoros: Detailed Assessment Report, 55–56. 44.  Ibid., 53–54. 45.  Gakunga, “Comoros’ Capacity to Fight Money Laundering Strengthened.” 46.  Willis Osemo, “Comoros Receives Equipment Worth $88,000 ICT to Tackle Financial Crimes,” COMESA, March 30, 2020, https://www.comesa.int/comoros -receives-equipment-worth-88000-ict-to-tackle-financial-crimes/. 47.  “Comores: Une coordination anti-terroriste voit le jour” [Comoros: An antiterrorist coordination is born], Mayotte Hebdo, November 7, 2014, https://www .mayottehebdo.com/actualite/en_bref/comores-une-coordination-anti-terroriste-voit -le-jour/. 48. “Création d’un service de coordination de lutte anti-terroriste au cœur de l’archipel” [Creation of an anti-terrorist coordination service in the heart of the archipelago], Linfo.re, November 11, 2014, https://www.linfo.re/ocean-indien /les-comores/655678-creation-d-un-service-de-coordination-de-lutte-anti-terroriste -au-coeur-de-l-archipel. 49.  “Intelligence Services: Mozambique May Receive Support from Comoros— Noticias,” Club of Mozambique, June 28, 2021, https://clubofmozambique.com /news/intelligence-services-mozambique-may-receive-support-from-comoros -noticias-195381/. 50.  “Comores: Une coordination anti-terroriste voit le jour.”

12 Côte d’Ivoire Intelligence Culture in a Fractured Security System Jeremy S. Speight

This chapter describes the evolution of Ivorian intelligence culture as part of

the broader security sector in Côte d’Ivoire (Ivory Coast). Not unlike most other elements of the Ivorian security sector, the intelligence community has remained underdeveloped and disorganized for much of the postcolonial period. This chapter explores Côte d’Ivoire’s intelligence culture by highlighting how disorganization and the privileging of regime loyalty are constant themes in the evolution of the Ivorian security sector. Across multiple presidencies—from Félix Houphouët-Boigny, Henri Konan Bédié (and after the 1999 coup, General Robert Guéï), and Laurent Gbagbo, to Alassane Ouattara—Ivorian leaders have initiated reforms to the security sector that aimed to minimize potential internal threats to their political position, rather than supporting the functions these bureaucratic agencies have been entrusted to perform. Despite recent institutional changes introduced under President Alassane Ouattara, these characteristics of the intelligence and security culture in Côte d’Ivoire have largely been reinforced through the contemporary period. This chapter explores these continuities through various moments in the evolution of the Ivorian security system. The chapter begins by examining the colonial and early postcolonial institutionalization of the Ivorian security sector and intelligence apparatus under the country’s first president, Félix Houphouët-Boigny. This section explores three elements of the development of the security sector under Houphouët-Boigny: the nature of the political and military threats confronted by him during his presidency (1960–1993); the strategies used for minimizing these threats, including relying on French security assistance, staffing the security system with loyalists and conversely, power sharing and appointing and promoting actors 147

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from different ethnic groups and regions in Côte d’Ivoire; and finally, the organizational development of the Ivorian security sector and intelligence services under Houphouët-Boigny. The second part of this chapter examines challenges for security sector reform in the post–Houphouët-Boigny era (1993–present). Two of these challenges resulted from the crise politique (political crisis) and the administrative division of the country between 2002 and 2011. In September 2002, the Forces Nouvelles (New Forces, FN) armed movement captured the northern half of the country following the failed coup d’état attempt against then president Laurent Gbagbo. By the end of the political crisis after Gbagbo’s removal in 2011, the presence and influence of former FN military leaders (known as com’zones) and ex-combatants threatened the Ouattara government and shaped the patterns of intelligence and security sector reform in predictable ways. The section shows how choices made by Ouattara mirrored earlier efforts by Houphouët-Boigny to consolidate power through security sector reform. The impetus for reform also stemmed from a third factor unrelated to the crisis period: the growth of jihadist terrorist networks in West Africa and the occurrence of terrorist attacks on Ivorian soil beginning in 2016. Together, these three factors have shaped security reform patterns during the Ouattara presidency. THE COLONIAL AND EARLY POSTCOLONIAL ERA Beginning in the colonial period, the development of the Ivorian intelligence community paralleled larger trends in the evolution of the Ivorian security sector. Prior to gaining independence from France in 1960, responsibility for external defense and foreign affairs remained predominantly in the hands of French colonial administrators. By 1960, Ivorian defense forces were comprised of one single army battalion. However, France had granted some autonomy to Ivorian forces regarding internal security. As part of the Ministry for Internal Security, the National Security Police (Sureté National) worked alongside elements of the Ivorian gendarmerie and local gardes-de-cercles (local Ivorian policemen) to provide internal security and intelligencegathering services.1 After independence in 1960, Houphouët-Boigny began shaping the security sector in ways that limited political and military threats to his government. In the early 1960s, he uncovered a number of perceived secret plots (faux complôts) organized by rival elites to remove him from power. Although it remains unclear how real these threats actually were, Houphouët-Boigny



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used them as justification to organize the Ivorian security sector in ways that shored up his hold on power.2 First, Houphouët-Boigny reinforced Côte d’Ivoire’s dependent political, military, and economic relationship with France. Regarding the development of the Ivorian security sector, Houphouët-Boigny generally relied on French security forces to avoid political risks associated with investing in and developing the Forces Armées de Cote d’Ivoire (Armed Forces of the Republic of Ivory Coast, FACI). In 1961 the Côte d’Ivoire and French governments signed the Franco-Ivorian Technical Military Assistance Accord (Accord d’Assistance Militaire Technique), which committed France to assisting with the Ivorian security system’s development. It also authorized the establishment of a French military battalion stationed in Abidjan, which was mandated to respond to any internal or external threats.3 Houphouët-Boigny called upon French forces on several occasions as a result of secession attempts by Sanwi monarchists in 1970, Bété uprisings in Gagnoa in 1970, and an attempted coup as well as assassination attempts in the 1980s. For these reasons, security cooperation between Côte d’Ivoire and France continued during Houphouët-Boigny’s presidency. However, he created more space for Ivorian involvement in the military in the 1970s and 1980s. The president consolidated his hold on power by both promoting loyalists and supporting political/ethnic balancing within the military to shore up support from various groups in Ivorian society. In response to security threats, Houphouët-Boigny developed a Democratic Party of Ivory Coast, PDCI (Parti Démocratique de la Côte d’Ivoire) militia composed primarily of other ethnic Baoulé. He established the Presidential Guard (Garde Présidentielle) and the General Secretariat for Defense (Secrétariat Général de la Défense), which were under his direct authority and independent of the military.4 In addition to consolidating control over the security system (in his own hands or those of other Baoulé), Houphouët-Boigny also sought to minimize security threats by ethnic balancing within the state security apparatus. Organizational and personnel changes initiated in the 1970s left different segments of the military in the hands of actors representing the various ethnic groups or geographic regions in Côte d’Ivoire: the north (Senoufo, Dyula), the center (Baoulé, Akan), and the southwest (Bété, Kru, Yacouba). Generally, groups from the north controlled the highest positions in the army, the Baoulé controlled the National Security Police, and southwestern groups comprised the bulk of the police and the National Gendarmerie.5 Organizationally, the Ivorian security system under Houphouët-Boigny closely resembled the colonial security system established under the French. The armed forces were comprised of the national army, air force, navy, and

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National Gendarmerie, which also played an important role in terms of domestic security. By the end of Houphouët-Boigny’s presidency, the armed forces were comprised of just under fifteen thousand personnel.6 The internal security system was comprised of three ministries: the Ministry of Interior, the Ministry of Internal Security and the Ministry of Defense and Maritime Affairs. The Ministry of Internal Security and the National Gendarmerie, which was part of the Ministry of Defense and Maritime Affairs, shared intelligence-gathering responsibilities. Under Houphouët-Boigny, the Ministry of Interior had a broad regulatory mandate that included the governance of immigration, passports, and territorial administration (prefects and subprefects) and oversaw the Directorate for the Surveillance of the Territory (Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire, DST), which had broad investigative and intelligence-gathering powers. The Ivorian government established the Ministry for Internal Security in 1976, which controlled internal policing services, including the National Police Academy, the National Security Police, and the National Security Police Security Directorate. Within the National Security Police Directorate, the Intelligence Directorate gathered intelligence related to any internal antigovernment activity. Finally, as part of the Ministry of Defense and Maritime Affairs, the National Gendarmerie was a paramilitary force that worked in concert with elements of the armed forces and police to maintain political order and engage in intelligence gathering.7 The security system’s effectiveness was limited because HouphouëtBoigny appointed and promoted individuals within the military hierarchy whom he could trust, who typically came from families and regions that were known to be supportive of his government. As a result, the Ivorian security sector remained markedly underdeveloped and ineffective under HouphouëtBoigny. Most security services, including those responsible for intelligence collection, remained poorly trained and organized and lacked adequate funding and manpower. POST–HOUPHOUËT-BOIGNY ERA Houphouët-Boigny’s death in 1993 and the transition to multiparty politics intensified competition for national political power in Côte d’Ivoire. Growing divisions within the old single party, the PDCI, culminated in the emergence of the northern-based Rally of the Republicans (Rassemblement des Républicains, RDR). The RDR’s leader, Alassane Ouattara, represented a credible threat to the PDCI and Houphouët-Boigny’s constitutionally appointed heir, Henri Konan Bédié, in the 1995 presidential election. In response, Bédié



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advanced the idea of ivoirité to narrow who counted as an Ivorian citizen (legally differentiating true Ivorians as opposed to immigrants from Mali and Burkina Faso) and required that both parents of presidential candidates be born in Côte d’Ivoire. This represented a thinly veiled attack on Ouattara’s candidacy and disqualified him from running in the 1995 election. Despite winning the 1995 election, Bédié was removed from power in a military coup d’état during 1999 and was replaced by General Robert Guéï. Subsequently, Guéï ran as a candidate in the 2000 presidential election but lost to the Ivorian Popular Front (Front Populaire Ivoirian, FPI) candidate, Laurent Gbagbo. The political opposition contested the legitimacy of the 2000 election because the Supreme Court had disqualified a number of prominent opposition candidates from running, including Ouattara and the PDCI nominee, Émile Constant Bombet. Questions over the legitimacy of the 2000 election and Gbagbo’s efforts at neutralizing perceived pro-Ouattara elements within the Ivorian security sector led to another attempted coup d’état in September 2002. With the assistance of French forces stationed in Côte d’Ivoire, the Ivorian military successfully responded and prevented Gbagbo’s removal.8 However, the coup’s organizers successfully won and retained military control over the northern half of the country, including the major northern urban centers of Korhogo and Bouaké. In response to the FN’s enduring threat, Gbagbo initiated security sector reforms. He developed the Defense and Security Forces (Forces de Défense et de Sécurité, FDS) and National Strategy and Intelligence Agency (Agence Nationale de la Stratégie et de l’Intelligence, ANSI), and the staffed security forces with officers who were Bété or Kru. He also created the Security Operations Command Center (Centre de commandement des opérations de sécurité, CECOS), a gendarmerie unit designed solely to protect the Gbagbo regime and bypass the normal military chain of command. The FN operated a parallel government in the northern half of the country for close to ten years. The movement’s military wing, the New Forces of Ivory Coast (Forces Armées des Forces Nouvelles, FAFN) provided security through ten administrative zones, each run by a commandant de zone (popularly referred to as com’zones). In each of these zones, the administrative arm of the FN coordinated the delivery of different public services and goods, such as education, health care, and sanitation. To finance the movement, the FN generated revenue through an elaborate system of formal and informal taxation. The FN remained in control of the north until 2011, when Gbagbo refused to concede power to Ouattara after losing the 2010–2011 presidential election. In March 2011, the FN moved southward, captured Abidjan, and removed Gbagbo from power. Ouattara was sworn in as Ivorian president in April 2011.

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This nearly ten-year-long administrative division of the country between a rebel-controlled north and a government-controlled south had a significant impact on security sector reform. Recent efforts by current President Ouattara to centralize control over the intelligence system in Côte d’Ivoire are partly a response to the fragmented character of the armed forces he inherited after 2011. Côte d’Ivoire’s lengthy administrative division allowed many com’zones to gain wealth and power, entrenching themselves in the political and social fabric of the local communities they controlled. Many com’zones derived substantial wealth through their taxation of and involvement in an array of wartime economies, such as cocoa, diamonds, gold, fuel, yams, and cattle. Although northern populations generally grew tired of the rebels’ fiscal demands and economic disruptions caused by the rebellion, some com’zones retained legitimacy in local communities and strong ties with communities of ex-combatants in the postwar period.9 The presence of former FN com’zones complicated the development of the security sector reform in the post-2011 period. The integration of former FAFN fighters into the armed forces alongside Gbagbo loyalists in the FDS undermined the postconflict security system’s cohesiveness. Military units placed under the co-command of former FDS and FAFN commanders created rivalries and complicated the control of commanding officers over members of military units. Beyond rivalries, cohesion was threatened by the com’zones, who retained informal sources of authority. Immediately after Gbagbo’s removal in 2011, most former FN commanders retained influence over informal networks of fighters within the military and among some demobilized fighters. These enduring social ties between ex-FAFN fighters and commanders undermined military cohesion and hierarchical organization. Additionally, Ouattara has been hesitant to curb the involvement of FN com’zones in various illicit economies. Any attack on the postconflict authority of these actors could potentially have a destabilizing effect by turning them against the Ouattara government.10 Beyond the com’zones, ex-FN combatants have also played a destabilizing role in Côte d’Ivoire’s political order and have influenced the direction of security sector reform. Beginning in 2014, the Ouattara government confronted a series of mutinies led by ex-FN combatants. These mutinies revolved around demands for material compensation that many former FN fighters felt was still owed to them for their role in bringing Ouattara to power. In November 2014 six thousand soldiers mutinied, and Ouattara’s government responded by promoting a large number of participating actors and granted payments delivered that year. Beginning in January 2017, thousands of soldiers mutinied in cities throughout the country, including Daloa, Bouaké, Korhogo, and Abidjan. In Bouaké, soldiers barricaded the city, demanding promotion and



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payments. The Ouattara government responded by offering financial compensation to placate the soldiers. Ex-combatants resented Ouattara but also their former com’zone bosses, who were widely viewed as having done well for themselves financially during the war and in the postconflict system.11 The resentment made this set of actors a serious destabilizing force. In addition to these internal threats, intelligence reform in Côte d’Ivoire has been shaped by the growing threat of transnational terrorism in West Africa. On May 13, 2016, Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM) killed twenty-two people in a violent attack in the seaside resort town of Grand Bassam, just east of Abidjan.12 During an operation by the government to eliminate the Comoé National Park as a base for organizing terrorism along Côte d’Ivoire’s northern border with Burkina Faso, about a dozen Ivorian military members and a gendarme were killed in terrorist attacks on June 11, 2020.13 In March 2021, terrorists attacked two military positions along the Côte d’Ivoire–Burkina Faso border, at Kafolo and Kolobougou, resulting in one civilian death, along with four Ivorian military casualities.14 Ouattara’s response to these internal and external threats has involved centralizing control over the security sector in Côte d’Ivoire, including the intelligence services. Rather than pursuing reforms toward professionalizing the Ivorian security sector, Ouattara has largely mimicked strategies followed by his predecessors through the formation of a new, postconflict “regime army.”15 Ouattara replaced many Gbagbo-era institutions with security structures that fell under his direct authority, bypassing either regular military hierarchies or National Assembly oversight.16 Additionally, Ouattara loyalists have been granted leadership positions within newly created security structures. In the intelligence community, Ouattara dissolved the National Strategy and Intelligence Agency (Agence Nationale de la Stratégie et de l’Intelligence, ANSI), which was created under Gbagbo in 2005. To fill the role formerly played by ANSI, National Intelligence Coordination (Ouattara created the Coordination Nationale du Renseignement, CNR) and the Directorate of External Services (Direction des Services Extérieurs, DSE), to formally coordinate Ivorian intelligence services within Côte d’Ivoire and between Côte d’Ivoire and foreign intelligence services.17 Control over these agencies has remained in the hand of Ouattara loyalists throughout his presidency. In July 2021, Vassiriki Traoré was named director of the DSE after being in charge of the CNR since its creation. Traoré is close to Ouattara’s brother, Téné Birihima Ouattara (nicknamed “Photocopy” for his resemblance to the president), who is the current defense minister. The DSE was previously directed by Amadou Coulibaly (nicknamed little Amadou, or AMS), a cousin of the late former prime minister Amadou Gon Coulibaly, and was an Ouattara appointee.18

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Additionally, individuals close to Ouattara have developed personalized intelligence networks through other formal state agencies. For example, Unit Against Organized Crime (L’unité de lutte contre le grand banditisme, ULGB) was created by Ouattara in February 2019 to gather intelligence on criminal activities in Côte d’Ivoire and was controlled by then minister of presidential affairs Téné Birihima Ouattara. Ouattara approved the creation of another militia for intelligence gathering that was controlled directly by Hamad Bakayoko, who was serving as minister of defense prior to his death in 2021. In each case, control over these intelligence networks was privatized in the hands of Ouattara loyalists and existed outside of the normal chain of command within the Ivorian armed forces.19 Beyond these political strategies, Ouattara has also relied on coercion and violence to maintain his position during his time in power. The intelligence community has played a prominent role as well in this regard. Intelligence services, such as the DST, targeted and imprisoned former FPI party members and Gbagbo supporters, usually without cause, after Gbagbo’s removal from power in 2011. These actions ramped up after Ouattara’s announcement that he would run for a third term in 2020. Ouattara’s decision to run has resulted in the fraying of his former political coalition and a swelling of the political opposition. Anti-government protests in August 2020 led to widespread repression and violence initiated by government forces. Additionally, the Ouattara government barred a large number of opposition candidates from running in the election. Many political leaders and activists who called for a boycott and setting up of a parallel government have been arrested, detained, or forced into exile.20 The intelligence services, identified as DST in public reports, played an active role in the repression of the opposition leading up to the 2020 elections.21 As for Côte d’Ivoire’s relationship with international partners, external state and nonstate actors have influenced the trajectory of Ivorian intelligence and security sector reform. Soon after taking power in 2012, the Ouattara government signed a new security accord with France that would keep a reduced number of French soldiers in Côte d’Ivoire. The number of soldiers was decreased to three hundred, with a mandate to train Ivorian soldiers.22 Additionally, Côte d’Ivoire has a well-established bilateral relationship with the United States, which plays an important role in promoting security reform and training Ivorian security forces.23 Israel is another significant international partner that influences the Ivorian security sector. Although Israel has a long-established bilateral security relationship with Côte d’Ivoire beginning with Houphouët-Boigny, Israeli influence grew during Gbagbo’s presidency partly due to how the conflict strained Gbagbo’s relationship with France. Israel supplied Côte d’Ivoire



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with transmission equipment and a team of military advisers specializing in intelligence gathering and espionage.24 After Gbagbo’s removal this relationship persisted, but Israeli private security companies have played an increasing role. For example, the Israeli firm NSO Group Technologies currently plays a leading role in equipping Ivorian security forces with interception and surveillance technologies.25 Finally, regional dynamics have also shaped intelligence practices in Côte d’Ivoire. In a June 2019 meeting of the Committee of Chiefs of Defense Staff (CCDS) of the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), CCDS members called for deeper integration toward intelligence gathering and sharing between ECOWAS states to combat the growing threat of jihadist terrorism in West Africa.26 With this international support, Côte d’Ivoire’s military is presently “regenerating” and has tried to improve professionalization with a strength of 27,400 personnel (army, 23,000; navy, 1,000; air force, 1,400; special forces, 2,000; and a paramilitary of unknown size).27 CONCLUSION Côte d’Ivoire’s intelligence culture is largely shaped by politics. Throughout the postcolonial period, the Ivorian intelligence system has been marked by presidential loyalty to counter threats to regime security, which has come at the cost of professionalizing and developing the intelligence and security services. During his presidency, Houphouët-Boigny confronted a series of perceived elite plots and larger uprisings protesting his government. These threats shaped the early development of the security sector. HouphouëtBoigny used security sector reform to strategically mitigate potential political and military challenges to his government. After his death, HouphouëtBoigny’s successors confronted an even more volatile political environment characterized by elite factional conflict, institutional dysfunction, and simmering violence. In 2011, Ouattara enjoyed relatively broad support from parties representing various regions and social groups in Côte d’Ivoire. The early stability provided by the breadth of his ruling coalition might have created a window for initiating effective security sector reform in Côte d’Ivoire. However, Ouattara’s decision to pursue a third mandate as president in 2020 has resulted in a dramatic narrowing of his ruling coalition, heightening the political and military threats to his government. This has compounded Ouattara’s difficulties in minimizing threats from former FN elements, from former com’zones who developed autonomous sources of authority during the conflict period, and from ex-combatant groups who have mutinied to demand material resources.

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National-level elites have drawn on related strategies of legal and institutional reform to ward off threats, with mixed success. Bédié used the idea of ivoirité to mitigate the threat posed by the emergence of Ouattara and the RDR, but he was eventually removed from power via a military coup d’état. Gbagbo was elected in the 2000 election when Supreme Court decisions made under General Robert Guéï prevented Bédié, Ouattara, and others from running. Gbagbo was eventually removed from power by the FN after losing elections in 2010–2011, and Ouattara subsequently became president. Like Houphouët-Boigny, Gbagbo and Ouattara employed security sector reform as part of broader institutional strategies to hold onto power. Gbagbo and Ouattara each staffed key offices with loyalists and created special units under the Office of the President’s direct control. Given the growing dissatisfaction with Ouattara in Côte d’Ivoire, he will likely intensify existing intelligence culture and strategies by privatizing control over the Ivorian intelligence system through placing it in the hands of loyalists and using it to threaten and control a growing number of regime opponents. NOTES 1.  Joseph P. Smaldone, “National Security,” in Côte d’Ivoire: A Country Study, ed. Robert E. Handloff (Washington, DC: Federal Research Division, Library of Congress, 1991), 185–186. 2.  Catherine Boone, Political Topographies of the African State: Territorial Authority and Institutional Choice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 263. 3.  Bruno Charbonneau, France and the New Imperialism: Security Policy in SubSaharan Africa (Abington, UK: Routledge), 60–61. 4. Rachel Warner, “Historical Setting,” in Côte d’Ivoire: A Country Study, ed. Robert E. Handloff (Washington, DC: Federal Research Division, Library of Congress, 1991), 27–28. 5.  Smaldone, “National Security,” 203–204; and Aline Leboeuf, “La réforme du secteur de sécurité à L’Ivoirienne” [Ivorian-style security sector reform] (Paris: Institut Français des Relations Internationales (Ifri), March 11, 2016), 25, https://www .ifri.org/fr/publications/reforme-secteur-de-securite-livoirienne. 6.  Smaldone, “National Security,” 189. 7.  Ibid., 189–192, 206–209. 8.  Thomas J. Bassett, “Winning Coalition, Sore Loser: Côte d’Ivoire’s 2010 Presidential Elections,” African Affairs 110, no. 440 (2011): 469–479. 9.  Philip A. Martin, Giulia Piccolino, and Jeremy S. Speight, “Ex-Rebel Authority after Civil War: Theory and Evidence from Côte d’Ivoire,” Comparative Politics 53, no. 2 (2021): 209–232.



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10. Philip A. Martin, “Security Sector Reform and Civil-Military Relations in Postwar Côte d’Ivoire,” African Affairs117, no. 468 (2018): 522–533; and Leboeuf, “La réforme du secteur de sécurité à L’Ivoirienne,” 32–38. 11.  Rebecca Schiel, Christopher Faulkner, and Jonathan Powell, “Mutiny in Côte d’Ivoire,” Africa Spectrum 52, no. 2 (2017): 103–115; Martin, “Security Sector Reform and Civil-Military Relations in Postwar Côte d’Ivoire”; and Richard Banégas and Camille Popineau, “The 2020 Ivorian Election and the ‘Third-Term’ Debate: A Crisis of ‘Korocracy?’” African Affairs 120, no. 480 (2021): 461–477. 12.  “Ivory Coast: 16 Dead in Grand Bassam Beach Resort Attack,” BBC, March 14, 2016, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-35798502. 13.  “Ivory Coast Soldiers Killed in Attack at Border Post Near Burkina Faso,” France 24, June 11, 2020, https://www.france24.com/en/20200611-ivory-coast -soldiers-killed-in-attack-at-border-post-near-burkina-faso. 14. For example, “Assailants Attack Ivory Coast Security Posts Near Burkina Border,” France 24, March 29, 2021, https://www.france24.com/en/africa/20210329 -assailants-attack-ivory-coast-security-posts-near-burkina-border. 15.  Bruno Clément-Bollée, “The Côte d’Ivoire Armed Forces: Portrait of a Fragile System,” interview by Marie Miran-Guyon, Afrique Contemporaine 263–264, nos. 3–4 (2017): 273. 16. Ibid.; and “Côte d’Ivoire,” Transparency International, February 2018– March 2019, http://ti-defence.org/gdi/countries/cote-divoire/?risk=political&single -question=7304. 17. For an overview see “Organisation et fonctionnement” [Organization and function], Présidence de la République, 2021, https://www.presidence.ci/organisation -et-fonctionnement/. 18.  Alexandre Meunier, “Côte d’Ivoire: Les services de renseignements otages des familles Gon Coulibaly et Ouattara” [Ivory Coast: Intelligence services hostage to the Gon Coulibaly and Ouattara families], LSi Africa, June 12, 2020, https://www .lsi-africa.com/fr/actualite-africaine/cnr-terrorisme-services-de-renseignements. html; K. Richard Kouassi, “Vassiriki Traoré, nouveau patron des renseignements extérieurs” [Vassiriki Traoré, new head of external intelligence], Afrique Sur 7, July 28, 2021, https://www.afrique-sur7.ci/480170-vassiriki-traore-patron-renseignements. 19. Franklin Nyamsi, “Service de renseignements militaires en Côte-d’Ivoire: Franklin NYAMSI accuse le ministre de la Défense,” June 4, 2019, Connection Ivoirienne.net, https://www.connectionivoirienne.net/2019/06/04/service-de-renseigne ments-militaires-en-cote-divoire-franklin-nyamsi-accuse-le-ministre-de-la-defense/. 20.  Richard Banégas and Camille Popineau, “The 2020 Ivorian Election and the ‘Third-Term’ Debate: A Crisis of ‘Korocracy’?” African Affairs 120, no. 480 (2021): 461–462. 21.  “Côte d’Ivoire: Arbitrary Arrests, Crackdown on Dissent and Torture Ahead of Presidential Election,” Amnesty International, February 11, 2019, https://www .amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2019/02/cote-divoire-arbitrary-arrests-crackdown-on -dissent-and-torture/.

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22. “Ouattara Signs New Deal to Keep French Troops in Côte d’Ivoire,” RFI, January 27, 2012, https://www.rfi.fr/en/africa/20120127-ouattara-signs-new-deal -keep-french-troops-cote-divoire. 23. “U.S. Relations with Cote d’Ivoire,” US Department of State, January 21, 2021, https://www.state.gov/u-s-relations-with-cote-divoire/. 24.  Mathieu Olivier, “From Houphouët to Hamed Bakayoko: How Israel Made Côte d’Ivoire a Promised Land,” Africa Report, October 28, 2021, https://www.the africareport.com/141329/how-israel-made-cote-divoire-a-promised-land/. 25. Ibid. 26. “ECOWAS Defense Chiefs Call for Collaboration and Intelligence Sharing towards Regional Security,” Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), June 6, 2019, https://www.ecowas.int/ecowas-defense-chiefs-call-for -collaboration-and-intelligence-sharing-towards-regional-security/. 27.  International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Middle East and North Africa,” Military Balance 120, no. 1 (2020): 471.

13 The Democratic Republic of the Congo Intelligence in an Unstable Country Zsolt Szabó

The

Congolese intelligence services are by nature clandestine institutions in a country that has been marked by authoritarianism, xenophobia, and violence. As a result, detailed and reliable information about their functions and operations is not publicly available.1 Indeed, writing about the Congolese intelligence services is a challenging topic, and there has yet to be a full account of its history. This chapter offers an overview of the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC)’s intelligence services using the few sources accessible to understand the national intelligence culture in the country. It argues that the formation of the Congolese intelligence culture was a result of the country’s independence process, shaped partly by the foreign intelligence services, mostly the United States during the Cold War. The chapter provides a brief description of the country’s intelligence and security services. The first part is a short history of the country that highlights the colonial origins of the intelligence and security services. In the second section, the chapter focuses on the early history of the Congolese intelligence services from independence to the end of the rule of President Mobutu Sese Seko. The third part examines the rule of President Laurent-Désiré Kabila and the post-dictatorial age of the DRC from 1997 to the present. There was a key change in the intelligence services after 2006 when the Congolese intelligence agencies underwent significant democratization and multiple reforms. Finally, the chapter reviews the post-dictatorial intelligence security reform in the state. The analysis takes into consideration the influence of external powers and their intelligence services as well as how they interacted with Congolese intelligence and participated in the formation of the Congolese secret services. In doing so, the chapter highlights the intelligence culture by

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understanding Congolese intelligence and security services, how they developed, and the particular agencies’ functions. BACKGROUND The DRC’s origins lie in the Belgian colony of the Congo Free State that was established by 1885. It was preceded by an incursion into the area on behalf of explorer Sir Henry Morton Stanley. These expeditions were important because both the French and the Belgians believed the territory was full of natural resources, which was not true.2 That year the head of the country became King Leopold II, who strictly controlled it.3 Under Leopold’s harsh rule, the Congolese citizens had only minimal human rights. The military and the state were ruled with absolutist tendencies, and little freedom was given to the indigenous people. At the time, intelligence services of the state were virtually nonexistent, and the Force Publique (Public Force) defended the country.4 The Force Publique was the Belgian army under King Leopold II and was composed of Belgian officers. It was not only a defense force but had a gendarmerie to execute counterinsurgency operations.5 Belgium continued to maintain colonial power until a significant change in the mid-1950s. People mobilized throughout the Belgian Congo to challenge the political system and gain independence.6 At the time, colonial intelligence was mainly used to ensure the survival of foreign interests in the state and to protect the government administration.7 Nevertheless, in June 1960 the nationalist movement achieved its goal, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo was established. It came with a high price. The leader of the uprising, Patrice Lumumba, was assassinated in January 1961, and the country was then led by Moise Tshombe until the state became a dictatorship in November 1965 under army chief of staff Joseph-Désiré Mobutu (later known as Mobutu Sese Seko). Mobutu’s government was supported by Belgium, France, and the United States. During Mobutu’s regime, he violently controlled the country and harshly suppressed domestic and foreign opposition, as well as renamed the country Zaire in 1971. He maintained his rule from 1965 until 1997, when his regime weakened and he was forced to leave the country, dying shortly after he entered exile.8 After Mobutu’s death, the left-wing political leader Laurent-Désiré Kabila rose to the presidency. The international community hoped the post–Cold War president could democratize the country, but he failed to achieve significant reforms. Additionally, his ties with North Korea and Cuba antagonized Western countries. Kabila was assassinated in January 2001 and his son, Joseph Kabila, ascended to power, organizing the 2006 election in which the



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country underwent a democratic transition.9 Despite ongoing peace talks and negotiations, a long tradition of ethnic and sectorial conflicts continued. Notably, the eastern part of the country is still ravaged by ethnic conflict, which includes several groups fighting for their own causes.10 Since January 2019, former oppositional leader Félix Tshisekedi has been president of the country. Tshisekedi has failed to stabilize the intelligence and security community and been unable to address insecurity in the country.11 EARLY HISTORY OF THE CONGOLESE INTELLIGENCE SERVICES Information about the DRC’s intelligence services is scarce. However, it is widely known that the first intelligence service in the country was created by the Belgians when they colonized the country. They established the Sûreté National (Security Service) to regulate immigration. Ultimately, it became an intelligence service for internal and external security risks. Led by Victor Nendaka, the Sûreté was unable to handle threats against the government and arrested those who were critical of its actions.12 The colonial Belgian intelligence service boasted about blocking Soviet influence in the country. However, the intelligence service suffered heavy Soviet infiltration in the early years, which forced the Belgians to reassure the United States and other Cold War allies that they could stave off the communist power. Though the colonial government did not want any foreign power to intervene, the Belgian service agreed to share information with the United States.13 Consequently, the United States could only send intelligence officers undercover to conduct operations in the area.14 Meanwhile, other countries wanted to exert influence. Notably, the British Security Service (MI5) organized liaison meetings with the Belgian authorities to protect British interests in the country during the 1960s.15 Thus, in the early period of the Congolese state, the Belgians were the primary intelligence actors in the Congolese Free State and Belgian Congo. THE MOBUTU ERA When independence was achieved in 1960, the intelligence landscape changed. The Congo became a sovereign but fragile country. Larry Devlin, the US Central Intelligence Agency (CIA)’s first station chief there, described the newly independent country in his memoirs as authoritarian and suffering from repeated security crises.16 The CIA and Belgian officers worked to remove first president Patrice Lumumba, and he was overthrown in a military coup, arrested, and killed in January 1961.17 The United States and Belgium

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subsidized senators to vote for no-confidence resolutions against Lumumba and this way dissolve the government.18 According to Ludo de Witte, a Belgian sociologist, the Belgians organized the firing squad that killed him.19 It is also suspected that Britain’s MI6, the foreign intelligence service, had a hand in the killing of Lumumba.20 In contrast, Devlin denied the United States had prior warning about the military’s “true intentions” for Lumumba’s removal and wrote that the United States would have demanded his “release” or “humane treatment” if it knew.21 Though the CIA considered poisoning Lumumba’s toothbrush, Devlin was opposed to the plan, and he “threw it [the toothbrush] in the Congo River when its usefulness had expired.”22 Mobutu became the president with the eventual full backing of the United States and Belgium.23 These allies provided him with military equipment and helped facilitate his rise to power.24 Mobutu had the support of foreign intelligence services, including those of Belgium, France, the United States, and even Israel.25 In fact, Israel was keen to send military advisers to assist the Congolese army in training so the country could strengthen and professionalize its army.26 Meanwhile, Mobutu created a centralized state in which everything worked according to his demands. He built his army and intelligence networks along ethnic and tribal lines. In particular, the Special Presidential Division served as his private army, which was staffed by well-trained and equipped members of his ethnic group from his home province, Equateur.27 In addition, the Military Actions and Intelligence Services division was established, which provided preferential treatment and pay to its personnel.28 In contrast, other security actors were poorly paid and resorted to corruption and extortion for financial support.29 Mobutu personally directed the intelligence and security system with the services obeying and owing their loyalty to him.30 Though the intelligence and security services were organized and apparently effective, this did not make them reliable for the general population.31 Indeed, the intelligence services were not bound by the constitution and operated with impunity.32 Mobutu used his intelligence and security services not only to centralize his power but as an instrument to counter student opposition and reform protests. After decades of international criticism, in early 1990 Mobutu declared an end of single-party rule and announced a transition to democracy. Weeks later, in May 1990, University of Lumumbashi students were killed in a “nighttime rampage” by security service officers, which was followed by armed attacks on opposition figures.33 This event highlights the tactics used for a brief moment when Mobutu supposedly sought to end the repressive system. He used other methods to suppress and control his perceived political opponents.34 Notably, Mobutu established intelligence services that became



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rivals to each other, using this to his advantage and dividing the services to create a network completely faithful to him.35 Mobutu’s decades in power was supported not only by the United States and Western Europe, but also by his success against communists. He strengthened his counterintelligence services and removed personnel from the Soviet and Czechoslovakian embassies, presenting himself as a warrior against socialism.36 In the Mobutu era, the Congolese intelligence services not only worked in the DRC but also fought communism in Angola and Mozambique. According to scholar John Kasuku, the communist threat was addressed by the intelligence services inside the country, and communication interception equipment was supplied by Israel and the United States.37 Efforts included an attempt to surveil the Soviet embassy and people who had worked with Soviet companies. An important aspect of Mobutu’s security governance was aid given to the country. First, military foreign assistance was a major component in keeping the president safe. Second, humanitarian aid, especially from the United States, enabled the country to maintain an effective health service.38 Despite the assistance, the intelligence and security services failed to professionalize, as they lacked the training and education to improve organizational effectivity. Further, the aid was ineffective for the country’s development.39 After the Cold War, Mobutu lost the support of the United States. In 1990 the United States ended development aid to the country, citing human rights abuses and corruption; the Foreign Assistance Appropriations Act prohibited such acts.40 Additionally, in 1990 the United States eliminated military aid due to human rights abuses, forced disappearances, torture, and corruption.41 Without the US support, France was the only significant patron of the Congolese state.42 Following the end of Mobutu’s rule in 1997, stability was shaken when the state was split by various factions fighting for influence. After Mobutu’s ouster, stories emerged of regular and systematic abuse by the security services. In one case, a citizen complained to a court that security officers tried to steal a car, which resulted in the man’s being tortured at a military base.43 Mobutu’s fall marked a new era in which an existing security and military culture faced new challenges while being aided by foreign powers.44 LAURENT KABILA AND THE DEMOCRATIZATION PROCESS There is not much academic research about President Laurent Désiré Kabila’s rule. He inherited intelligence and security services that disintegrated following Mobutu’s going into exile. Kabila needed to reestablish the former intelligence services for government security. The problem was that the

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intelligence officers available to him were mostly from the old regime and chosen for their political affiliations.45 Kabila was heavily supported by the Rwandan, Ugandan, and Angolan armies, and his intelligence services received political and military foreign support. Since he was reluctant to promote the goals of the Rwandan troops, he had to deal with the political and military turmoil that followed. The Second Congo War from 1998 to 2003 brought new devastation to the country, and the intelligence services again proved to be insufficient in providing decisive information collection and analysis.46 Kabila worked to improve national security and endeavored to build a fully equipped intelligence community, but his efforts were in vain, and the challenges remained. The lack of a coherent intelligence and security community brought about the disintegration of the Democratic Republic of the Congo when Kabila was not able to exercise his presidential power.47 Kabila was assassinated in January 2001, and his son, Joseph Kabila, became president, taking a more democratic approach to the country. Indeed, democratic reform began with a new constitution as well as intelligence and security reform.48 Kabila was aware that the country needed continuous and effective reforms. This included reforming intelligence services to address national security challenges. His understanding of state business helped establish improved governance and security as well as better regional relations.49 CURRENT INTELLIGENCE SERVICES The DRC’s intelligence services have twofold objectives: ensuring the state security and governance and monitoring foreign interests.50 There are currently seven major intelligence services in the country: the National Intelligence Agency, National Police Crime Investigation Service, Military Intelligence, National Financial Intelligence Unit, Directorate General of Migration, Republican Guard’s Intelligence Service, and Foreign Intelligence Bureau.51 The National Intelligence Agency is the main intelligence service of the country with responsibility for internal and external intelligence.52 As the country’s main intelligence agency, it is responsible for the bulk of the intelligence activities in the country and reportedly engages in anti-riot police raids and uses extrajudicial killing and torture.53 The National Police Crime Investigation Service is invested with the task of using criminal investigative methods in intelligence operations.54 The Military Intelligence is responsible mainly for the external intelligence activities of the country related to the armed forces.55 The National Financial Intelligence Unit is responsible for money laundering and terrorism financing.56 The Directorate General of Migration investigates immigration-specific issues, including reviewing travel



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documents.57 Thus, each intelligence service has a different responsibility to complement the others. The Republican Guard is synonymous with the security of the DRC president. It has been described as the president’s “private army” and is usually called Special Presidential Security Group (GSSP).58 While its official size is unknown, it is estimated to have between ten and fifteen thousand officers.59 The Republican Guard’s Intelligence Service is better trained than other services and is directly under the Office of the President.60 The administrative center for the intelligence services is the Conseil National de Sécurité (National Security Council), which coordinates the work of the special branches. The intelligence services are managed by a minister, excluding the National Intelligence Agency and the Republican Guard, which is under the president’s authority.61 REFORM AND INTERNATIONAL LINKS The DRC’s intelligence services needed reform because they were responsible for numerous abuses.62 In 2009, Human Rights Watch reported that “violence, impunity, and horrific human rights abuses continue” in the country, with hundreds killed by the security services and repression of opponents and government abuses going unpunished.63 In the new millennium, reform was conducted mainly on the Armed Forces of the Democratic Republic of Congo (FARDC), but also included the intelligence services. With the implementation of new reforms, the intelligence services would report to and be monitored by democratic administrative bodies.64 Intelligence reform is necessary to address the conflict-torn country’s institutional faults and repair the administration of the intelligence services, but change has been slow.65 In 2020 the DRC engaged in “a threefold strategy” to achieve security reform, which included using the Intervention Brigade under the United Nations (UN) to rapidly respond to security challenges and transferring some security powers to the states.66 Nonetheless, the government has had difficulty accomplishing reform due in part to a lack of capacity and political resolution between different parties.67 The Congolese intelligence services’ external relationships are important. They have cooperation agreements with Angola, Burundi, Rwanda, and Uganda. These international relationships with the Congolese intelligence services exist mainly to address regional conflicts or other cases of violence. It is important to note that nongovernmental services, churches, and traditional leaders also take part in these exchanges, which provide reports and engage in dialogue between the state and society. There is also cooperation between

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the Congolese intelligence services and the Southern African Development Community (SADC) and the Economic Community of Central African States (CEEAC) to address continental issues. Furthermore, the cooperation between the UN and other missions in the country constitute an important part of these agreements because international peacekeepers need intelligence.68 Additionally, since 2005 a European Union mission has helped with security reform. The Congolese Consultative and Support Mission of the EU (EUSEC RD CONGO) intervened in the Second Congo War to reform the army, with attention to resources and management to help address arms smuggling and militias.69 The mission helped stabilize the services and army to improve professionalism and institutional capacity for national security. The EUSEC RD CONGO promoted joint cooperation of countries near the African Great Lakes, supported defense reform, and provided the Congolese government with aid and expertise.70 In 2015 the EU provided the Congolese National Police with training and worked to improve financial and human resources management.71 Yet instability and impunity have continued, such as the security forces killing dozens of demonstrators in 2016 who called on President Kabila to resign.72 Currently, the country is still facing numerous internal security challenges, and whether the government builds its capacity and political parties can resolve their differences will be key to the future.73 CONCLUSION The Democratic Republic of the Congo’s intelligence services are part of a complex system continuously developed since the era of colonialism. Its intelligence culture has consisted of corruption, abuse, and interservice competition. The chapter’s first part offered a brief history of the country, highlighting how the intelligence services were created by the Belgians for colonial goals. In the second, a discussion about the Mobutu era explored how the decade-long rule of the president shaped the Congolese security establishment. Notably, Mobutu was a dictator who controlled the levers of power in the state, using Western assistance to maintain his control, which included intelligence and security training and information as well as other forms of aid. While the United States was the most important ally, Belgium, France, and Israel were also key partners. They sent military advisers, military equipment, and other aid as a part of the broader Cold War. Mobutu reciprocated by thwarting communist expansion, which also threatened his own power. Mobutu constructed an intelligence community for his own objectives. He created rival services to ensure that power was not overcentralized in the hands of potential opponents. Mobutu was keen to use intelligence services



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as a weapon against potential opponents and enemies, and he tried to maintain a strong grip over the services. In the last period of his rule, he lost US support and relied mainly on the French in trying to address and survive the political turmoil. His successor, Laurent Kabila, inherited a weak government that was not well balanced. The intelligence services disintegrated and had to be reorganized to address national security. His rule was backed by foreign nations, including Angola, Rwanda, and Uganda. The intelligence officers were partly from the old regime and partly from different ethnic and political clans. Ultimately, he was unsuccessful in creating a coherent intelligence community in the country, which led to instability. His son, Joseph Kabila, was more successful in reorganizing the intelligence community, and during his rule it underwent a democratic process that led to more transparency. Finally, security reform in the DRC tried to address many different problems. One of the main issues is human rights abuses by the intelligence and security services, wherein violence against civilians still must be addressed. With limited financial resources and an intelligence community that is still working toward professionalization, further institutional reforms are necessary to improve transparency and accountability. Additionally, the DRC faces another challenge in the form of foreign influence, which makes it challenging to create a reliable, national intelligence agency in the country. Thus, the intelligence community needs further reform even after initial improvement in the fragile and still conflict-ridden nation. NOTES 1.  See, for example, Dustin Dehéz, “Security-Sector Reform and Intelligence Services in Sub-Saharan Africa: Capturing the Whole Picture,” African Security Review 19, no. 2 (2010): 39–40, 45. 2.  Andrea Balogh, János Besenyő, Péter Miletics, and Dávid Vogel, La République Centrafricaine [The Central African Republic] (Szeged: Édité par l’Atelier des Recherches Scientifiques de l’état-major de l’Armée Hongroise et le Centre Universitaire Francophone de l’Université de Szeged, 2016), 122–123. 3. Georges Nzongola-Ntalaja, “From Zaire to the Democratic Republic of the Congo,” Current African Issues, no. 28 (2004). 4.  Gabi Hasselbein, “The Rise and Decline of the Congolese State: An Analytical Narrative on State-Making” (working paper no. 2, Crisis States Research Center, November 2007), 16–17. 5.  “Zaire: Evolution of the Armed Forces,” Country-data.com, December 1993, http://www.country-data.com/cgi-bin/query/r-15140.html. 6.  Nzongola-Ntalaja, “From Zaire to the Democratic Republic of the Congo.”

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 7. John Kasuku, Intelligence Reform in the Post-Dictatorial Democratic Republic of the Congo: A Critical Analysis of DRC’s Intelligence Service, Theses no. 21 (Geneva: Globethics.net 2016), 28.   8.  Nzongola-Ntalaja, “From Zaire to the Democratic Republic of the Congo.”  9. Kasuku, Intelligence Reform in the Post-Dictatorial Democratic Republic of the Congo, 29–30. 10. Karl Thompson, “A Very Brief History of the Democratic Republic of the Congo,” ReviseSociology, July 14, 2017, https://revisesociology.com/2017/07/14 /brief-history-drc-congo/. 11. “Tshishekedi Struggles with Security Issues in DRC,” Africa News, April 23, 2019, https://www.africanews.com/2019/04/23/tshisekedi-struggles-with-security -issues-in-drc/. 12.  Rodney Carlisle, Encyclopedia of Intelligence and Counterintelligence (Armonk, NY: Routledge, 2005). 13.  Anne-Sophie Gijs, “Fighting the Red Peril in the Congo: Paradoxes and Perspectives on an Equivocal Challenge to Belgium and the West (1947–1960),” Cold War History 16, no. 3 (2016): 280. 14.  Ibid., 280. 15.  Philip Murphy, “Creating a Commonwealth Intelligence Culture: The View from Central Africa 1945–1965,” Intelligence and National Security 17, no. 3 (2002): 152. 16. Larry Devlin, Chief of Station, Congo: A Memoir of 1960–67 (New York: Public Affairs, 2007), 87, 104. 17.  Emmanuel Gerard and Bruce Kuklick, Death in the Congo: Murdering Patrice Lumumba (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2015); Madeleine G. Kalb, “The CIA and Lumumba,” New York Times, August 2, 1981; and “Report Reproves Belgium in Lumumba’s Death,” New York Times, November 17, 2001. 18.  Stephen R. Weissman, “What Really Happenned in Congo: The CIA, the Murder of Lumumba, and the Rise of Mobutu,” Foreign Affairs 93, no. 4 (July/August 2014): 14–24. 19.  Friederike Müller-Jung, “Patrice Lumuba: Remembering ‘Africa’s Che Guevara,’” Deutsche Welle, January 15, 2016, https://www.dw.com/en/patrice-lumumba -remembering-africas-che-guevara/a-18981406. 20. Ibid. 21. Devlin, Chief of Station, Congo, 128. 22.  “Who Killed Lumumba?,” BBC, October 21, 2000, http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi /programmes/correspondent/974745.stm. 23.  Nzongola-Ntalaja, “From Zaire to the Democratic Republic of the Congo”; and Edouard Bustin, “The Foreign Policy of the Republic of Zaire,” Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 489 (January 1987): 69. 24.  Hasselbein, “The Rise and Decline of the Congolese State,” 25. 25.  Idem. 217. 26.  Najib J. Hakim and Richard P. Stevens, “Zaire and Israel: An American Connection,” Journal of Palestine Studies 12, no. 3 (Spring 1983): 43.



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27. Kasuku, Intelligence Reform in the Post-Dictatorial Democratic Republic of the Congo, 19. 28. Ibid., 154. 29.  Ibid., 154. 30.  Ibid., 279. 31. Dehéz, “Security-Sector Reform and Intelligence Services in Sub-Saharan Africa,” 40. 32. Kasuku, Intelligence Reform in the Post-Dictatorial Democratic Republic of the Congo, 154. 33. Bill Berkeley, “Zaire: An African Horror Story,” Atlantic, August 1993, https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/1993/08/zaire-an-african-horror -story/305496/. 34.  Zoё Marriage, “Congo Co: Aid and Security,” Conflict, Security & Development 10, no. 3 (2010): 358. 35. Kasuku, Intelligence Reform in the Post-Dictatorial Democratic Republic of the Congo, 152. 36.  Gijs, “Fighting the Red Peril in the Congo,” 287. 37. Kasuku, Intelligence Reform in the Post-Dictatorial Democratic Republic of the Congo, 217–218. 38.  Marriage, “Congo Co: Aid and Security,” 357. 39.  Ibid., 357. 40.  For Zaire’s Mobutu, the U.S.-Funded Party is Over (Heritage Foundation, October 11, 1991). 41.  Clifford Krauss, “U.S. Cuts Aid to Zaire, Setting Off a Policy Debate,” New York Times, November 4, 1990, https://www.nytimes.com/1990/11/04/world/us-cuts -aid-to-zaire-setting-off-a-policy-debate.html; abd Seema Sirohi, “United States: Aid to Uganda, Zaire Tied to Human Rights,” IPS-Inter Press Service, November 15, 1989. 42.  Mel McNulty, “The Collapse of Zaїre: Implosion, Revolution or External Sabotage?,” Journal of Modern African Studies 37, no. 1 (March 1999): 72–73. 43.  Hugh Dellios, “Victims Describe Mobutu’s Long Reign of Torture,” Chicago Tribune, April 29, 1997, https://www.chicagotribune.com/news/ct-xpm-1997-04-29 -9704290128-story.html. 44.  McNulty, “Collapse of Zaїre,” 56. 45. Kasuku, Intelligence Reform in the Post-Dictatorial Democratic Republic of the Congo, 220. 46.  Ibid., 125–129. 47.  Marriage, “Congo Co: Aid and Security,” 358. 48. Kasuku, Intelligence Reform in the Post-Dictatorial Democratic Republic of the Congo, 156–157. 49.  Ibid., 156–157. 50. Kasuku, Intelligence Reform in the Post-Dictatorial Democratic Republic of the Congo, 214. 51.  Ibid., 164–165.

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52.  Democratic Republic of the Congo, Human Rights Report (U S Embassy in the Democratic Republic of Congo, 2019), https://cd.usembassy.gov/wp-content /uploads/sites/160/DEMOCRATIC-REPUBLIC-OF-THE-CONGO-2019-HUMAN -RIGHTS-REPORT.pdf. 53.  “Security Sector Institutions and the DRC’s Political Crisis,” Africa Center for Strategic Studies, 2016, https://africacenter.org/spotlight/drc-congo-security-sector -institutions-helping-impeding-political-reform/. 54.  Police Programme Africa—Democratic Republic of Congo, Deutsche Gesellshcaft für Internationale Zusammenarbeit, 2019, https://www.giz.de/en/worldwide /19919.html. 55. Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Democratic Republic of the Congo (US Department of State, 2019), https://www.state.gov/reports/2019-country -reports-on-human-rights-practices/democratic-republic-of-the-congo/. 56.  Bureau of International Narcotics and Law Enforcement Affairs, International Narcotics Control Strategy Report (INCSR) (US Department of State, 2015), https://2009-2017.state.gov/j/inl/rls/nrcrpt/2015/supplemental/239169.htm. 57.  “Democratic Republic of the Congo, Operations, Emergencies and Post-Crisis,” International Organization for Migration, Regional Office for Southern Africa, 2019. https://ropretoria.iom.int/democratic-republic-congo. 58.  János Besenyő, Ádám Gyarmati, Ambrus Hetényi Soma, Gergő Pető, Dóra Szijj, and István Resperger, Országismertető-Kongói Demokratikus Köztársaság [Country profile—the Democratic Republic of Congo] (Székesfehérvár: “Sereg Szemle” kiadvány, az MH Összhaderőnemi Parancsnokság tudományos kiadványa, 2010), 112. 59.  Ibid., 112. 60.  “Security Sector Institutions and the DRC’s Political Crisis,” Africa Center for Strategic Studies, 2016, https://africacenter.org/spotlight/drc-congo-security-sector -institutions-helping-impeding-political-reform/. 61. Kasuku, Intelligence Reform in the Post-Dictatorial Democratic Republic of the Congo, 164–165. 62.  Maria Eriksson Baaz and Maria Stern, “Being Reformed: Subjectification and Security Sector Reform in the Congolese Armed Forces,” Journal of Intervention and Statebuilding 11, no. 2 (2017): 209. 63. “Democratic Republic of Congo: Events of 2008,” Human Rights Watch, World Report, 2009, https://www.hrw.org/world-report/2009/country-chapters/demo cratic-republic-congo. 64. Dehéz, “Security-Sector Reform and Intelligence Services in Sub-Saharan Africa,” 39. 65.  Stephanie Wolters and Henri Boshoff, “Slow Military Reform and the Transition Process in the Democratic Republic of the Congo,” African Security Studies 15, no. 2 (2006): 82. 66.  “New Strategy for Mission Withdrawal from Democratic Republic of Congo Tailored to Provinces’ Security Needs, Special Representative Tells Security Council,” United Nations, December 7, 2020, https://www.un.org/press/en/2020/sc14374 .doc.htm.



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67. Ibid. 68. Kasuku, Intelligence Reform in the Post-Dictatorial Democratic Republic of the Congo, 268–269. 69.  “Common Security and Defence Policy: EU Mission to Provide Advice and Assistance for Security Sector Reform in the Democratic Republic of the Congo in the Area of Defence (EUSEC RD CONGO),” European Union, 2015, https:// eeas.europa.eu/archives/docs/csdp/missions-and-operations/eusec-rd-congo/pdf/fact sheet_eusec_rd_congo_en.pdf. 70.  János Besenyő, Magyar katonai és rendőri műveletek az afrikai kontinensen 1989–2019 [Participation of Hungary in African operations between 1989–2019] (Budapest: Óbudai Egyetem Biztonságtudományi Doktori Iskola, 2019), 87. 71. “Security, Development and the Congolese National Police Force: Crown Agents Consultant Roxane Burstow Explains How Police Reform in the Democratic Republic of Congo Is Helping the Country’s Peace and Prosperity Export Citation,” Guardian, September 3, 2015. 72.  “Dozens Killed in Clashes as Congolese Rise up against Kabila: Democratic Republic of Congo,” Times [London], September 21, 2016. 73.  “New Strategy for Mission Withdrawal from Democratic Republic of Congo Tailored to Provinces’ Security Needs.”

14 Djibouti Increasing Chinese Influence amid Multilateral Military Competition Ra Mason

Having only gained full independence from French colonial rule in 1977,

Djibouti is a relatively new state in a region beset by long-standing and rapidly changing security concerns.1 In recent times, these have included protracted civil warfare in neighboring Yemen, conflict in nearby South Sudan, piracy in the Gulf of Aden and great power rivalry in relation to control over the Indo-Pacific. Amid these challenges, despite ongoing ethnic tensions between Afar and Issa communities as well as among subgroups of the (predominantly ruling) Issa, Djibouti has retained relative stability, albeit through the aggressive exercising of a one-party state monopoly over violence.2 This has been achieved not least by effective intelligence collection, which has been used by the party elite, internal authorities, and overseas partners to ensure that the incumbent ruler, President Ismaïl Omar Guelleh (IOG), is able to effectively suppress political opposition directed against his People’s Rally for Progress Party (Rassemblement Populaire pour le Progrès, RPP).3 Furthermore, Djibouti’s intelligence community has been central to the administration’s ability to skillfully broker and sustain security arrangements as the host to five indefinitely termed foreign militaries, with a sixth arrangement already agreed and a prospective seventh in waiting. In addition to multilateral anti-piracy forces, these include Chinese, French, Italian, Japanese, and the United States (US) military facilities, as well as a Saudi Arabian base for which construction was agreed in 2016, and official interest from India.4 Furthermore, Djibouti’s in-country security dynamic is complicated by overlapping international military agreements, such as those convened by American and British forces, wherein the US facility of Camp Lemonnier also hosts British personnel, and the French base accommodates German and Spanish troops alongside their own units. As a physically 173

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environment that encompasses the armed representatives of multiple alliances and rival great powers as well as nonstate combatants such as marine pirates, the Djiboutian intelligence community has heightened significance for regional security and broader geostrategy.5 The complexity of Djibouti’s case is also compounded by an uncertain degree of contested sovereignty, between both the zones occupied by foreign forces and the influence that they exert over essentially domestic governance issues.6 At the same time, the massive wealth disparity between the numerically small ruling elite and the remainder of the close to one million inhabitants means that intelligence remains a key dynamic in suppressing a range of information sensitive to the state and is integral to maintaining authoritarian control.7 In the contemporary post–September 11, 2001, era, much of this activity has been framed under the pretext of counterterrorism efforts in cooperation with American and French authorities, both of which maintain an intelligence presence in-country, including “an aggressive immigration campaign to remove illegal aliens from Djibouti, closing down terroristlinked financial institutions, and sharing security information on possible terrorist activity in the region.”8 The contradictions of a counterterrorism-based approach to intelligence, however, become clear when one considers that Djibouti is statistically one of the African states least affected by terrorism.9 Nevertheless, the underlying incentives for the framing of intelligence priorities become clearer when considering how these activities have been expanded by states such as the People’s Republic of China (PRC), including as a means to advance integration with Beijing’s extension of the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) into East Africa. They have also most recently been coupled to incorporating responses to the global coronavirus pandemic. This chapter interrogates how the perceived necessity to incorporate a multilateral military presence has impacted Djibouti’s intelligence community. In so doing, it addresses the complex regional security environment within which the intelligence community of Djibouti operates and documents the primary factors and actors driving its development. Specifically, it focuses on the organizational alliances, rivalries, and interrelationships between dominant vested interests and agents that encompass the permanently stationed foreign militaries, international anti-piracy forces, and government representatives of Djibouti. The chapter assesses the significant external influences of great power interests as well as the often underestimated importance of domestic culture and internal agency in influencing Djibouti’s intelligence community. Ultimately, it argues that a combination of localized nepotism and corruption, coupled with increasing governmental interference from the recently established Chinese military facility and its accompanying infrastructural investors, is shaping the intelligence community in-country.10 As a



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result, it is being transformed into one that prioritizes the growing strategic regional interests of Beijing in particular, while at the same time effectively being divided between overlapping American, Chinese, French, and other spheres of domestic-external influence. The chapter proceeds as follows. The first section briefly details the history of intelligence as a spatial and temporal practice in Djibouti. In so doing, it identifies a series of impactful junctures of decisive intervention that have shaped the intelligence services. The chapter then interrogates countryspecific issues that shape the intelligence culture within Djibouti, which in addition to the foreign military presences include ethnic tensions, governmental structure and operation, and coordination with other external actors. This is followed by a more detailed examination of Djibouti’s specific foreign hosting arrangements with each of its overseas occupants, before summarizing key issues and implications in conclusion. INTELLIGENCE HISTORY As leading political scientist Roy Pateman succinctly observed: “All African regimes and liberation movements have established some form of secret state-security apparatus, in many cases with considerable external assistance.”11 While under French colonial rule, the multiple ethnic and sectional factions that make up Djibouti’s population, including the Afar-Issa rivalry alluded to previously, as well as subgroups within those two broadly defined ethnicities, were effectively kept in check by force. This control was directed politically from Paris, with information being gathered on rival groups that were suspected of harboring separatist intentions. Such activities included targeted interference, where deemed necessary, from the Service for External Documentation and Counter-Espionage (Service de Documentation Exterieure et de Contre-Espionnage, SDECE), who were responsible for intelligence operations during France’s period of African decolonization.12 However, Djibouti’s transition to independence did not rid the state or its intelligence community of postcolonial influence. Rather, partly in cooperation, or collusion, with its former rulers, newly inaugurated president Hassan Gouled Aptidon established the Documentation and Security Service (Service de Documentation et de Sécurité, SDS), which played a central role in ensuring stability and authority over the interests of what would essentially become a family business run as an authoritarian state.13 Amid this, Aptidon’s nephew, one Ismaïl Omar Guelleh (IOG), served as both chief of staff and chief of the SDS.14 This meant that the future president to be was directly responsible for intelligence operations that needed to

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bridge the gap between Djiboutian authorities and a remaining French presence of some thirty-two-hundred military personnel along with their accompanying staff. At the same time, IOG monitored ethnic rivalries, particularly tensions between the ruling Issa and territorial minority Afar, so that they did not escalate to the point where the government might lose control.15 Thereafter, following the Afar-led Front for the Restoration of Unity and Democracy (Front pour la Restauration de l’Unité et de la Démocratie, FRUD) insurgency from 1991 to 1994, Guelleh successfully facilitated French cooperation in dividing politically active Afar groups into radical and moderate factions. This ultimately led to the marginalization of the former and incorporation of the latter into a newly elected government that within a few short years would be led by himself.16 After his 1999 election, IOG continued to prioritize a range of intelligence activities as a means to retain power and secure regime survival. This has been made particularly clear in the run-up to parliamentary elections, which the government of Djibouti claims are free and fair based on their adherence to direct universal suffrage.17 With complicit support from French forces stationed in-country, who are keen to maintain the warm relations and stability of the existing status quo, and endemic indifference exhibited by France’s parliament and mainstream media, key opposition figures have repeatedly been surveilled and targeted, to deadly effect. This includes widespread arrest, intimidation, and reported torture of political dissidents, as well as anyone accused of being sympathetic to such figures or openly opposing the legitimacy of the ruling coalition, Union for the Presidential Majority (Union pour la Majorité Présidentielle, UMP).18 Moreover, prior to the 2013 general elections, Guelleh’s security forces demonstrated the extent to which any real opposition to the de facto one-party rule would not be tolerated by shooting dead a fourteen-year old boy amid a civil demonstration that was demanding little more than improved sports facilities in the former Afar insurgent stronghold of Obock.19 In a comparable form to the way in which a combination of SDS and regular security forces were key to intimidating the opposition and ensuring Guelleh’s election success in 2013, the services were also pivotal in quelling resistance to election irregularities thereafter. Indeed, families and associates of opposition figures, many of whom were arbitrarily arrested following their rejection of the UMP’s 2013 victory, were identified and detained, and others (including deviant media channels) were silenced.20 Having then amended the constitution to remove key restrictions on the number of successive terms that can be served as president, Guelleh’s UMP secured another landslide success in 2016, preventing rival groups from disseminating details about how the victory was achieved. Furthermore, the combination of implicit or indiffer-



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ent foreign media coverage and weak political responses from the European Union (EU) and other international organizations compounds the chronic government corruption and impunity that help to facilitate these abuses of power over information.21 Despite sporadic criticism from external nongovernmental organizations and diaspora groups, this results in a domestic intelligence culture that almost by definition removes transparency in contributing to the retention of state power in the hands of Guelleh’s personal clique.22 Meanwhile, nonruling minority groups and the wider general public are deliberately kept largely in the dark.23 INTELLIGENCE CULTURE In light of the historical elements of the state’s internal affairs, a key issue shaping Djibouti’s internal intelligence culture is how the power of information is unequally distributed among its ethnically diverse population. There is officially universal suffrage and legal provisions that support the official projection of direct parliamentary democracy, but in reality party leaders negotiate along ethnic and clan-based lines, primarily in pursuit of their parochial interests. This has been compounded by the ruling UMP coalition having unilaterally terminated consultancy by the nongovernmental US organization Democracy International, which recommended that such a culture be reformed, advising that the government should “launch a comprehensive information campaign airing voter education messages on democratic principles, the meaning of elections and the roles and responsibilities of citizens.”24 It further called for “addressing gaps in the public’s knowledge of important areas such as voter registration” and urged that “the issuance of national identification cards would go far in increasing understanding and encouraging broader public participation.”25 In this sense, with the domestic opposition’s clamoring for reform being suppressed, external observers have promoted civic-based changes to intelligence as a public good, but such calls have largely fallen on deaf ears. One of Djibouti’s most striking features is its increasing multilateral foreign military presence, now uniquely including China’s and Japan’s only formally recognized overseas military bases, as well as the sole US officially permanent base in Africa.26 This shapes the current intelligence environment, including how IOG’s government retains control of domestic information channels. At the level of interregional and interstate cooperation, information sharing has been incorporated within the framework of the Djibouti Code of Conduct (DCoC). Highlighting the centrality of Djibouti in such activities, the DCoC was originally conceived, at least ostensibly, as a mechanism to

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gather intelligence and coordinate anti-piracy operations in and around the Gulf of Aden. The initiative involves twenty-two member states from East Africa and the Middle East, who also cooperate with and receive training from the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) and associated partners, via a network of Information Sharing Centres (ISCs) and National Focal Points (NFPs) facilitated by the International Maritime Organization (IMO).27 In terms of shaping Djibouti’s intelligence culture related to these activities, in 2017 the IMO revised the DCoC under the so-called Jeddah Amendment. This expanded the system’s remit, meaning that intelligence gathering is now conducted at a regional level on everything from armed robbery, human trafficking, and smuggling to unreported fishing and illicit activities in the tourist industry. Significantly, this explicitly includes information sharing at the interstate level to ensure that “any persons committing or intending to commit such illicit activity are apprehended and prosecuted.”28 This offers a pretext for member state governments, such as that run by Djibouti’s UMP, to arbitrarily surveil and harass potential political opponents on the grounds that they may be planning to commit illicit activities even with only the most tenuous linkage to actually achieving the stated goal of regional maritime security. In this regard, as NATO allies, French, American and Italian forces in Djibouti all contribute towards the superstructure of these agreements and by extension the domestic intelligence community and culture as a whole.29 There is also explicit and deliberate high-level linkage made between individual NATO state authorities in engaging with the presiding actors in and around the Horn of Africa, in terms of both rhetoric and operations, as set out by the organization’s secretary general, Jens Stoltenberg, and confirmed by the US AFRICOM.30 Similarly, Japanese and Saudi forces and governmental authorities have approximately aligned interests and approaches to their European and North American counterparts when it comes to security and information sharing in the region.31 In contrast, China’s increasingly dominating influence over Djibouti and its long-standing leader, IOG, presents a potentially significant shift in the nature of intelligence communities in East Africa as a whole. Given that Beijing now holds more than 70 percent of Djibouti’s GDP in debt, these changes are likely to mean that Chinese-style information collection, processing, and management are implemented as part of the advancement of the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), in which Djibouti is an active partner.32 Moreover, rather than being separated or isolated as a function of security in narrowly defined terms, the PRC’s involvement integrates these areas with large-scale infrastructural investment programs.33 For example, in addition to ports, railways, and military bases, China has set up internet servers and is building an undersea cable offshore from Djibouti that



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will network multiple regional states under the data management systems of Chinese-owned companies.34 The recent outcomes of the PRC’s extended influence on the intelligence community are also evident in political shifts. As Selen Duruskan and Ayse Atlay contend, this includes how the state “facilitates the promotion of a Chinese way of doing things as intrinsic to its own progress.”35 This is demonstrated with the structure of the ruling coalition, effectively allowing IOG to consolidate his grip on power to entrench a one-party state system. It has resulted not only in domination over his political rivals, but also in the de facto removal of his allies and partners within the UMP-led coalition.36 In this sense, China’s involvement may appear to represent little more than a tailwind in reinforcing continuity in Djibouti by way of sustaining a tightly controlled and centralized intelligence community within the state. However, in view of Beijing’s geostrategic ambitions, highly opaque approach to intelligence and management practices, and post-pandemic timing at a juncture where various information systems and smart technologies are either being introduced or “reset,” it would appear that Djibouti’s intelligence culture is on the cusp of significant reform. This is likely to include increased remote oversight from beyond its own sovereign borders conducted, at least in part, by actors within the PRC.37 OVERSIGHT AND REFORM The recent changes within Djibouti’s political oversight, particularly as a function of Beijing’s increasingly disproportionate influence, illustrate what has arguably become the defining feature of the state’s intelligence culture— that is, alignment with China’s strategic interests. These match closely with a multifaceted approach to security that was outlined in the PRC’s 2015 military strategy white paper, as part of the “String of Pearls” (SoP). It calls for the Chinese navy to “establish a variety of access points in the Indian Ocean Region in the upcoming years” with Djibouti as one end of the maritime SoP.38 The country’s role in this regard is more than merely an instrumental part of China’s overarching Indo-Pacific geostrategy. From the perspective of pinpoint intelligence, the People’s Liberation Army Navy (PLAN) now has exclusive rights to one of the Djiboutian Doraleh Port’s access berths, which means that from their “new vantage point, the PLAN is able to overlook one of the most important maritime chokepoints in the world: the Gulf of Aden, specifically the Bab-el-Mandeb Strait, through which an estimated 12.5 to 20 percent of global trade passes every year (the narrowest part of Bab-elMandeb is only 18-miles wide).” It is noteworthy that while China maintains

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a rhetoric of noninterference and cooperation in the coordination of antipiracy and antiterror efforts through major international organizations, it has undoubtedly established an information-gathering and control mechanism in Djibouti that facilitates the combined use of civil and military power as a means “to influence the internal affairs of nearby countries.”39 This marks a significant shift. Not least, it highlights how Djibouti’s intelligence community, once dominated by oversight from the SDECE, now falls well outside of what was previously France’s East African control hub.40 Moreover, even relative newcomers, such as the United States and Japan, currently find themselves well behind when it comes to information sharing and influence over governmental means of control executed by the IOG regime. The lack, however flawed, of a meaningful democratic process also means that intelligence flows and access to sensitive items are tightly restricted, opaque, and vulnerable to reportedly rampant corruption. This is in combination and concomitance with China’s own internationally invested domestic intelligence system and specific increased influence over Djiboutian sovereignty.41 Notwithstanding the shift toward China in many areas of intelligence as a practice and process, however, it is not as yet simply a function of the Communist Party of China (CCP) and its associates’ whims. Initiatives for addressing issues, such as illegal migration, are funded via the International Organisation for Migration (IOM) primarily by the European Union (EU) and Japan. The IOM presents itself as a neutral organization for the purpose of assisting capacity building, specifically in terms of technical and logistical support for the Djibouti Department of Immigration and Border Police (DDIB) and other governmental authorities.42 Yet this is implemented technologically through a focus on the Personal Identification and Registration System (PIRS), “as a way for the State to gain a better visibility of the population within its territory . . . [which] is notably supposed to provide disaggregated statistics and migration-related information to feed a National Alert List and the Interpol database.”43 Though the IOM apparently stands for the rule of law and democratic norms, in the case of Djibouti it appears to be expediting the development of a surveillance state that largely aligns with the practices and interests of Chinese investors and facilitates IOG’s retention of concentrated dictatorial powers. CONCLUSION Djibouti’s intelligence culture was historically characterized by colonial interference and external medaling by the surrounding regional states. Indeed, it was central to a contest for control over the sovereign space that is con-



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temporarily demarcated by the internationally recognized state of Djibouti. Competing interests of great power rivalry and domestic power-mongering now come to the fore as the key dynamics by which information is sought, controlled, and disseminated. Amid this, in succession from his uncle, incumbent president IOG has inherited and sustained practices of intelligence that are based primarily on utilizing information as power to suppress political opposition, exploit minority and migrant labor, and enrich domestic elites through frameworks endorsed and supported by powerful international institutions, as well as a number of their individual member states. The intelligence community has expanded and developed extensively throughout the country’s relatively recent history as a fully fledged sovereign state to become a pivotal fulcrum of regional security frameworks. This is evident from the close relationships in anti-piracy, information sharing, and reconnaissance that the ruling UMP coalition maintains with the multiple foreign powers it hosts, and is further institutionalized via the externally funded DCoC, which provides a layer of international oversight. At the same time, the influence of China appears to be increasing exponentially. This not only affects how and by whom information is accessed and disseminated but also results in an increased degree of extraterritoriality when it comes to the oversight of intelligence-related concerns, including in the areas relating to regional security mentioned previously. Overall, Chinese interests are seen to be shaping the culture of Djibouti’s intelligence community so as to endorse an ever-closer relationship between CCP authorities and affiliates in Beijing on the one hand, and IOG’s regime in Djibouti on the other. Thus, the current intelligence culture facilitates the Djiboutian leader’s consolidation of concentrated power, as well as his vulnerability to political and economic leverage exercised by the PRC. As such, Djibouti’s intelligence culture is shaped by several domestic and international variables. One constant variable is that manipulation by external powers, primarily as a function of their competing geostrategies and shifts in relative power projection capabilities, plays a key role in determining the socioeconomic and political realities of the everyday for large swaths of this tiny East African country’s population. Yet in contradistinction, Djibouti has itself also become a pivotal player in the expansion of regional intelligence systems that affect the broader geopolitical dynamics within which it is embedded, such as with the DCoC’s Jeddah Amendment. In this regard, Djibouti is likely to remain a focal point for multilateral governmental and nongovernmental organizations going forward. Moreover, substantial changes to the structure and agency of that community of actors seem almost inevitable given the concentration of great power rivalries compressed within this strategically valuable “gateway to Africa.” China’s influence, in terms of both physical and

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cyber infrastructure and political leverage, currently appears to be increasing exponentially. Nevertheless, the ability of Djiboutian domestic authorities to maintain tight control over information flows between indigenous and migrant populations, as well as to leverage geo-economic competition between the multiple external military forces hosted within their borders, is likely to remain a paramount factor in directing the ongoing changes of its intelligence culture. NOTES  1. The author wishes to thank Professor Lee Jarvis of the School of Politics, Philosophy, Language and Communication Studies at the University of East Anglia for his detailed feedback on the chapter draft and ongoing research mentoring. Background Note: Djibouti (US Department of State, Bureau of African Affairs, 2007), 2.   2.  Abdallah A. Abdo, “State Building, Independence and Post-Conflict Reconstruction in Djibouti,” in Post-Conflict Peace-Building in the Horn of Africa: Report of the 6th Annual Conference on the Horn of Africa, ed. Ulf Johansson Dahre (Lund, 2007), 275.  3. “Opposition Says 19 Dead in Djibouti Violence, Government Says Only Nine Wounded,” Reuters, December 22, 2015, https://www.reuters.com/article/us -djibouti-unrest-idUSKBN0U50I220151222.  4. Small Wars Foundation, “Djibouti, Foreign Military Bases on the Horn of Africa: Who Is There? What Are They up To?,” Small Wars Journal, February 3, 2019, https://smallwarsjournal.com/jrnl/art/open-source-backgrounder-djibouti -foreign-military-bases-horn-africa-who-there-what-are.   5.  Zach Vertin, “Red Sea Rivalries: The Gulf, the Horn and the New Geopolitics of the Red Sea,” Brookings Doha Center, 2019, 12.   6.  Samson A. Bezabeh, “Citizenship and the Logic of Sovereignty in Djibouti,” African Affairs 110, no. 441 (2011): 589.  7. “Top 10% National Income Share (Djibouti),” World Inequality Database, 2021,. https://wid.world/world/#sptinc_p90p100_z/US;FR;DE;CN;ZA;GB;WO;DJ /last/eu/k/p/yearly/s/false/24.339999999999996/80/curve/false/country.  8. Deborah L. West, Combating Terrorism in the Horn of Africa and Yemen, Belfer Center for Science and International Affairs (BCSIA) (Cambridge, Harvard, 2005), 9.  9. Global Terrorism Index (GTI), 2020, https://www.visionofhumanity.org/wp -content/uploads/2020/11/GTI-2020-web-1.pdf, 9. 10. “La Voix de Djibouti Is Not Run by ‘Opposition Illiterates,’ RSF Says,” Reporters Without Borders (RSF), December 9, 2020, https://rsf.org/en/news /la-voix-de-djibouti-not-run-opposition-illiterates-rsf-says; and Transparency International, “Corruption Perception Index 2020,” 2021, https://www.transparency.org /en/cpi/2020/index/dji. 11.  Roy Pateman, “Intelligence Agencies in Africa: A Preliminary Assessment,” Journal of Modern African Studies 30, no. 4 (1992): 569.



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12.  Eric Denécé, “France: The Intelligence Services’ Historical and Cultural Context,” in Handbook of European Intelligence Cultures, ed. Bob de Graaff and James Nyce, (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2016), 139. 13.  Bollee Amedee, “Djibouti: From French Outpost to US Base,” Review of African Political Economy 30, no. 97 (2003): 481. 14.  “Biographie du Président” [Biography of the president], République de Djibouti, 2021, https://www.presidence.dj/sousmenu.php?ID=25. 15. Center of Africa Studies, “1977 Ethnic Groups from Somalia and Djibouti Map,” University of California, Berkeley, 2021, https://understandingthehorn.berke ley.edu/1977-ethnic-groups-somalia-and-djibouti-map. 16.  Peter J. Schraeder, “Ethnic Politics in Djibouti: From ‘Eye of the Hurricane’ to ‘Boiling Cauldron,’” African Affairs 92, no. 367 (1993): 214. 17.  Republic of Djibouti, “National Assembly,” January 2021, https://www.presi dence.dj/sousmenu.php?ID=32. 18. “Djibouti Election: What You Need to Know,” BBC News, April 7, 2016, https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-35971744. 19. Abdourahman Waberi, Ali Deberkele, and Dimitri Verdonck, “Djibouti: Silence Kills!,” Warscapes, March 12, 2013, http://www.warscapes.com/reportage /djibouti-silence-kills. 20. “Djibouti: At Least 6 Killed as Regime Takes 80% of Parliamentary Seats in Election,” Human Rights Defenders, March 18, 2013, https://www.fidh.org/en /region/Africa/djibouti/Djibouti-at-least-6-killed-as-13040. 21.  “Motion for a Resolution on Djibouti (2016/2694 (RSP)),” European Parliament, 2016, https://www.europarl.europa.eu/doceo/document/B-8-2016-0603_EN.html. 22.  Josh Neicho, “Opening up Democracy in Djibouti: Great Powers and Little Battalions,” Open Democracy, April 8, 2016, https://www.opendemocracy.net/en /opening-up-democracy-in-djibouti-great-powers-and-little-battalions/. 23.  “Freedom in the World 2016—Djibouti,” “Political Rights and Civil Liberties, C. Functioning of Government,” UNHCR, 2016, https://www.refworld.org /docid/57b1ad59102.html. 24. Mesfin Berouk, “Elections, Politics and eEternal Involvement in Djibouti,” Institute for Security Studies Situation Report, April 14, 2011, https://www.files.ethz .ch/isn/140558/15Apr11Djibouti.pdf. 25. Ibid. 26. Nick Turse, “Pentagon’s Own Map of U.S. Bases in Africa Contradicts Its Claim of ‘Light’ Footprint,” Intercept, February 27, 2021, https://theintercept .com/2020/02/27/africa-us-military-bases-africom/. 27. “Info Sharing and Maritime Situational Awareness,” in Djibouti Code of Conduct (IMO, 2021), https://ec.europa.eu/jrc/sites/jrcsh/files/IMO_presentation.pdf. 28.  IMO, “The Jeddah Amendment to the Djibouti Code of Conduct 2017,” Maritime Security and Piracy, https://www.imo.org/en/OurWork/Security/Pages/DCoC .aspx. 29. “NATO and the Republic of Djibouti Consolidate Their Cooperation,” NATO, April 22, 2015, https://www.nato.int/cps/en/natohq/news_118880 .htm?selectedLocale=en.

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30. “Strengthening Transatlantic Relations: The Right Thing to Do, the Right Time to Do It,” NATO, March 3, 2021, https://www.nato.int/cps/en/natohq/opinions _181903.htm?selectedLocale=en; and United States Africa Command (AFRICOM), “J2—Intelligence,” January 2021, https://www.africom.mil/about-the-command /directorates-and-staff/j2---intelligence. 31.  Somaria oki—aden wan ni okeru kaizoku taisho [Offshore from Somalia: Measures against piracy in the Gulf of Aden], (Ministry of Defense, 2016), http://www .mod.go.jp/js/Activity/Anti-piracy/anti-piracy.htm#header. 32. “The Belt and Road Initiative Creates a Global Infrastructure Network,” Mercator Institute for China Studies (MERICS), June 2020, https://merics.org/sites /default/files/2020-06/Silkroad-Projekt_EN_2020_150dpi.png. 33.  David Styan, Djibouti: Changing Influence in the Horn’s Strategic Hub (London: RIIA, 2013), 1. 34. “‘China Has a Grand, Strategic Plan; We Don’t’: How Djibouti Became a Microcosm of Beijing’s Growing Foothold in Africa,” South China Morning Post, December 31, 2019, https://www.scmp.com/news/world/africa/article/3044010 /china-has-grand-strategic-plan-we-dont-how-djibouti-became. 35.  Selen Duruskan and Ayse Atlay, “China in Djibouti: Global Partner or Neocolonial Master?” (working research paper, Bogazici University, 2019), 14. 36.  “How IOG Intends to Kill Off His Political Allies,” Africa Intelligence: The Continent Daily, February 16, 2018, https://www.africaintelligence.com/eastern -and-southern-africa_politics/2018/02/16/how-iog-intends-to-kill-off-his-political -allies,108294517-eve. 37.  Ra Mason and Elizabeth Cobbett, “Djibouti: Interpretations and Performances of Sovereignty” (working paper prepared for submission to Postcolonial Studies, Spring 2021). 38.  “China’s Military Strategy White Paper 2015: Far Seas Operations and the Indian Ocean Region,” Center for International Maritime Security (CIMSEC), July 1, 2015, http://cimsec.org/chinas-military-strategy-white-paper-2015-far-seas-opera tions-indian-ocean-region/16906. 39. “China’s Strategy in Djibouti: Mixing Commercial and Military Interests,” Council on Foreign Relations, April 13, 2018, https://www.cfr.org/blog/chinas -strategy-djibouti-mixing-commercial-and-military-interests. 40. Thomas Marks, “Djibouti: France’s Strategic Toehold in Africa,” African Affairs 73, no. 290 (1974): 95–104. 41.  “Macron Warns of Chinese Risk to African Sovereignty,” Reuters, March 11, 2019, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-djibouti-france/macron-warns-of-chinese -risk-to-african-sovereignty-idUSKBN1QS2QP. 42.  “IOM in Djibouti,” IOM UN Migration, 2021, https://www.iom.int/countries /djibouti. 43.  Sabine Dini, “Migration Management, Capacity Building and the Sovereignty of an African State: International Organization for Migration in Djibouti,” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 44, no. 10 (2018): 1691–1705.

15 Egypt The Century-Long Culture of the Mukhabarat Hogr Tarkhani

Egypt is one of the largest and most populous Arab states, with more than

one hundred million people. With a rich and tumultuous history and occupying a strategic location in Africa, it also has one of the most advanced intelligence services in the Arab world. The Nile River valley’s productivity is frequently cited in the country’s ancient history, as well as providing broader economic benefits for the region. Currently, Egypt’s agricultural cotton exports and its strategic relevance with the Suez Canal continue to make the country important for Africa and the Middle East.1 More broadly, Egypt’s history in the twentieth century has been marked by internal and external forces that challenged the state’s authority. This chapter explores Egypt’s intelligence culture by examining its history, political influence, and international relations. Drawing from secondary works, it argues that Egyptian intelligence culture is marked by human rights abuses targeting political opponents of the country’s leaders. The chapter is divided into six topical sections. The first section provides an overview of key intelligence and security services, highlighting their responsibilities and unique features. In the second part, a brief discussion about the intelligence services analyzes the history from the colonial intelligence service until President Hosni Mubarak’s leadership. Next, the third section explores the intelligence services and culture after the Arab Spring with attention to attempted reform. The fourth section explores intelligence and security relations with foreign governments. Turning to the media and secrecy, the fifth part focuses on a unique aspect of Egypt’s intelligence culture, which is its control over the media. Last, the conclusion summarizes the analytic argument and explains some ways that reforming the intelligence culture could occur.

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INTELLIGENCE AND SECURITY SERVICES Egypt is a regional power with a relatively robust economy, large population, control over the Suez Canal, and historical influence in Africa. With its imperial history, Egypt has relied heavily on the Mukhabarat (intelligence service) since its early years. Though different Egyptian leaders have altered specific intelligence targets and related operations, the primary objective of protecting the leader has not changed.2 In addition to collecting and analyzing intelligence, the Mukhabarat is also a symbol of state power to “coerce its citizens and intimidate its enemies.”3 Egypt’s current intelligence community was largely shaped by Gamal Abdel Nasser, second president of Egypt. After the 1952 coup, he aimed to make Egypt a major power in the nascent Non-Aligned Movement, founded in 1955, that included African and Asian countries seeking neutrality during the Cold War. For this, Nasser needed a powerful intelligence service to operate internally and externally. At the time, the Military Intelligence Department was focused on Israel, which was its most significant military threat. Consequently, in 1954 the General Intelligence Directorate (Gihaz El Mukhabarat El ‘Amma, GID) was secretly established to carry out nonmilitary intelligence collection and operations.4 The actual size of Egypt’s intelligence community is unknown, but is likely large when judged by known numbers of Egyptian security personnel. In terms of military strength and power, Egypt is a powerful nation. According to the International Institute of Strategic Studies, “Egypt’s armed forces are the largest in the region and are principally focused on territorial integrity and internal security” with 438,500 active military (310,000 in the army, 18,500 in the navy, 30,000 in the air force, and 80,000 in the Air Defence Command), a paramilitary of 397,000, and a military reserve of another 479,000.5 As for Egypt’s GID, commonly known as the Mukhabarat, it is an Egyptian intelligence service responsible for internal and international national security. Egypt’s intelligence community consists of the GID, which reports to the Office of the President; Military Intelligence, under the Ministry of Defense; and the State Security Investigations Service (SSIS) (or Gihaz Mabahith Amn al-Dawla) (which was replaced by the National Security Agency, also known as Homeland Security), under the Ministry of Interior. These three organizations are responsible for ensuring national security, with the last one focusing on domestic issues more than the others.6 The intelligence services have different, though overlapping, missions. The GID is responsible for internal and external security, including transnational terrorism. The Mukhabarat is one of the world’s oldest intelligence services



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and employs modern espionage techniques. It makes use of technologyrelated intelligence as well as human intelligence (HUMINT) to collect information.7 The Military Intelligence and Reconnaissance Administration (Idarah Al Mukhabarat Al Ḥarbiya Wal Istitla) is under the Ministry of Defense and is responsible for collecting defense information, order of battle, and matters related to state conflict. Last, Homeland Security is responsible for counterintelligence, internal and border security, counterterrorism, and surveillance under the Ministry of Interior. It was founded in 2013 to replace the now-defunct SSIS, which was responsible for human rights abuses under President Hosni Mubarak.8 After the 2011 Arab Spring protests that ended Mubarak’s presidency, the intelligence services focused on internal security were dissolved and held accountable for human rights violations. Its officers were accused of using violence in Cairo’s Tahrir Square to stop the protests during the eighteen-day uprising that left at least 365 people dead.9 According to Philip Luther of Amnesty International, Mubarak’s signature practices included mass torture and arbitrary detention on a daily basis. Mubarak was never held accountable for the slew of human rights violations he presided over. Even after his fall, the security services that he created retained an iron grip on the country.10 INTELLIGENCE HISTORY The Mukhabarat is regarded as the Arab world’s oldest, largest, and most effective intelligence agency.11 While espionage and intelligence in Egypt are thousands of years old, its contemporary intelligence community has direct antecedents in the beginning of the twentieth century.12 Since that time, the intelligence community has been shaped by domestic and geopolitics and has greatly transformed Egypt through its success and failures. The key event in the emergence of modern Egyptian intelligence is the assassination in February 1910 of Prime Minister Boutros Ghali, which prompted reform of the country’s police structure. As Egypt’s de facto rulers, the British initiated the creation of a Central Special Office (CSO), which centralized political police intelligence analyses and operations under one authority. The CSO was created to be “a thoroughly organized service for the collection of all information regarding Political Secret Societies— individuals known, or believed to be, Political Agitators.”13 However, the CSO lacked the necessary resources and centralized management to safeguard the ruling system. During the First World War, the office was focused on early nationalist activities as well as German and Austrian expatriates, but failed to identify the broader unrest in Egypt that culminated in the

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1919 revolution. After several months of fighting across the Nile Valley, the British and Egyptians realized that the police apparatus was lacking critical resources, which hampered its functioning.14 Following the 1919 revolution, the British tried to reform Egypt’s security system by creating the Special Section in the Ministry of Interior, which was given powers to manage intelligence collection and analysis. At first the Special Section failed to seize control of covert police officers from Cairo’s and Alexandria’s powerful city police chiefs, but the wave of political violence in the mid-1920s helped overcome its bureaucratic adversaries. Toward the end of the 1930s, the Special Section targeted Egyptian communist parties, the organized labor movement, a proto-fascist party, foreigners in Egypt, and a nascent Islamist movement known as the Society of the Muslim Brothers, better known as the Muslim Brotherhood.15 The secret police structure remained essentially unchanged until the July 23, 1952, military coup that overthrew King Farouk (1920–1965). The military then ushered in a new period of political repression by disbanding the king’s intelligence services and establishing the GID, which was more extensive and more ruthless than any previous intelligence agencies.16 Egypt’s forceful emergence into mid-century regional and international arenas was signaled by the GID’s establishment. Indeed, the GID intended to carry out state objectives overseas through intelligence collection and, more importantly, foreign adversary subversion, assassination, and intimidation.17 Domestically, the GID targeted domestic opposition, including communists and the Muslim Brotherhood, which forced the groups underground. Internationally, Egypt emerged as a more aggressive regional power. Following the 1952 coup, Nasser became leader, and the new Mukhabarat reflected some of his dark neuroses. In particular, the GID depended on a massive statewide informant network that spied on both Egyptians and foreigners to meet Nasser’s intelligence requirements and monitor his opponents.18 According to Wolfgang Lotz, a senior Israeli spy who worked in Egypt in the early 1960s, GID informants were in “every corner, outside every door, outside every ship, idly watching” and Cairo seemed to be “a slumberous, watching animal.”19 Following the 1952 coup and under Nasser, the GID became one of the largest and most powerful intelligence agencies in the Arab world, providing domestic and foreign national security intelligence.20 To gain support for his frail administration when Egypt lost the Sinai Peninsula to Israel in 1967, Nasser deliberately incited fury against the security services. In a November 1967 speech before the National Assembly, Nasser criticized the rise of intelligence and vowed to end its abuse. Like many other promises, Nasser’s speech was quickly forgotten, and the intelligence activi-



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ties only became more prominent. In the years before Nasser’s death in 1970, there was a notable expansion of espionage across Egyptian society.21 In October 1971 Anwar Sadat became Egypt’s president and promised to reform the GID. He burned thousands of GID documents, released some political prisoners, and vowed to end the Nasser police state’s wiretapping, censorship, illegal detentions, torture, concentration camps, and other nefarious practices. In reality, Sadat’s promises of reform were limited, and the GID remained almost unchanged regarding intelligence collection and analysis as well as covert operations.22 Sadat recognized the GID’s utility as the Muslim Brotherhood’s popularity increased and the 1977 street riots spread.23 Sadat’s policy shifted with the United States, which provided assistance and opened the door for intelligence cooperation. After Sadat’s assassination in October 1981, Mubarak became president and strengthened the intelligence services, targeting political dissent.24 Mubarak appointed Omar Suleiman to be the director of intelligence in 1993; the Daily Telegraph described him as “one of the world’s most powerful spy leaders.”25 Under Mubarak, the GID expanded his predecessor’s intelligence targeting of Egyptian communists, labor activists, “deviant” military officers, alleged Zionists, and, ultimately, the Muslim Brotherhood, with Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) technical help, intelligence liaison, and organizational advice.26 After the peace treaty with Israel in 1979, the GID was directed to focus on internal issues along with its previous mission in combating espionage, and a number of alleged Israeli spies were arrested.27 Meanwhile, intelligence and security services became synonymous with torture and cruelty as anti-terrorism laws in the 1990s gave authorities even more ability to act with impunity.28 Under Mubarak, the Egyptian government placed legal restrictions on Egyptian civil society and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) that effectively reduced their independence and impact. This affected the efficiency of public efforts to monitor and publicize incidents of abuse and human rights violations.29 During his thirty years in the presidency, Mubarak was a dictator who showed little interest in democratization or abiding by Egypt’s growing list of international human rights commitments. The slogan “stability above all” demonstrated how regional wars and Islamists helped justify draconian state-of-emergency regulations.30 International human rights organizations, such as Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International, documented constant violations of human rights by the Egyptian government and its intelligence services. Electric shocks, waterboarding, hanging detainees in excruciatingly painful postures, and sexual abuse or threats of sexual violence against detainees and/or their relatives were among the tactics regularly described by human rights organizations.

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Torture was used to obtain “confessions” or to compel people to become informants.31 In response, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs wrote to Human Rights Watch in February 2010: “There is no truth to the allegations regarding the unlawful detention of some individuals inside the SSIS headquarters.”32 In contrast, just the previous year the US State Department’s Human Rights Report explained that Egypt’s “Emergency Law empowers the government to place wiretaps, intercept mail, and search persons or places without warrants,” while “the SSIS has used its considerable powers under the emergency laws to monitor and, in some cases, arrest and allegedly torture bloggers from opposition groups like the Muslim Brotherhood.”33 Nasr al-Sayed Hassan Nasr, a former SSIS detainee and Muslim Brotherhood member, described his sixty-day imprisonment, during which he was blindfolded the entire time. After more than a week being held, he was told: “This is the biggest citadel in the Middle East for extracting information. You are 35 meters below the ground in a place that nobody except the minister of interior knows about.”34 Hassan Nasr said he was tortured for a week before anyone asked a question, and then the torture continued for weeks.35 Ayman al-Zawahiri, the thirty-one-year-old future al-Qaeda commander, described his detention at his 1982 trial, accusing the prison of abuse. He said, “They kicked us, they beat us, they whipped us with electric cables, they shocked us with electricity!”36 Al-Zawahiri concluded by saying, “We will never forget.”37 There were real concerns about combating terrorism, as Sadat had been assassinated by military officers who were extremists. Not surprisingly, the intelligence and security services were focused on groups like al-Jihad and Takfir wal-Hijra as well as later groups like al-Qaeda. The September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks in the United States boosted intelligence cooperation between the countries as well as other foreign intelligence services.38 Egyptian intelligence also helped with the collection of intelligence about Hamas in Palestine and Hezbollah in Lebanon.39 AFTER THE ARAB SPRING Despite changes in political leadership, Egyptian’s intelligence culture of violently and arbitrarily targeting political dissidents endured. In February 2011, following months of violent protests, President Mubarak’s thirty-yearold presidency ended.40 After Mubarak was forced from power, intelligence reform became part of the national dialogue. The Mukhabarat was seen as the personification of torture, intimidation, indefinite detention, and censorship, which meant that the Arab Spring demanded intelligence reform.41 In fact during the widespread protests, Egypt’s intelligence forces made their



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presence known when they detained hundreds of protestors, who were then tortured in prisons across Egypt.42 The provisional Constitution of March 2011 provided protections for citizens against monitoring, torture, detention, and other issues involving the intelligence and security services’ decades-long abuses.43 Notably, article 7 proclaimed “freedom” was a “natural right” and that no one can be “detained or searched or to be freedom restricted, or movement prevented, except by a warrant order.” In article 8, the constitution stated that any citizen “arrested or detained must be treated in a way that preserves his/her human dignity.” Article 13 provided freedom of speech and banned government censorship except in “case of emergency or time of war.” Article 16 gave citizens the right to peacefully assemble and banned “security forces” from attending “private meetings.”44 Yet the articles were theoretical because, as Egypt’s history demonstrates, Egypt has been under a state of emergency regulations for decades. As such, the intelligence and security services have broad powers to monitor Egyptian civilians, use torture during interrogations, jail citizens indefinitely, and impose censorship, among other human rights violations.45 Egypt is no stranger to relying on the military. The country has been ruled by a succession of presidents since its 1952 revolution, all of whom have employed the military to maintain control over the country’s political system.46 Egypt’s first democratically elected president, Mohammed Morsi, lasted only one year in office before he was deposed by the military in July 2013.47 Due to his short-term presidency, not much has been written and little is known about on the security apparatus under his rule. Under President Abdel Fattah Al-Sisi’s administration, Egyptian intelligence has experienced a large increase in the military’s role in nearly every element of the country’s political and economic life. In a public statement, Sisi labeled the military the only capable and functional organization in Egypt. He started his presidency by giving free political rein to members of military and intelligence agencies. That is, he used the Office of Military Intelligence and the GID to fill the void left by the dissolution of the muchdespised SSIS and police. Since then, military intelligence and GID have steadily assumed control of civil society, focusing on the establishment of loyal media.48 During Sisi’s first tenure, Mukhabarat detained thousands of political dissidents, outlawed political movements, and banned rallies. Political parties were banned, and a meticulously crafted parliament was seated with members ready to pass any regulation proposed by the president. Activists, artists, authors, and musicians were harassed and detained as a result of the purging of the courts.49

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FOREIGN RELATIONS Egypt is a desirable intelligence partner for many countries because of its military and economic power and its location at the crossroads of Africa and the Middle East as well as the Mediterranean and Red Seas. There are notable public reports about Egypt having a security relationship with the United States, Russia, Israel, and several African countries. The intelligence relationship between Egypt and the United States has had its ups and downs. Notably, it came near a breaking point in October 1985, when Palestinian terrorists hijacked the MS Achille Lauro, murdered Leon Klinghoffer, a Jewish American, and demanded the release of Palestinian captives held in Israel. When the hijackers guided the ship into Egyptian waters, Cairo struck a secret arrangement with the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO), in which the hostages were released in exchange for Egyptian aid in getting the terrorists out of the country.50 The relationship continued, and the United States has since provided Egypt with modern intelligence technologies such as unmanned aerial vehicles and electronic intelligence collection aircraft.51 Following the Arab Spring, the US–Egyptian relationship went through difficulties. After the June 2013 military coup ended the rule of President Morsi and the Muslim Brotherhood, the intelligence relationship with the US improved. Despite the postponement of US weapons deliveries to the Egyptian military and speculation about new Egyptian military connections with Russia, Egypt’s General Intelligence Service chief, General Mohammed Farid el-Tohamy, said there was “no change” in his organization’s relationship with the United States.52 In fact, the intelligence relationship’s status is reminiscent of the ties that existed under President Mubarak.53 On the other hand, Egyptian and Israeli military and intelligence cooperation have long been close, but this relationship further developed after Sisi came to power with the 2013 military coup. Israel and Egypt exchange information about Sinai and Gaza, and Israel has permitted Egypt to expand its military presence in Sinai beyond the 1979 peace treaty’s stringent limits.54 Egyptian intelligence cooperation extends beyond the United States and Israel. Russian–Egyptian intelligence and military cooperation is on the rise, especially during the presidency of Sisi. In 2017, Egypt and Russia agreed to expand their military relationship and signed an agreement that “would allow each side to use the other’s airspace and air bases.”55 This has continued, with Russia and Egypt conducting cooperative naval and airborne counterterrorism exercises since 2015.56 Egypt also has intelligence cooperation with several African countries. In June 2021, Major General Abbas Kamel, the chief of Egypt’s GID, arrived



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in Tripoli, Libya, to expand cooperative ties between the two countries. In December 2020, Kamel had visited Libya and met Kalifa Haftar, the general ‎commander of the Libyan National Army, and Libyan Parliament speaker Aguila Saleh.57 Also in 2021, Egypt and Uganda agreed to regularly share military intelligence between the two countries.58 INTELLIGENCE, SECRECY, AND THE MEDIA Until recently the intelligence chief’s identity was kept a secret, known only to senior army leaders and the president, who nominates him. This changed when the former chief, Major General Omar Suleiman, defied tradition by announcing his name in the press several times before becoming a well-known figure after accompanying President Mubarak on his tour to Palestine and the United States in 2008.59 This continued with the nomination of Major General Murad Muwafi as director of intelligence on January 31, 2011, following the appointment of Omar Suleiman as vice president of the country.60 Currently the GID is led by Major General Abbas Kamel, who was preceded by General Khaled Fawzy in 2018 and was also publicly named in the press. Kamel previously served as President Sisi’s chief of staff.61 As for lowerlevel employees, National Security Agency (NSA, also known as Homeland Security) officers are typically recruited from the ranks of police-affiliated security organizations, particularly the Criminal Investigation Department. Former agency officers claim that appointments are made personally by the minister of interior and that no government agency may impose an officer on the minister.62 Despite seemingly getting more publicity, the NSA maintains secrecy, but some of its connections are out in the open. The connection between the intelligence service and the media is another aspect of Egypt’s intelligence culture. In September 2018, a fictitious media business owned by the Mukhabarat, Elam al-Masryien (the Egyptian Media Group), acquired all of the shares of CBC TV, one of Egypt’s major television networks.63 This marked GID’s taking over the country’s last privately owned news channel. To manage its media empire, the GID established Eagle Capital, a massive national investment fund. Eagle Capital, led by Dalia Khorshid, a close supporter of President Sisi and former minister of investment, controls over 65 percent of Egyptian media (newspapers, television stations, and websites).64 This followed a September 2017 statement from Reporters Without Borders that expressed concern about media outlets being taken over by businesses with ties to the government and intelligence services.65 Gamal Eid, the head of a human rights group, explained that the media in Egypt “don’t write a single word about the regime’s daily arrests of

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dissidents, forced disappearances, or the failure of megaprojects marketed as economical solutions.”66 According to Mohamed Saad Abdel Hafiz, more than three hundred journalists were fired in 2017 by private media companies that support the government. He said the Journalist Union “is powerless and hasn’t been able to defend journalists against the owners of private institutions or against state-owned companies, which have purchased media institutions.”67 A former editor in chief of the independent news site The Alternative (al-Badil) explained, “Behind the scenes, the security services hire and fire the editors of both private and state newspapers.”68 Meanwhile, a source from the Mukhabarat told the press that “Sisi is a former field marshal and he runs the country like a barrack. For him, no critical voices can be tolerated.”69 Moreover, Sisi has attempted to incite Egyptians against the media by stating, “Don’t listen to what anyone else says; just listen to me.”70 According to a 2018 news report, more than forty thousand political prisoners have been apprehended since Sisi took office, hundreds of journalists were detained, and there has yet to be a free and fair election.71 CONCLUSION Egypt’s intelligence community is one of the most powerful in the Arab world. Due to the secrecy surrounding intelligence in general, and Egypt’s politics in particular, it is not easy to obtain information from or about the services’ activities, relations, and operations. Nonetheless, synthesizing academic studies, press reports, and human rights reports, it is clear that Egypt’s intelligence culture can be characterized as using extralegal and violent means to target opponents of the leadership, including censoring dissent. Since the 1952 coup by Nasser, Egypt’s intelligence and security services have been key players in critical developments in Egypt’s contemporary history. Under Mubarak, the Mukhabarat became the secretive face of human rights abuses. The intelligence culture under the rule of Sisi is no better than under his predecessor, but due to state secrecy and Sisi’s short-term leadership, there is limited information about specific abuses. The most pressing question regarding intelligence following the Arab Spring is whether the intelligence culture can be reformed. Optimistically, it is possible for democratic reform to be instituted and provide transparency and civilian oversight to the Mukhabarat.72 One of the key methods to bring this about is establishing a truly independent judiciary to ensure that the executive follows the law. Indeed, the judiciary should guarantee the intelligence and security services obey rules and regulations in serving the people.73



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Intelligence services protect Egypt’s national security and its citizens from internal and external threats, including terrorist groups. They should also be institutions and symbols for protecting democracy. Yet Egypt’s intelligence culture needs radical reform to guarantee the rights of its citizens from illegal arrests and abuses of human rights. This could be implemented partly through an independent judiciary system, but it also requires the willingness of both political leaders and civil society to demand reform. NOTES  1. Sherifa Zuhur, Egypt: Security, Political, and Islamist Challenges (BiblioGov, 2007).   2.  Owen L. Sirrs, The Egyptian Intelligence Service: A History of the Mukhabarat, 1910–2009 (New York: Routledge, 2010).  3. Ibid., 1.   4.  “The President’s Men: Inside the Technical Research Department, the Secret Player in Egypt’s Intelligence Infrastructure,” Privacy International, 2016, https:// privacyinternational.org/sites/default/files/2018-02/egypt_reportEnglish_0.pdf.   5.  International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Middle East and North Africa,” Military Balance 120, no. 1 (2020): 344.   6.  Johnny Audi, “Egyptian Intelligence Service,” Al Jazeera, February 11, 2011, https://www.aljazeera.net/news/reportsandinterviews/2011/2/11/%D8%AC%D9%8 7%D8%A7%D8%B2- %D8%A7%D9%84%D8%A7%D8%B3%D8%AA%D8%A E%D8%A8%D8%A7%D8%B1%D8%A7%D8%AA-%D8%A7%D9%84%D9%85 %D8%B5%D8%B1%D9%8A%D8%A9.  7. Ibid.  8. “State of Privacy Egypt,” Privacy International, January 26, 2019, https:// privacyinternational.org/state-privacy/1001/state-privacy-egypt.   9.  “The President’s Men.” 10. “Hosni Mubarak’s Legacy Continues to Spread Fear in Egypt,” Amnesty International, February 25, 2020, www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2020/02/hosni -mubarak-legacy-of-mass-torture. 11. Sirrs, Egyptian Intelligence Service. 12.  Owen L. Sirrs, “Reforming Egyptian Intelligence: Precedents and Prospects,” Intelligence and National Security 28, no. 2 (2013): 230–251. 13.  Ibid., 231–232. 14. Ibid. 15. Ibid. 16. Ibid. 17. Ibid. 18. Ibid. 19.  Wolfgang Lotz, Champagne Spy: Israel’s Master Spy Tells His Story (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1972), 24–25.

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20.  John Pike, “General Intelligence Service (GIS—Mukhabarat),” Global Security, accessed June 26, 2021, https://www.globalsecurity.org/intell/world/egypt/gis .htm. 21.  Sirrs, “Reforming Egyptian Intelligence,” 237. 22. Ibid. 23.  Mirna Abdulaal, “A History of the Mukhabarat,” Egyptian Streets, September 3, 2018, egyptianstreets.com/2018/09/03/the-shadow-state-a-history-of-the-egyptian -intelligence-service. 24.  Sirrs, “Reforming Egyptian Intelligence,” 239. 25.  Mirna, “History of the Mukhabarat.” 26.  Sirrs, “Reforming Egyptian Intelligence,” 234. 27.  Audi, “Egyptian Intelligence Service.” 28. “Egypt: Human Rights Background,” Human Rights Watch, October 2001, https://www.hrw.org/legacy/backgrounder/mena/egypt-bck-1001.htm. 29.  Sirrs, “Reforming Egyptian Intelligence,” 247. 30.  Ibid., 239. 31.  Human Rights Watch, Behind Closed Doors: Torture and Detention in Egypt (New York: Human Rights Watch, 1992), 69–113. 32.  Amnesty International, Egypt: Ten Years of Torture (New York: Amnesty International, 1991), 1; and “Work on Him Until He Confesses,” Human Rights Watch, January 30, 2011, https://www.hrw.org/reports/egypt0111webwcover.pdf. 33.  Human Rights Report: Egypt, (US Department of State, 2009), http://www .state.gov/g/drl/rls/hrrpt/2009/nea/136067.htm4. 34.  Amnesty International, Egypt: Ten Years of Torture. 35. Ibid. 36. Sirrs, Egyptian Intelligence Service, 152. 37. Ibid. 38.  Mirna, “History of the Mukhabarat.” 39.  Audi, “Egyptian Intelligence Service.” 40.  Sirrs, “Reforming Egyptian Intelligence,” 230. 41. Ibid. 42. Liam Stack, “Egypt Disappearances Stoke Concerns about Military,” New York Times, February 17, 2011, www.nytimes.com/2011/02/18/world/middle east/18missing.html. 43.  “English Version of the 2011 Interim Constitution of the Arab Republic of Egypt,” https://constitutionnet.org/sites/default/files/2011_-_egypt_interim_constitu tion__english_.pdf. 44. Ibid. 45.  Sirrs, “Reforming Egyptian Intelligence,” 244. 46.  Abdallah Hendawy, “Commentary: The Danger That Lurks in Sisi’s Egypt,” Reuters, April 5, 2018, www.reuters.com/article/us-hendawy-egypt-commentary -idUSKCN1HC2EZ. 47.  “Egypt’s Mohammed Morsi: A Turbulent Presidency Cut Short,” BBC News, June 17, 2019, www.bbc.com/news/world-middle-east-18371427. 48.  Abdallah, “Commentary.”



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49. Ibid. 50.  Ibid, 152–153. 51.  Sirrs, “Egyptian Intelligence Service.” 52.  David Ignatius, “The Future of Egypt’s Intelligence Service,” Washington Post, November 12, 2013, www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/post-partisan/wp/2013/11/11 /the-future-of-egypts-intelligence-service. 53. Ibid. 54. Michele Dunne, “Egypt-Israeli Cooperation: At the Top Only,” Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, December 27, 2016, carnegieendowment.org /2016/12/27/egypt-israeli-cooperation-at-top-only-pub-66567. 55.  Anton Mardasov, “Russia, Egypt Look to Boost Military Ties,” Al-Monitor: The Pulse of the Middle East, November 6, 2019, www.al-monitor.com/originals /2019/11/russia-egypt-military-drills-arms-sales.html. 56. Ibid. 57.  “Egypt’s Intelligence Chief Arrives in Libya for Strengthening Cooperation Relations.” EgyptToday, 17 June 2021, www.egypttoday.com/Article/1/105122 /Egypt%E2%80%99s-Intelligence-Chief-arrives-in-Libya-for-strengthening-cooper ation-relations. 58. George Mikhail, “Egypt, Uganda Agree to Share Military Intelligence,” Al-Monitor: The Pulse of the Middle East, April 12, 2021, www.al-monitor.com /originals/2021/04/egypt-uganda-agree-share-military-intelligence. 59.  Audi, “Egyptian Intelligence Service.” 60. Ibid. 61.  Taha Sakr, “Breaking: Abbas Kamel Is Officially Egypt’s New Chief of Intelligence,” Egypt Independent, June 28, 2018, egyptindependent.com/breaking-abbas -kamel-is-officially-egypts-new-chief-of-intelligence. 62.  Audi, “Egyptian Intelligence Service.” 63.  Jamal Boukhari, “Dealt ‘Deadly Blows’ by the Regime, Freedom of Press in Egypt Is Disappearing,” Equal Times, January 25, 2019, www.equaltimes.org/dealt -deadly-blows-by-the-regime. 64. Ibid. 65. Ibid. 66. Ibid. 67. Ibid. 68. Ibid. 69. Ibid. 70.  Maged Atef, “The Egyptian Media, the Conflict of Agencies, and the President,” The Washington Institute, March 18, 2016, www.washingtoninstitute.org /policy-analysis/egyptian-media-conflict-agencies-and-president. 71.  Jamal Elshayyal, “Leaks Reveal Workings of Egypt’s Most Powerful Force,” Al Jazeera, January 10, 2018, www.aljazeera.com/features/2018/1/10/leaks-reveal -workings-of-egypts-most-powerfulforce. 72.  Sirrs, “Reforming Egyptian Intelligence,” 230. 73. Ibid.

16 Equatorial Guinea Intelligence Culture amid Autocratic Wealth Ryan Shaffer

Security has a front-and-center role in Equatorial Guinea. Ruled by only two presidents since gaining independence from Spain in 1968, the country has undergone a dramatic transformation. Scholar Ibrahim K. Sundiata has described Equatorial Guinea as a “paradox.”1 It is one of the wealthiest countries in Africa due to large oil reserves, but the general population has received few financial benefits while the elite has gained from oil production. The country has been ruled by President Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo since he seized power from his uncle, President Francisco Macías Nguema, in an August 1979 coup. Obiang is referred to as the second longest-serving nonroyal leader to serve a nation. His government has been responsible for egregious human rights violations against real and perceived opponents. The use of intelligence and security services is largely aimed at internal issues to ensure the elite maintain power. This chapter examines intelligence in Equatorial Guinea by exploring the security institutions and political culture of the country. As one of the most repressive governments in the world where power is concentrated in the hands of a person who rules the country by decree, information from the country is tightly held. Indeed, there is little information available about sensitive security institutions, operations, and personnel. Consequently, this chapter makes use of human rights and government reports as well as official Equatorial Guinea publications to provide the first synthesis of sources related to intelligence in the country. It begins with a brief background on the history and security of the country, then explores security institutions before discussing oversight and international intelligence relations. The chapter finds that Equatorial Guinea’s intelligence culture consists of obedience to the head of 199

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state without regard for human rights, along with arbitrary behavior and acts committed with impunity. BACKGROUND Equatorial Guinea is a small oil-rich country on the coast of West Africa bordering Gabon and Cameroon. The majority of the country consists of two parts: Río Muni, the region on mainland Africa, and Bioko, an island about twenty miles away from Río Muni. The government is seeking further foreign investment after oil production peaked in 2004 and wants to expand its influence in foreign affairs.2 A Spanish colony before 1968, it is the only country in Africa where Spanish is the official language; French and Portuguese are secondary official languages. Though the government claims to be a democracy, there has been no serious opposition to Obiang in elections, and he exerts control over the social, political, and judicial arenas.3 About 86 percent of the population belongs to the ethnic group Fang, and Christianity is the most popular religion. Archaeological evidence shows that the Río Muni was settled around 200 BCE, initiating a rich and long history in the region. Sundiata has explained that “Spanish activity in what became Equatorial Guinea was a sporadic affair” in the 1800s, with Spanish slavers and companies engaged in activity while the Spanish government had little influence.4 Following a new Spanish government in 1868, colonialism in sub-Saharan Africa was renewed, but its power was weak and “a full colonial system” was not installed until 1936.5 The Spanish presence increased, which expanded the colonial administration, but the population was mostly beyond Spanish control.6 As a result, “Spanish rule tended to be indirect, with local affairs left largely in the hands of traditional rulers or groups.”7 However, Spanish Guinea’s finances were a “perennial problem,” relying on migrant labor, poor infrastructure, and decreasingly usable land.8 As waves of African nationalism blew through the continent, Spain’s policy mirrored British and French colonialism by shifting toward full independence for the colonies.9 With the relatively rapid move to independence, challenges were apparent as efforts to draft a constitution were “alien to the colonial power” and “equally alien to the political realities” of most new citizens.10 In August 1968, Spain announced presidential and general elections for September that were won by Francisco Macías Nguema and were followed by full independence in October.11 Within months, a crisis emerged after Macías Nguema denounced Spain, prompting riots and eventually a state of emergency.12 Following a failed coup, political opponents were killed



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and others died in prison detention.13 In the first year of independence, the country’s defense sector consisted of the Guardia Civil, with mostly Fang soldiers and Spanish officers consisting of about one thousand total personnel, along with a Spanish navy and air force presence.14 After 1969, the National Guard and Youth on the March with Macías (Juvented en Marcha con Macías) “ensured, through expropriation of private property, intimidation, and political murder, that the powers of the head of state were not challenged.”15 Loyalists and family members were installed in key positions, while opposition political parties were banned. President Macías Nguema also turned to communist countries for support. Equatorial Guinea established relations with the Soviet Union, which built the largest embassy, provided military advisers, and established a naval base. Additionally, North Korea trained members of the National Guard, and China as well as Cuba provided development assistance in education and health sectors.16 As for the rule of law, people “accused of offenses against the security of the state had no specific rights” as the “National Guard and the Juvented followed no law except the will of the president.”17 Macías Nguema controlled the security apparatus, overseeing the director general of security through the district representatives of the Juvented and the local village security chiefs.18 By 1979, two-thirds of the parliamentary deputies from 1968 had been killed; tens of thousands more had also been killed; and about 120,000 people, including “the entire intelligentsia,” fled the country.19 In June 1979, Macías Nguema was overthrown after members of the National Guard protested over not receiving their wages and were shot.20 Obiang, a lieutenant colonel in the military and nephew of the president, launched an ultimately successful coup, and Macías Nguema was executed in October. At the age of thirty-seven, Obiang seized power and later used the title president, but skeptics doubted significant change would occur, as he was involved in the 1976 “liquidation” of “senior officials who petitioned the government about its disastrous economic policies.”21 In 1982 a new constitution was approved, and Obiang was elected to serve a seven-year term as president.22 After years in power, Obiang formed the Democratic Party of Equatorial Guinea (Partido Democrático de Guinea Ecuatorial, PDGE) in October 1987 as the sole political party, but without any legal basis for its activities.23 The new constitution gave the president absolute authority to rule by decree, appoint and dismiss the prime minister and other officials, and call for elections.24 Relations with Spain improved, with the Spanish training both the army and police, and Spanish soldiers returned to Equatorial Guinea under a defense agreement.25 Yet problems continued, as the country “was one of the least developed” in the world during the 1980s; the population of 389,000 had a per capita income of $250, and there was little infrastructure.26

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Though companies began exploring the country for oil in 1981, the first successful find was not made until 1991.27 Meanwhile, state terror severely impacted the labor required for the plantation economy, and the educated class either fled or were killed, leaving official statistics at times “absent,” “confusing,” or “rare.”28 In the late 1980s and 1990s it appeared there was a shift away from autocratic rule, but this was ultimately not the case. Political prisoners were given amnesty, the first postcolonial elections (albeit with only one political party) were held in 1989, and political parties were allowed in 1992, followed by elections in 1993 won by President Obiang’s PDGE. Yet the reality is the government severely restricts the opposition from seriously contesting elections. For example, the 2017 legislative and municipal elections had irregularities and lacked transparency; the PDGE and its partners won “all 75 Senate seats and 99 of 100 seats in the Chamber of Deputies,” and the opposition candidate who won the remaining seat was not allowed to take the position.29 The government faces real and perceived internal threats. The successful coup in 1979 that brought President Obiang to power, as well as several unsuccessful coups since then, demonstrate that the threat to the head of state is real. Additionally, political opponents seeking change have been arrested and detained without trial, only to die in prison. Scholars Ana Lúcia Sá and Edalina Rodrigues Sanches argue that autocratic survival in Equatorial Guinea is due to co-optation, restrictive institutional rules, and repression, which enables enough support for survival.30 Indeed, oil in the 1990s “turned Equatorial Guinea into one of Africa’s leading oil producers,” which went to the family of the president and connected members of the elite.31 Due to the impunity of state institutions, severe repression is exercised against potential threats to government leadership and the elite who benefit from oil wealth. Nonetheless, there have been several unsuccessful coups, in 2002, 2003, 2004, and 2017.32 Another notable attack occurred in 2008, when gunmen opened fire near the presidential palace, which prompted President Obiang to fire “his security minister and the vice-ministers for security and defence, and reshuffled six other senior posts” because “the authorities were aware of the identities of locals who had been helping the attackers by guiding them by telephone.”33 SECURITY AND GOVERNMENT There is little information publicly available about the intelligence and security services of the country. The government’s official website is indicative of the limited information available, featuring information about the president and his son and who is one of two vice presidents, but none on government



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ministers, members of parliament, or the senate.34 Currently Vice President Teodoro Nguema Obiang Mangue, in power since May 2012, has “control of the security forces.”35 There are numerous intelligence and security-related figures, including the minister of national defense, minister of state in charge of external security, minister of state in charge of presidential security, and minister of state for national security.36 The police are under the minister of national security, the gendarmes and military answer to the Ministry of National Defense, and the ministers report directly to the vice president.37 Additionally, border control and traffic enforcement are under the Ministry of Interior, customs enforcement answers to the Ministry of Finance, and the investigative authorities belong to the Ministry of Justice.38 One would expect each of the services engaged in national security to have an intelligence component. Equatorial Guinea’s constitution declares that the armed forces and state security are the institutions with responsibility to protect independence, sovereignty, state security, and public order, and they have “their own regulations” to carry out their duties.39 In terms of official military and paramilitary institutions, the armed forces consist of an army of about 1,100 personnel, a navy with about 250 personnel, and an air force of about 100 personnel.40 Under the Ministry of Defense is a Military Intelligence unit led by a director general.41 Additionally, the government has two paramilitary forces: the Guardia Civil and Coast Guard, with unknown personnel strength.42 According to the International Institute for Strategic Studies, the army is the “dominant” actor in the armed forces, and “internal security” is the principal objective.43 The military also performs law enforcement and police functions on the border and other important sites.44 Meanwhile, the country’s wealth has enabled budgets for security to be increased, as oil income is “channeled to the military.”45 The intelligence and security agencies act with impunity, as demonstrated by numerous reports about abuses involving torture, arbitrary detentions, prison deaths, and restricted movement. Streets have an overt military presence, and military barriers across the country “control the population’s movement.”46 A 2009 Human Rights Watch report found government “abuse ranging from arbitrary arrest and detention without trial to torture, harassment, and extrajudicial killing.”47 In 2019 the United Nations Human Rights Committee reported observations including discrimination against minorities and women, excessive force, torture, human trafficking, arbitrary arrest, lack of judicial independence, limits of speech and assembly, and barriers to participating in public affairs.48 Moreover, Amnesty International’s 2020 report concludes that human rights activists continue to be unable to register in the country, fair trials and freedom of expression have been violated, access to information is blocked, and authorities use excess force.49 Likewise, Freedom House’s 2020 report

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also ranks political rights in the country as 0 out of 40 and a mere 6 out of 40 for civil liberties.50 Political opponents are harassed and arrested with no real chance of winning election, while the only limited freedom allowed is for religious practice and education.51 The US Department of State has warned that “security force members reportedly entered homes without required warrants and arrested alleged criminals, foreign nationals, and others; they confiscated property and demanded bribes with impunity.”52 Despite the relative wealth, corruption and nepotism plague the country. Describing the country as a “mafia state,” scholar Hazel M. McFerson concluded in 2009: “Prospects for better governance and less corruption in Equatorial Guinea are near zero.”53 In 2020, Transparency International ranked Equatorial Guinea 174 out of 180, with 180 being the most corrupt nation in the world, and 16 out of 100 on its Corruption Perceptions Index.54 According to the US Department of State, “The most common crime foreigners report is extortion by members of the security forces,” and authorities request victims “pay a substantial sum of money (between $50 to $100) in order to file a police report or obtain a copy of a police report on file.”55 In 2014, Vice President Obiang agreed “to relinquish assets worth an estimated $30 million” in a civil forfeiture case against the US government for “hiding” assets in the United States that were acquired in Equatorial Guinea through “embezzlement and extortion.”56 Then in 2017, Vice President Obiang was found guilty in a Paris, France, court of embezzling money from Equatorial Guinea’s government to support a lavish lifestyle in France, including a $180 million Paris home.57 He faced ten years in prison but was given a suspended sentence and fined $25 million, upheld on appeal in 2020.58 As the United Nations noted in 2019, the government failed “to provide specific information on any trials and convictions in corruption cases” and noted “a lack of civil society participation and transparency in natural resource management.”59 While its leaders have enjoyed the benefits of petrodollars and corruption seemingly goes unpunished, many children lack access to basic education.60 Beyond material goods, scholars Ana Lúcia Sá and Edalina Rodrigues Sanches explain, “Most of the military are Fang and, despite living in poor economic conditions, they enjoy the symbolic privilege of belonging to the president’s ethnic group and the supposed advantages of their ethnic belonging.”61 OVERSIGHT AND INTELLIGENCE RELATIONS Due to law enforcement’s arbitrariness, intelligence and security appear to focus largely on regime survival and personal benefits, with no official or



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objective oversight. Laws and detentions are arbitrarily enforced for personal or political reasons. The president rules by decree and appoints and dismisses officials without any checks and balances on his power. As for international relations, President Obiang has sought to play a role in international affairs, including in the area of intelligence. In conjunction with oil exploitation in the 1990s, Equatorial Guinea started seeking “international credibility” by working with multinational oil companies and banks as well as foreign countries.62 In a documentary released by the Equatorial Guinea embassy in the United States, President Obiang—in a nonpermanent seat on the United Nations Security Council from 2018 to 2019—said: “We are going to fight extremism, terrorism, rebellions, and people that practice mercenary politics.”63 Equatorial Guinea overtly engages with several countries on military and security issues. A review of news articles about Juan Antonio Bibang Nchuchuma, minister of state in charge of external security, reveals visits and highlevel meetings in countries such as Kuwait, Nigeria, Uganda, and Zimbabwe.64 Nchuchuma also has other titles, such as head of foreign security, and he was director general of the National Intelligence Agency (ANIGE) in a public forum—though no further information about this agency can be located.65 As for direct bilateral aid, the United States opened an embassy in 1968, which was closed in 1995 then reopened in 2003; the two countries have not engaged in military-to-military exercises since 1997.66 In contrast, France educates and provides training for military officers in France and through the Economic Community of Central African States, as well as operating a naval academy in Equatorial Guinea’s largest city, Bata.67 More significantly, Russia engages in commercial oil business in the country and also provides “scholarships as well as military training and equipment under the supervision of Vice-President Teodoro Nguema Obiang Mangue.”68 According to South Africa’s Daily Maverick, in 2019 there were about two hundred Russian defense contractors from Wagner who were “protecting about 100 Russian military intelligence officials at the Pico Basilé island spy base. This base allows for interception of signals from almost all of the west coast of Africa. Over recent years the base has been significantly enlarged.”69 Additionally, Equatorial Guinea was one of several African countries to purchase spyware technology from a Bulgarian company to conduct electronic surveillance.70 China has been involved in loans and development, making a $2 billion infrastructure deal in 2016 and providing another $2 billion for COVID-19 aid in 2020.71 One of the more interesting aspects of international intelligence exchanges involves Equatorial Guinea and the Committee of Intelligence and Security Services (CISSA), an international body for the African Union Commission as well as a mechanism for African intelligence and security cooperation. The 2020 inauguration of CISSA’s headquarters was hosted by President

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Obiang.72 According to the North African Post, “CISSA headquarters were funded entirely by Equatorial Guinea.”73 It is not clear why President Obiang and the country funded the headquarters or what other activities it engages in with CISSA. CONCLUSION Equatorial Guinea’s government has several unique traits in terms of economy, wealth, culture, and political history. As the country has transformed from a poor nation lacking basic infrastructure to a wealthy country with some modern infrastructure, intelligence and security have focused on regime survival by attacking real and perceived opponents with impunity. Scholar Alicia Campos-Serrano has argued, “The benefits obtained from contract agreements with oil companies make the population almost redundant in fiscal terms for the government; they are not significant participants in such a low labour-intensive activity as oil extraction.”74 If people are redundant and could threaten the current political order, the government likely perceives the need to obtain intelligence and suppress potential challenges. In a country plagued by corruption and a lack of rule of law, this fosters an intelligence culture that acts with arbitrariness and violence to protect the head of state. NOTES   1.  Ibrahim K. Sundiata, Equatorial Guinea: Colonialism, State Terror, and the Search for Stability (Routledge, 1990), 1.  2. “Equatorial Guinea,” in The World Factbook (Central Intelligence Agency, 2021), https://www.cia.gov/the-world-factbook/countries/equatorial-guinea/.  3. Ibid.  4. Sundiata, Equatorial Guinea, 25.  5. Ibid., 30.   6.  Ibid., 32, 33.  7. Ibid., 33.  8. Ibid., 38.  9. Ibid., 55. 10.  Ibid., 55. 11.  Ibid., 62. 12.  Ibid., 64. 13.  Ibid., 65. 14. “Equatorial Guinea,” in The Statesman’s Yearbook (London: Macmillan, 1969), 883. 15.  Sundiata, 65.



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16. Geoffrey Jensen, “Tyranny, Communism, and U.S. Policy in Equatorial Guinea, 1968–1979,” Diplomatic History 43, no. 4 (September 2019): 705, 716. 17. Sundiata, Equatorial Guinea, 68. 18.  Ibid., 69. 19.  M. Liniger-Goumaz, “No Change,” Index on Censorship (1987): 31, https:// journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/030642208701600414. 20. Sundiata, Equatorial Guinea, 74. 21.  Ibid., 75. 22.  “Equatorial Guinea,” 458. 23. Sundiata, Equatorial Guinea, 77. 24.  Ibid., 76. 25.  Ibid., 77. 26.  Ibid., 2. 27. “Historical Chronology,” Equatorial Guinea government, 2021, https:// www.guineaecuatorialpress.com/noticias/CRONOLOG%C3%8DA%20HIST%C3 %93RICA. 28. Sundiata, Equatorial Guinea, 91. 29.  2020 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Equatorial Guinea, US Department of State, March 30, 2021, https://www.state.gov/reports/2020-country -reports-on-human-rights-practices/equatorial-guinea/. 30. Ana Lúcia Sá and Edalina Rodrigues Sanches, “The Politics of Autocratic Survival in Equatorial Guinea: Co-optation, Restrictive Institutional Rules, Repression, and International Projection,” African Affairs 120, no. 478 (January 2021): 79. 31.  Ibid., 79. 32.  Ibid., 97. See also Peter Fabricius, “The Attempted Coup in Equatorial Guinea: Implications for the Promising Prospects of Using Private Armies to Pacify African Conflicts,” African Renaissance 1, no. 3 (2004): 50–57; Adam Roberts, The Wonga Coup: Guns, Thugs and a Ruthless Determination to Create Mayhem in an Oil-Rich Corner of Africa (Washington, DC: PublicAffairs, 2006); Simon Mann, Cry Havoc (London: John Blake, 2011); and Jan Philipp Wilhelm, “Equatorial Guinea: Coup Attempt Leaves Many Questions,” DW, January 9, 2018, https://www.dw.com/en /equatorial-guinea-coup-attempt-leaves-many-questions/a-42086229. 33.  “Equatorial Guinea Fires Security Chiefs after Clash,” Reuters, February 25, 2009, https://www.reuters.com/article/ozatp-equatorial-reshuffle-20090225-idAFJO E51O0LX20090225. 34.  “Government and Institutions,” Equatorial Guinea government, 2021, https:// www.guineaecuatorialpress.com/gobierno. 35.  2020 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Equatorial Guinea (US Department of State, March 30, 2021), https://www.state.gov/reports/2020-country -reports-on-human-rights-practices/equatorial-guinea/. 36. “Political Administration,” Embassy of Equatorial Guinea, 2021, https:// embajada-guinea-ecuatorial.com/en/equatorial-guinea/administracion-politica/. 37.  2020 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Equatorial Guinea. 38. Ibid.

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39.  “Justice, Army and Embassies,” Equatorial Guinea government, 2021, https:// www.guineaecuatorialpress.com/noticias/JUSTICIA,%20EJ%C3%89RCITO,%20 EMBAJADAS. 40.  International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Middle East and North Africa,” Military Balance 120, no. 1 (2020): 475. 41. “Decreto de nombramiento de los Directores Generales, Directores Generales Adjuntos y Asimilados, Decreto Num.71/2020” [Decree of appointment of the General Directors, Deputy General Directors and Assimilates], Equatorial Guinea government, September 10, 2020, https://guineaecuatorialpress.com/noticias /Decreto%20de%20nombramiento%20de%20los%20Directores%20Generales,%20 Directores%20Generales%20Adjuntos%20y%20Asimilados. 42.  Ibid., 475. 43.  Ibid., 475. 44.  2020 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Equatorial Guinea. 45.  Sá and Sanches, Politics of Autocratic Survival in Equatorial Guinea, 96. 46.  Ibid., 96. 47. “Well Oiled: Oil and Human Rights in Equatorial Guinea,” Human Rights Watch, July 9, 2009, https://www.hrw.org/report/2009/07/09/well-oiled/oil-and -human-rights-equatorial-guinea. 48.  “Human Rights Committee: Concluding Observations CCPR/C/GNQ/CO/1,” United Nations, 2019, https://www.ohchr.org/EN/Countries/AfricaRegion/Pages /GQIndex.aspx. 49.  “Equatorial Guinea,” Amnesty International, 2021, https://www.amnesty.org /en/countries/africa/equatorial-guinea/report-equatorial-guinea/. 50.  “Equatorial Guinea,” Freedom House, 2021, https://freedomhouse.org/country /equatorial-guinea/freedom-world/2020. 51. Ibid. 52.  2020 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Equatorial Guinea. 53. Hazel M. McFerson, “Governance and Hyper-corruption in Resource-Rich African Countries,” Third World Quarterly 30, no. 8 (2009): 1539. 54. “Equatorial Guinea,” Corruption Perceptions Index/Transparency International, 2021, https://www.transparency.org/en/countries/equatorial-guinea. 55.  Equatorial Guinea 2020 Crime & Safety Report (US Department of State, 2021), https://www.osac.gov/Country/EquatorialGuinea/Content/Detail/Report /b88542d1-762f-4fb0-b53e-1863be78b122. 56.  “Second Vice President of Equatorial Guinea Agrees to Relinquish More Than $30 Million of Assets Purchased with Corruption Proceeds,” United States Department of Justice, October 10, 2014, https://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/second-vice-presi dent-equatorial-guinea-agrees-relinquish-more-30-million-assets-purchased. 57.  Martin de Bourmont, “Accused of Looting Millions, Son of African Leader Stalls Trial,” New York Times, January 4, 2017, https://www.nytimes.com/2017/01/04 /world/africa/teodoro-nguema-obiang-mangue-guinea-looting-trial.html. 58.  “Paris Court Confirms Suspended Sentence, Fine for ‘Playboy’ Son of E. Guinea Leader,” France24, February 10, 2020, https://www.france24.com/en/20200210 -paris-court-confirms-suspended-sentence-fine-for-playboy-son-of-e-guinea-leader.



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59.  “Human Rights Committee: Concluding Observations CCPR/C/GNQ/CO/1,” United Nations, 2019, https://www.ohchr.org/EN/Countries/AfricaRegion/Pages /GQIndex.aspx. 60. “Equatorial Guinea: Why Poverty Plagues a High-Income Nation,” Human Rights Watch, January 27, 2017, https://www.hrw.org/news/2017/01/27/equatorial -guinea-why-poverty-plagues-high-income-nation. 61.  Sá and Sanches, Politics of Autocratic Survival in Equatorial Guinea, 96. 62.  Ibid., 96. 63. YouTube/Embassy of Equatorial Guinea in Washington, D.C., “Equatorial Guinea: Triumph over Adversity in Africa,” video, October 19, 2018, https://www .youtube.com/watch?v=rI1Q-5Vsv5k. 64.  “President Museveni Receives Message from President Mbasogo of Equatorial Guinea,” Uganda Media Centre, April 4, 2019, https://www.mediacentre.go.ug /media/president-museveni-receives-message-president-mbasogo-equatorial-guinea; “Buhari Welcomes Central African Support against Boko Haram,” Channel 5, February 12, 2016, https://www.channelstv.com/tag/mr-juan-antonio-bibang-nchu chuma/; “Acting President Mnangagwa Meets Special Envoy,” Herald, January 3, 2015, https://www.herald.co.zw/acting-president-mnangagwa-meets-special-envoy/; and “President of Equatorial Guinea Arrives in Kuwait on Official Visit,” Kuwait News Agency, October 24, 2016, https://www.kuna.net.kw/ArticleDetails.aspx ?id=2541651&language=en. 65. “Conference Thirteen Ordinary Session 1 to 06 August 2016 Jigali Rwana CNF/13/OR/6,” Africa Union Commission’s Committee of Intelligence and Security Services, 2016, https://archives.au.int/bitstream/handle/123456789/6427/2016_%20 CISSA%20_COMM_C1E.pdf. 66.  “Equatorial Guinea (01/02),” US Department of State, 2017, https://2009-2017 .state.gov/outofdate/bgn/equatorialguinea/26446.htm. 67.  “Equatorial Guinea,” France’s Ministry of Europe and Foreign Affairs, 2021, https://www.diplomatie.gouv.fr/en/country-files/equatorial-guinea/. 68.  Sá and Sanches, Politics of Autocratic Survival in Equatorial Guinea, 99. 69.  “Exclusive: Advance into Africa—an Audit of Russia’s Growing Economic and Military Footprint on the Continent,” Daily Maverick, November 15, 2019, https://www.dailymaverick.co.za/article/2019-11-15-exclusive-advance-into-africa -an-audit-of-russias-growing-economic-and-military-footprint-on-the-continent/. A different source described it: “Military personnel posted at the base of the Pico road protect against unauthorized entry to the telecommunications station at the summit and control the entrance of vehicles and people.” María Grande-Vega, Miguel Ángel Farfán, Ambrosio Ondo, and John E. Fa, “Decline in Hunter Offtake of Blue Duikers in Bioko Island, Equatorial Guinea,” African Journal of Ecology 54, no. 1 (March 2016): 51. 70.  Bulelani Jili, “The Spread of Surveillance Technology in Africa Stirs Security Concerns,” Africa Center for Strategic Studies/National Defense University, December 11, 2020, https://africacenter.org/spotlight/surveillance-technology-in-africa -security-concerns/.

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71.  “China Agrees $2-billion Infrastructure Deal with Equatorial Guinea,” Reuters, April 29, 2015, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-china-equatorial/china-agrees -2-billion-infrastructure-deal-with-equatorial-guinea-idUSKBN0NK16I20150429; Abdur Rahman Alfa Shaban, “Equatorial Guinea Donates $2m to China to Help Combat Coronavirus,” Africa News, June, 2, 2020, https://www.africanews.com /2020/02/05/equatorial-guinea-donates-2m-to-china-to-help-combat-coronavirus. 72. “Inauguration of the Headquarters of the Committee of Intelligence and Security Services (CISSA),” African Union, February 09, 2020, https://au.int/en /newsevents/20200209/inauguration-headquarters-committee-intelligence-and-secu rity-services-cissa. 73. “African Union Inaugurates New HQ of Intelligence & Security Services,” North African Post, February 12, 2020, https://northafricapost.com/37970-african -union-inaugurates-new-hq-of-intelligence-security-services.html. 74.  Alicia Campos-Serrano, “Extraction Offshore, Politics Inshore, and the Role of the State in Equatorial Guinea,” Africa: Journal of the International African Institute 83, no. 2 (May 2013): 333.

17 Eritrea Intelligence Culture under an Authoritarian Government Ryan Shaffer

Eritrea

is a relatively new country with unique characteristics that have shaped its intelligence services.1 Since the country gained independence from Ethiopia in 1993, Eritrea has been involved in several conflicts and faced international condemnation for human rights abuses, corruption, and totalitarian rule. After the country gained independence, Isaias Afwerki—a former guerrilla turned president—ruthlessly exerted control over all aspects of life there. Without a constitution, elections, or government accountability, the intelligence and security services are vital to the government’s power. As a result, an intelligence culture developed wherein the intelligence services are omnipresent but also seemingly invisible within the country and diaspora. This environment has resulted in Eritrea’s national intelligence culture being shaped by a high level of permissiveness to use any means against the government’s enemies, support the state’s executive, and protect the nation from external security threats. This chapter argues that Eritrea’s intelligence culture is marked by brutal repression and coercion under the personal rule of a president who has been in power for nearly thirty years. Numerous documented cases of torture and murder by the state have been reported, but little has been done to stop the human rights abuses. Given the current government and its history, it is unlikely that significant reforms will be undertaken to address abuses by the intelligence services. In 2015 a member of the United Nations inquiry commission on Eritrea said, “We seldom see human rights violations of the scope and scale as we see in Eritrea today,” and the report found the president as well as “the security services working for him” were the ones responsible.2 The president not only controls intelligence but relies on the services and their brutal tactics to maintain power and control the population. This environment also 211

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impacts foreigners, as suspicion about them makes it challenging for foreign state and nonstate actors to engage in professional and humanitarian activities in the country. Thus, Eritrea’s intelligence culture is influenced by the totalitarian government, in that intelligence shapes politics and society by ensuring control is maintained through the use of violence and arbitrary detention. The chapter is organized in three sections. The first provides a background to the country’s relatively recent history with special attention to the war of liberation and use of intelligence for independence. The second section explores the security and intelligence services, including the military, to understand their roles and actions in postindependence Eritrea. Drawing from published reports, it discusses the specific intelligence branches and their activities. The third section examines intelligence oversight in the context of human rights and repression. Specifically, it focuses on how the intelligence community has been used to curtail freedom. This contribution does not intend to provide a comprehensive look at Eritrea’s intelligence and security services, because that is not possible. First, the government is undemocratic, led by a president who has held office since a 1993 national referendum but has never stood in any election since. Power is concentrated in the executive, and there is no internal representative democratic institution that could force transparency. Second, the country is a single-party state in which dissent is not tolerated. As a result, intelligence and security forces are used against real and perceived opponents. Anyone speaking about national security institutions would risk their life because someone in Eritrea’s government might disagree with their statements. As a result, there are no contemporary primary sources available. Third, the amount of information is severely limited and biased. As the government tightly controls information in the country, little is known publicly about how it operates. This chapter acknowledges the limitations and the implications this has for research. In doing so, it recognizes the biased sources used and limitations of the United Nations (UN) documentation derived from hundreds of interviews, human rights groups, international press reporting, and published books. Despite these limitations, this chapter is the first synthesis of publicly available literature about Eritrea’s intelligence that helps understand the intelligence culture of a country that has been ruled by the same person since independence, lacks a constitution, and does not hold national elections. BACKGROUND The modern historical context of Eritrea rests in colonialism and the Second World War. Colonized by the Italians in 1886, who were forced out by the



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British in 1941 during the Second World War, the country was administered by the British until it was “ceded” to Ethiopia’s emperor Haile Selassie in 1944. Shortly after, a movement was launched for Eritrean independence. The bloody Eritrean War of Independence coalesced around 1961 and ended in 1991 after Ethiopia lost Soviet support and a referendum was held in 1993 overwhelmingly favored independence. Unified resistance against Ethiopian rule began in September 1961 under the Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF), which drew Muslim as well as Christian support.3 The ELF initially received patronage from a number of countries, including Algeria, Iraq, and Syria, and a small group was trained in Aleppo during 1963.4 Sudan went on to play a key role in Eritrea’s independence due to geopolitics following Ethiopia’s giving aid to Sudanese resistance movements.5 The ELF was not the only liberation movement, and the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF) would eventually eclipse it. Roy Pateman, a former intelligence officer in the British Army and later an academic, conducted some of the best-known research about the war of liberation, with direct access to the EPLF.6 He noted that the struggle was not new, as resistance to foreigners was a constant throughout the area’s history even prior to Italy uniting Eritrea and Ethiopian under a single power.7 Pateman explained that the EPLF was created when members of the ELF split from the group in 1970.8 However, the EPLF was “not formally recognized until a congress in 1977,” and by 1982 the EPLF was the only military independence movement.9 At its second congress, Isaias Afwerki was elected secretary general in 1987. Intelligence had an important role in the EPLF’s fight for independence. In a memoir about the EPLF, Colonel Tsegu Fessahaie Bahta described his activities in the EPLF’s intelligence service, Halewa Sewra (Guardians of the Revolution or Shield of the Revolution), as it shifted from handling subversive elements within the EPLF to serving as an intelligence service. Not only did he detail the personalities, duties, and history of Halewa Sewra, but he also mentioned the EPLF’s Military Intelligence unit.10 Tsegua, a member of the EPLF from 1972 who served as an Eritrean government official until he went into exile in 2002, was assigned to work in Halewa Sewra during 1974.11 The organization’s headquarters was known as Sahtewil (“The Salty”), and it was responsible for interrogating suspected enemy operatives within the organization, investigating crime, and dealing with escapees using torture and death sentences.12 Tsegua wrote that it was “a secretive and closed organization where you are frequently reminded to desist making attempts to know secrets.”13 He worked in various positions, such as the interrogation unit, and provided political education to Halewa Sewra members.14 In terms of organization, EPLF later formed an “intelligence family” that included “Military

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Intelligence, Halewa Sewra, the Communication Department, and the Commando Unit” holding regular meetings to coordinate their activities.15 Halewa Sewra’s power was unparalleled, and its operations were lethal. Tsegua explained, “The head of the branch of Halewa Sewra in the areas behind the enemy defense lines had the authority to decide on jail terms ranging from six-months to one year,” but the political office and central leaders could issue more severe punishment, including death for spies and “those who committed homicide.”16 In one example of their activities, a dissident group named the Eritrean Liberation Front-People’s Liberation Forces 2 (ELF-PLF 2) emerged in 1973 and was considered a threat by the ELPF. In 1977, key ELF-PLF 2 leaders and supporters were detained by Halewa Sewra, and Isaias Afwerki, then secretary general, appointed a committee to examine their cases, which resulted in their execution.17 Fighters were arrested by Halewa Sewra and “often executed without due process.”18Additionally, women in the EPLF had a dangerous role in intelligence operations behind enemy lines. Besides serving in combat, some were involved in “using sex to gain secrets from Ethiopian officers or luring them to their deaths.”19 Halewa Sewra had recordkeepers and even an archives unit, but it is unclear if they exist to this day.20 In May 1991 the EPLF defeated Ethiopian forces in Eritrea, leaving Ethiopian forces “demoralized,” and the EPLF took over government administration and expelled high-level Ethiopian “functionaries.”21 With Ethiopia defeated in 1991, Pateman explained, “the EPLF’s immediate intelligence and security concerns lessened,” with a seemingly “minimal oppressive security and intelligence surveillance in Eritrea.”22 Eritrea became independent in 1993 following a UN-observed independence referendum.23 Politically, the country has not changed much in the subsequent decades. President Isaias has led the country since 1993. After the country was established, the EPLF “changed its name” to People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ) during February 1994 and became the only legal political party.24 Despite repeated promises, no presidential elections have taken place, and there is still only one legal party in the country, the PFDJ. Though the country ostensibly has a National Assembly made up of party members, no direct elections have been held, and it does not convene to create laws. Mike Smith, chair of the UN Commission of Inquiry during 2015 and 2016, reported crimes against humanity in the country. He explained, “Eritrea is an authoritarian State. There is no independent judiciary, no national assembly and there are no other democratic institutions in Eritrea.”25 This has created a rule-of-law vacuum, resulting in a climate of impunity for abuses to be perpetrated for over a quarter century.



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The governing style of President Isaias as well as his past leadership of the EPLF have undoubtedly shaped Eritrea’s intelligence culture. The country engages in arbitrary detentions, torture, murder, and forced labor through its National Service Program, in which people serve for an indefinite period. Due to these factors, thousands of people flee Eritrea each month at risk of their lives. Furthermore, as Martin Plaut explained, “Diplomacy was never one of President Isaias’ strong suits.”26 Besides the harsh brutality of political opposition and potential challenges, he has led a country engaged in several foreign interventions. Plaut noted that Eritrea has provided many foreign groups with “arms and ammunition, training and intelligence,” usually aimed at Ethiopia, which has responded by trying to oust Isaias.27 Following independence, Eritrea and its leaders faced a challenging security environment. The country was poor, and former rebels received few benefits to improve their conditions. In May 1993, soldiers in Asmara revolted after having not been paid for two years, occupying roads and government buildings.28 Plaut described how Isaias met with leaders, agreeing to pay them and investigate their needs, but months later arrested hundreds of soldiers involved.29 Although a constitution and bill of rights were drafted in 1997, they were never implemented, and democratic reforms were never instituted. Besides internal security, the country continued to face existential threats from external forces. The Eritrean–Ethiopian War from May 1998 to June 2000 was a key moment in Eritrean’s relatively new history. Richard Reid explained that following an exchange of gunfire that left Eritrean soldiers dead, the Eritrean military entered a part of Ethiopia, and events quickly escalated.30 As the countries fought, they also deported civilians, and Eritrea’s economy was “strangulated.”31 When the war ended, Ethiopia controlled about a quarter of Eritrean territory, and a security zone was established with UN peacekeepers.32 Plaut pointed out that a key characteristic of the war was both countries’ poor treatment of civilians from the other country. He explained that in the Eritrean case, “authorities initiated a programme of internment” of Ethiopians with forced repatriation, while others left “voluntarily.”33 In 2002 the government instituted the Warsai Yekalo Development Campaign, which changed the period of mandatory national service for work tasks assigned by the state from eighteen months to indefinite.34 A 2015 Amnesty International investigation examined the National Service and found that dozens of Eritrean refugees described indefinite forced labor that usually involved military conscription, accompanied by low pay, abuse, no leave, no exemptions, lack of health care, and assigned roles, which prompted people to desert.35 Eritreans forced into conscription have fled the country, seeking asylum in Europe at the risk of death if they are caught fleeing.36

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President Isaias is a ruthless leader who “has been rigidly determined to resist reforms that—in his view—would undermine the security of Eritrea or his grip on power.”37 The 1998 to 2000 war exposed the harsh reality of the government. Reid explained that “the overwhelming sense is of betrayal and neglect, deep rooted anger at the forgotten struggles of freedom fighters.”38 He further described how after the cease-fire, “Isaias’ conduct of the war comes under scrutiny, and the criticism swiftly broadens out to include his political leadership and his authoritarianism.”39 In the early 2000s, notable figures, including veterans and former officials, criticized the president; they were arrested and held in solitary confinement.40 Plaut noted, “None has been ever seen again; some are reported dead. They faced no trials or tribunals and their fate can only be surmised.”41 Likewise, university students were arrested and held without trial after asking for reforms to a mandatory work program.42 The country has developed a system of secret prisons, refuses to let international monitors meet with the detained, and has not allowed any trials to review the cases of the accused.43 While it does not appear that Isaias’s power has been seriously challenged, in August 2009 he “barely” survived an attempt on his life that left his would-be assassin dead.44 Such events have no doubt reinforced his paranoia and thirst for power, making intelligence vital. ERITREAN INTELLIGENCE OPERATIONS The extent of Eritrean intelligence is internationally known, even though the specifics are not. In 2015 Mike Smith explained: “A massive domestic surveillance network penetrates all levels of society, turning even family members against each other. Much of the population is subject to forced conscription and labour, sometimes in slave-like conditions.”45 A key aspect of this network has been the intelligence services used by Eritrea’s government to support violent resistance groups in foreign countries, harass the diaspora, and impose harsh discipline over its own citizens internally. The number of people performing intelligence functions and able to make requests for intelligence is large. The 2015 UN inquiry into Eritrea’s human rights explained that the PFDJ created a system whereby “an extraordinary number of individuals have the power to spy on Eritreans and conduct investigations and arrests often without observing the law.”46 Furthermore, there is a “proliferation of national security offices and of officers assigned to administrative offices but with an intelligence mandate,” which “overlap with the party’s own intelligence and with military intelligence.”47



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The intelligence community in contemporary Eritrea is a direct descendant of the intelligence apparatus developed under the EPLF during the fight for independence. The EPLF started two intelligence services: Halewa Sewra and Seban Keleten (also known as “72”). Halewa Sewra was tasked with internal security, and Seban Keleten was responsible for military intelligence. After 1987, Halewa Sewra served as a police force in the places where the EPLF controlled territory.48 Following 1991, the police functions were transferred to the Eritrean Police Force. According to Tsegu Fessahaie Bahta, a “taskforce” was established to propose ways Halewa Sewra could fit into the new government, which led to its first reorganization since 1973.49 The Seban Keleten became the Military Intelligence and Security Department but was criticized for failing to warn about the 1993 veterans’ uprising and was divided into the two main intelligence services in the country today.50 The first is the National Security Office, which operates under the Office of the President and has been led by Major General Abraha Kassa since it was created.51 The second organization is Military Intelligence (MI), which answers to the chief of staff of the Eritrean Defence Forces, under the Minister of Interior, and reports to the president.52 MI is led by Brigadier General Tekesteberhan Gebrehiwot. In addition to these two intelligence services, the broader security community consists of the Eritrean Police Force, Eritrean Defence Forces, and Hizbawi Serawit (People’s Army). The Police Force is ostensibly responsible for detecting and investigating crime, but it appears these responsibilities are also shared with the Defence Forces and People’s Army. The Defence Forces were established from the remains of the EPLF and are deployed around the country in five different zones that were established in 1965 by the ELF.53 The leaders are carefully vetted to ensure loyalty to the president, while the soldiers are conscripted Eritreans.54 Scholar David Bozzini explored “low-tech” surveillance, describing military police checkpoints for conscripts’ travel permits, which perform a form of control and create insecurity among the population.55 In 2013, scholar Jason Warner analyzed Eritrea’s military and assessed a potential partnership with the United States, concluding that the “unprofessional” character of the military prevents a close defense relationship with the United States.56 In 2020, the International Institute for Strategic Studies estimated that the military had 201,750 active personnel (the army with 200,000, navy with 1,400, and air force with 350) and 120,000 reserve members.57 However, the actual strength is unknown, as conscripts regularly escape from the country. Little is published about the power struggles in and the effectiveness of the military, but is it likely that leaders of the military have continued to occupy “their sinecures, including [getting] profits derived from the forced labour of national service recruits.”58

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The People’s Army was established in 2012 and consists of people “released from the national service and conscripts assigned to civil assignments as part of their open-ended national service.”59 One report indicates that this is a way to reconscript older Eritreans who are no longer in the National Service.60 Its members are expected to keep a job and are organized by profession (such as a teacher’s militia), but carry out tasks such as searching for national service deserters and guarding government sites.61 The civilian intelligence service is the National Security Office (NSO) and appears to have a wide reach and broad set of responsibilities. Though there are no official records publicly available about the NSO and how it operates, several different UN inquiries have established some basic information about its activities. A 2010 US Department of State report explained that the NSO was “responsible for detaining persons suspected of threatening national security,” while police do not usually “have a role in cases involving national security.”62 Among these details established by the UN are that the NSO conducts activities through a Special Forces organization also known as Unit 72 or Middle Office.63 The Special Forces were led by Brigadier General Hadish Efrem, who commanded an operation against political opponents who took over Eritrean TV in 2013.64 The Middle Office is responsible for “undercover security officers” throughout the country, and Asmara Office is in charge of the capital using “a network of sub-offices, not officially identified and anonymously located in various neighbourhoods, and sometimes in public places such as bars or hotels.”65 The suboffices have three sections, for intelligence, arrests, and interrogation, with each section possibly having over a hundred officers. Additionally, NSO also has undercover agents in local government offices.66 According to scholar David Bozzini, “Informers (ezni, or ‘ear’ in Tigrinya), undercover agents (sälay), and informal collaborators reporting back to the security service (dhanät) or to the local administration were assumed to be present at the university and in bars, churches, and Internet cafés, while others were said to roam the streets of the capital city.”67 The NSO’s activities appear to be formal and informal, operating with impunity in an environment permissive of abuses. In 2010 the UN Monitoring Group on Somalia and Eritrea collected firsthand information but noted the specific “challenge” of gathering information in Eritrea due to “restrictions” on foreigners. As a result, the group turned to the diaspora for information, which included “former Eritrean military, intelligence and diplomatic officials with prior knowledge of the People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ) and military establishment.”68 The published findings included statements from interviews with former NSO and Eritrean diplomatic officials, who noted that the office along with the military and PFDJ leaders were “secretive.”69 The report described how these three institutions were “under



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the direct supervision of the President’s Office” and “the subversion of official structures in favour of personal loyalties and informal authority, mean that precise chains of command are kept deliberately opaque.70 In terms of external operations, the UN identified Brigadier General Te’ame Goitom Kinfu (also known as “Wedi Meqelle”) as the head of operations on the Horn of Africa. In particular, he was reportedly involved in supporting violent Somali opposition groups.71 Colonel Fitsum Yishak (also known as “Lenin”) served as the deputy for external operations, trained Ethiopian armed resistance groups, and was also engaged “in cross-border smuggling activities.”72 The report also named several other figures involved in external intelligence operations, such as the officer in charge of military intelligence and chief of staff in the Office of the President, who has been involved in “special foreign” missions for the president.73 Eritrea’s external intelligence operations include providing aid and training to African groups outside of Eritrea. Based on more than one hundred interviews with former members of six resistance groups, the 2011 UN monitoring group reported that “Eritrea maintains an extensive and complex network of training centres, camps and facilities” for its external operations.74 The groups mentioned were Al-Shabaab, Hisb’ul Islam/Somali Islamic Front, Hisb’ul Islam/ARS Asmara, Ogaden National Liberation Front, Oromo Liberation Front, and Front pour la restauration de l’unité et de la démocratie.75 Eritrean intelligence provided training for infantry, explosives, intelligence, counterintelligence, and operational security.76 Notably, while the resistance groups were trained under the NSO, the training centers were “often colocated with military facilities, and logistics and material are often provided by the military.”77 The operations appear centered on proxy battles with Eritrea’s enemies. As Plaut explained, “Somalia has been the fiercest proxy battleground on which the conflict between Ethiopia and Eritrea has been played out.”78 He noted Eritrea has a large Somali population in the eastern region of Ogaden, an area that has been used to send ammunition and weapons to Somalian allies, including Al-Shabaab, that prompted UN sanctions in 2009.79 The UN monitoring group identified specific Eritrean diplomatic missions as key to intelligence operations. Citing an individual involved, it reported that officials are dispatched to the embassy of Eritrea in Nairobi, Kenya, where officials used Kenyan bank accounts to distribute money to Somali groups.80 More recently, in 2021, news reports surfaced that Somalia recruited young men to work in Qatar, who instead were sent to serve in the military in Eritrea “against their will.”81 Eritrean information minister Yemane Meskel denied the accusations, but it was reportedly confirmed by Somalia’s National Intelligence Agency to one Somali family.82

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One notable Eritrean intelligence operation took place in early 2011, when Ethiopia thwarted a bombing in Addis Abba during an Assembly of the African Union session.83 A UN inquiry reported that though it appeared to be a plot by “Oromo Liberation Front”—a group of Oromo ethnic people from the border—“it was conceived, planned, supported and directed by the external operations directorate of the Government of Eritrea, under the leadership of General Te’ame.”84 If the attack had been successful, then it “almost certainly [would] have caused mass civilian casualties, damaged the Ethiopian economy and disrupted the African Union summit.”85 Eritrean intelligence also engages in influence operations. Bado Seleste (Zero Three or 03) has been described as the “presidential disinformation service” and an “informal mechanism” that the government uses to spread rumors.86 Bado Seleste was reportedly involved in branding government critics as “traitors.”87 It was also involved in portraying the government as successfully counterattacking Ethiopia when in fact the war was going poorly.88 Besides concerns about protecting territorial sovereignty, another challenge Eritrea faces is the poor economy. In particular, obtaining hard currency is vital for the government to purchase “foreign military goods and services,” such as military jets.89 The head of the Commercial Bank of Eritrea, Yemane Tesfay, spoke to the UN investigative committee, denying the bank was involved in these efforts, but admitted attending international discussions in his “personal capacity” to discuss military contracts at least until 2009.90 Notably, Tesfay was a former Unit 72 member who served in “a military intelligence unit, and was deployed to Sudan during the Eritrean liberation war in the mid-1980s when that unit was engaged in the laundering of counterfeit United States dollar bills.”91 The country has also obtained money by extorting the Eritrean diaspora for diplomatic services, charging Eritreans living abroad being charged a 2 percent fee in violation of local law.92 OVERSIGHT, ABUSE, AND FOREIGN SECURITY RELATIONS As a country that lacks a constitution and has never held direct national elections since independence, and whose officials operate with impunity, any oversight over the intelligence services ultimately rests with the Office of the President. At least during the start of the new state in 1993, the Office of the President would receive a daily summary report from the Ministry of Internal Affairs about all the departments in the ministry, such as police and security, as well as information about alleged corrupt officials.93 While many countries have legislatures that create laws and courts that review laws, this is not the case in Eritrea. Laws have generally been created through proclamations,



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mostly from the president, published in the Gazette of Eritrean Laws.94 Other types of laws and social order are carried out in Muslim communities through sharia law, which has a different and legally recognized role in the civil court system.95 The key to Eritrea’s government is not so much the law as the president’s expectations and demands. The president—given his past as a guerrilla and his failure to hold elections or implement the constitution—likely conflates oversight with loyalty. Those capable and willing to implement his wishes maintain his trust and thus their power in the intelligence community. This creates an intelligence culture in which abuse is condoned as long as the leadership’s agenda is implemented. Numerous documented reports of human rights abuses in Eritrea have been published by governments, nongovernmental organizations, and the UN. From enslavement, to rape, to murder, the list of abuses is long; the UN describes Eritrean officials as having committed “crimes against humanity” for decades.96 Despite these documented abuses, several countries have expanded their security relations with Eritrea. From 2009 until 2018, Eritrea was sanctioned by the UN Security Council for supporting armed Somali groups, but the sanctions and arms embargo were lifted following efforts by Eritrea and Djibouti to reconcile.97 Despite continuing abuses, some countries have utilized Eritrea’s geostrategic location for broader goals and likely have participated in intelligence cooperation. In particular, Eritrea’s relations with Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates (UAE) have been greatly developed since 2015. It appears that a recent security and military relationship was established following diplomatic meetings. According to a 2015 UN monitoring report cited “unconfirmed” statements from people in contact with “serving Eritrean ambassadors” that about “400 Eritrean soldiers were embedded with the United Arab Emirates contingent of the forces fighting on Yemeni soil on behalf of the Arab coalition.”98 Additionally, the UN noted that the UAE asked Eritrea to use the Hanish islands and the port of Assab to support its efforts in Yemen.99 Eritrea’s foreign minister, Osman Saleh Mohammed, told the press that the UAE uses Eritrea’s “logistical facilities,” and Eritrea wants to engage with the world.100 The relationship resulted in UAE’s first “permanent military base in a foreign country.”101 The Associated Press reported that the port—located seventy kilometers (forty miles) from Yemen—and an expanded airport at a facility were used to “ferry heavy weaponry and Sudanese troops into Yemen as it fought alongside a Saudi-led coalition against Iranian-backed Houthi rebels.”102 Heavy weapons, drones, aircraft, and troops involved in the Yemen conflict were reportedly transported through the facility, and the base was also used for holding prisoners.103 However, after the UAE government an-

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nounced it was withdrawing from Yemen, and the Associated Press reported that it appeared the UAE had dismantled parts of the base in early 2021.104 Besides foreign partners and relations, Eritrea’s intelligence community is intertwined with the country’s economy, which has been used to discourage foreign businesses from partnering with Eritrea. A UN inquiry reported that government leaders and the PFDJ direct and control state-owned businesses within and outside of the country.105 In 2014 three Eritrean refugees who worked in Eritrean mines sued a Canadian mining firm for benefiting from business with the government of Eritrea, and their right to sue the company was upheld by the Supreme Court of British Columbia in 2020.106 The now settled lawsuit specifically named the NSO, which allegedly provided security for the mine, accusing it of performing “surveillance of” and “intimidat[ing] workers.”107 CONCLUSION This chapter provided an overview about Eritrea’s intelligence services and broad aspects of its intelligence culture. Given the nature of the totalitarian government and lack of democratic institutions, which have limited public information about Eritrean intelligence, only general characteristics of the intelligence services can be explored. Much remains unknown due to lack of records and the fear the intelligence services in Eritrea invoke, involving accounts of extrajudicial detentions, torture, and murder. Eritrean intelligence is both omnipresent and seemingly invisible. Shaped in the modern era during a war for independence and three decades of totalitarianism, the intelligence services adapted to the environment for internal and external threats. With an aging former guerrilla serving as the only head of state, the future of the country is unknown. However, whoever attempts to succeed the current president will need the backing of the omnipresent and invisible intelligence organizations. If a successor fails to gain this backing, their power will quickly be challenged and threatened. NOTES 1.  Special thanks to Martin Plaut for his feedback on this chapter. 2. Nick Cumming-Bruce, “Torture and Other Rights Abuses Are Widespread in Eritrea, U.N. Panel Says,” New York Times, June 8, 2015, https://www.nytimes .com/2015/06/09/world/africa/eritrea-human-rights-abuses-afwerki-un-probe -crimes-against-humanity-committed.html.



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 3. Martin Plaut, Understanding Eritrea: Inside Africa’s Most Repressive State (New York: Oxford University Press, 2017), 11.  4. Ibid., 70.  5. Ibid., 75.  6. Roy Pateman, Eritrea: Even the Stones Are Burning, rev. ed. (Asmara, Eritrea: Red Sea Press, 1998), xvii.   7.  Ibid., 41, 47–66.   8.  Ibid., 7, 119.  9. Ibid., 121. 10.  Tsegu Fessahaie Bahta, The Hidden Party: A Narration of a Personal Experience with the EPLF (Trenton, NJ: Red Sea Press, 2019), xx, 88. 11.  Ibid., xx, 36, 221. 12.  Ibid., 37, 95. 13.  Ibid., 37. 14.  Ibid., 42. 15.  Ibid., 88. 16.  Ibid., 51. 17.  Andebrhan Welde Giorgis, Eritrea at a Crossroads: A Narrative of Triumph, Betrayal and Hope (Houston, TX: Strategic Book Publishing and Rights Company, 2014), 276. 18.  Ibid., 276. 19. Plaut, Understanding Eritrea, 113. 20. Bahta, Hidden Party, 147. 21. Pateman, Eritrea, 237. 22.  Roy Pateman, “Intelligence Operations in the Horn of Africa,” in Disaster and Development in the Horn of Africa, ed. John Sorenson (New York: Palgrave, 1995), 59. 23.  United Nations Observer Mission to Verify the Referendum in Eritrea: Report of the Secretary-General, United Nations, 1993, https://digitallibrary.un.org /record/197315/files/A_48_283-EN.pdf; “Eritreans Voting on Independence From Ethiopia,” New York Times, April 24, 1993, https://www.nytimes.com/1993/04/24 /world/eritreans-voting-on-independence-from-ethiopia.html; and “Eritrea Marks Independence after Years Under Ethiopia,” New York Times, May 25, 1993, https:// www.nytimes.com/1993/05/25/world/eritrea-marks-independence-after-years-under -ethiopia.html. 24. Pateman, Eritrea, 239. 25.  “UN Inquiry Finds Crimes against Humanity in Eritrea,” United Nations Human Rights Office of the High Commissioner, June 8, 2016, https://www.ohchr.org /EN/NewsEvents/Pages/DisplayNews.aspx?NewsID=20067. 26. Plaut, Understanding Eritrea, 67. 27.  Ibid., 67. 28.  Ibid., 119. 29.  Ibid., 119. 30.  Richard Reid, Shallow Graves: A Memoir of the Ethiopia-Eritrea War (New York: Hurst, 2020), xiii.

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31.  Ibid., 63. 32. Plaut, Understanding Eritrea, 37. 33.  Ibid., 40. 34. “Service for Life: State Repression and Indefinite Conscription in Eritrea,” Human Rights Watch, April 16, 2009, https://www.hrw.org/report/2009/04/16 /service-life/state-repression-and-indefinite-conscription-eritrea. 35.  Just Deserters: Why Indefinite National Service in Eritrea Has Created a Generation of Refugees (London: Amnesty International, 2015), https://www.amnesty usa.org/files/eritrea-deserters-report.pdf. 36. James Rippingale “Calais: Eritrean Refugees Tell of Torture and Fear,” Al Jazeera, March 31, 2016, https://www.aljazeera.com/features/2016/3/31/calais -eritrean-refugees-tell-of-torture-and-fear. 37. Plaut, Understanding Eritrea, 207. 38. Reid, Shallow Graves, 189. 39.  Ibid., 110–111. 40.  “Ten Long Years: A Briefing on Eritrea’s Missing Political Prisoners,” Human Rights Watch, September 22, 2011, https://www.hrw.org/report/2011/09/22/ten-long -years/briefing-eritreas-missing-political-prisoners#. See also “Escaping Eritrea,” Frontline, May 4, 2021, https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/frontline/film/escaping-eritrea/. 41. Plaut, Understanding Eritrea, 125. 42.  “Ten Long Years.” 43. Ibid. 44. “An Assassination Attempt on President Isaias Afewerki,” Asmarino.com, August 14, 2009, https://asmarino.com/eyewitness-account/276-an-assassination -attempt-on-president-isaias-afewerki. 45.  “UN Inquiry Finds Crimes against Humanity in Eritrea.” 46.  Report of the Commission of Inquiry on Human Rights in Eritrea (United Nations, June 4, 2015), 14, https://documents-dds-ny.un.org/doc/UNDOC/GEN /G15/114/50/PDF/G1511450.pdf. 47.  Ibid., 14. 48.  Report of the Detailed Findings of the Commission of Inquiry on Human Rights in Eritrea, A/HRC/29/CRP.1 (United Nations, June 5, 2015), 74, https://www .ohchr.org/Documents/HRBodies/HRCouncil/CoIEritrea/A_HRC_29_CRP-1.pdf. 49. Bahta, Hidden Party, 159, 160. 50.  Report of the Detailed Findings of the Commission of Inquiry on Human Rights in Eritrea, 74. 51.  Ibid., 74. See also “The ‘Executed’: No Smoking Gun, but Plenty of Circumstantial Evidence,” Gedab Investigative Report, March 13, 2003, http://www.ehrea .org/excute.htm; and Martin Plaut, “Eritrea: Isaias Afwerki and His Inner Circle,” MartinPlaut.com, November 10, 2019, https://martinplaut.com/2019/11/10/eritrea -isaias-afwerki-and-his-inner-circle/. 52.  Report of the Detailed Findings of the Commission of Inquiry on Human Rights in Eritrea, 74. 53.  Ibid., 76. 54.  Ibid., 77.



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55.  David M. Bozzini, “Low-Tech Surveillance and the Despotic State in Eritrea,” Surveillance and Society 9, nos. 1/2 (2011): 93–113. 56.  Jason Warner, “Eritrea’s Military Unprofessionalism and US Security Assistance in the Horn of Africa,” Small Wars & Insurgencies 24, no. 4 (2013): 696–711. 57. International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Sub-Saharan Africa,” Military Balance 120, no. 1 (2020): 476. 58.  Nicole Hirt, “Eritrea,” in Africa Yearbook no. 16 (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 322. 59.  Report of the Detailed Findings of the Commission of Inquiry on Human Rights in Eritrea, 77. 60.  Just Deserters. 61.  Report of the Detailed Findings of the Commission of Inquiry on Human Rights in Eritrea, 77. 62.  2018 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Eritrea (US Department of State, 2018), https://www.state.gov/wp-content/uploads/2019/03/Eritrea-2018.pdf. 63.  Report of the Detailed Findings of the Commission of Inquiry on Human Rights in Eritrea, 75. 64.  Ibid., 75. 65.  Ibid., 75. 66.  Ibid., 75. 67.  David Bozzini, “The Fines and the Spies: Fears of State Surveillance in Eritrea and in the Diaspora,” Social Analysis 59, no. 4 (Winter 2015): 38. 68.  Report of the Monitoring Group on Somalia and Eritrea Pursuant to Security Council Resolution 1916 (2010) (United Nations, July 18, 2011), 15, https://www .un.org/ga/search/view_doc.asp?symbol=S/2011/433. 69.  Report of the Monitoring Group on Somalia and Eritrea, 70. 70.  Ibid., 70. 71.  Ibid., 70. 72.  Ibid., 71. 73.  Ibid., 72. 74.  Ibid., 72. 75.  Ibid., 72. 76.  Ibid., 356. 77.  Ibid., 72. 78. Plaut, Understanding Eritrea, 57. 79.  Ibid., 60. 80.  Report of the Monitoring Group on Somalia and Eritrea 108. 81.  Abdi Sheikh, “Anger in Somalia as Sons Secretly Sent to Serve in Eritrea Military Force,” Reuters, January 28, 2021, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-somalia -eritrea-security/anger-in-somalia-as-sons-secretly-sent-to-serve-in-eritrea-military -force-idUSKBN29X1F5. 82. Ibid. 83.  Report of the Monitoring Group on Somalia and Eritrea 79. 84.  Ibid., 79. 85.  Ibid., 79.

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 86. Giorgis, Eritrea at a Crossroads, 491; and Report of the detailed findings of the Commission of Inquiry on Human Rights in Eritrea, 124.  87. Ibid.  88. “Asmara Fears the Worst,” BBC, May 18, 2000, http://www.news.bbc .co.uk/2/hi/africa/754078.stm.  89. Report of the Monitoring Group on Somalia and Eritrea, 98.  90. Ibid., 98.   91.  Ibid., 98. See 98n303.  92. Plaut, Understanding Eritrea, 179.  93. Bahta, Hidden Party, 186, 187.  94. Report of the Commission of Inquiry on Human Rights in Eritrea, 82.  95. Ibid., 82.  96. “UN Expert Panel Cites Crimes against Humanity Committed by Eritrean Authorities Dating Back 25 Years,” United Nations, October 28, 2016, https://news.un.org/en/story/2016/10/543992-un-expert-panel-cites-crimes-against -humanity-committed-eritrean-authorities.   97.  “Eritrea Sanctions Lifted amid Growing Rapprochement with Ethiopia: Security Council,” United Nations, November 14, 2018, https://www.un.org/africare newal/news/eritrea-sanctions-lifted-amid-growing-rapprochement-ethiopia-security -council.  98. Report of the Monitoring Group on Somalia and Eritrea Pursuant to Security Council Resolution 2182 (2014): Eritrea (United Nations, October 19, 2015), 14/93, http://untribune.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Somalia-Eritrea-UN-Sanctions -Monitoring-Group-Report-Oct-2015.pdf.  99. Ibid. 100.  Edmund Blair, “Crises Give Eritrea Routes for Closer Global Engagement,” Reuters, February 29, 2016, https://www.reuters.com/article/idCAKCN0W21FW. 101. Jeremy Binnie, “UAE Building Its First Naval Base in Eritrea?,” IHS Jane’s Defence Weekly, April 15, 2016, https://tesfanews.net/uae-building-naval-base -eritrea/. 102.  John Gambrell, “UAE Dismantles Eritrea Base as It Pulls Back after Yemen War,” Associated Press, February 18, 2021, https://apnews.com/article/eritrea-dubai -only-on-ap-united-arab-emirates-east-africa-088f41c7d54d6a397398b2a825f5e45a. 103. Ibid. 104. Ibid. 105.  Report of the Commission of Inquiry on Human Rights in Eritrea, 16. 106.  Yvette Brend, “Landmark Settlement Is a Message to Canadian Companies Extracting Resources Overseas: Amnesty International,” CBC, October 23, 2020, https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/british-columbia/settlement-amnesty-scc-africa -mine-nevsun-1.5774910. 107.  Bemnet Negash et al. v. Nevsun, (Supreme Court of British Columbia, 2016), https://www.courthousenews.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/Forced-Labor.pdf.

18 Eswatini Intelligence Culture in Africa’s Absolute Monarchy Ryan Shaffer

Eswatini is one of the more unique countries in terms of politics as well as

intelligence and security services. As the only absolute monarchy in Africa and with the government’s widely reported suppression of political dissent, Eswatini’s (also written eSwatini) security concerns are largely internal, and the country does not face territorial threats from neighboring states. The country is rated “not free” by Freedom House, with a score of only 1 out of 40 for political rights, explaining that King Mswati III “exercises ultimate authority over all branches of the national government and effectively controls local governance through his influence over traditional chiefs.”1 Landlocked in Southern Africa by South Africa and Mozambique, Eswatini has a population of about 1.1 million people.2 The economy is dependent on South Africa; there is limited manufacturing, and it has the highest rate of human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) in the world, with about a quarter of all adults being HIV positive.3 This chapter explores Eswatini intelligence culture by reviewing the country’s unique security and political history and examines the government’s security objectives. Drawing from opposition media, Eswatini government publications, nongovernmental organizations, and academic studies, the chapter argues that the intelligence culture is aimed at protecting the monarch’s position and is likely impacted by the same broader issues in the government, such as corruption and lack of resources. This chapter is organized in three thematic sections. The first explores the country’s history and politics. In the second part, it reviews the intelligence and security services with attention to functions and threats. Last, it analyzes foreign security partners by highlighting the country’s unusual bilateral relations and lack of involvement by the international community. 227

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BACKGROUND Eswatini was colonized by the United Kingdom, which shaped the current government and security services. During the scramble for Africa, King Mbandzeni granted a group of whites a charter to address intrawhite matters in 1888, which was replaced by the Triumvirate Government in 1890.4 It was disbanded in 1895 when “the British agreed to allow Boers to administer Swaziland and the Transvaal took over its administration.”5 The 1907 British Land Partition Proclamation divided the land, with 43 percent going to the white settlers, 33 percent to the Swazi people, and 34 percent to the British Crown.6 Consequently, although whites were just a small fraction of the population, they owned about half of the agricultural land and nearly all of the mines and businesses.7 The minerals in the country—iron ore, coal, and asbestos—led the British government to believe that of the three High Commission territories, Swaziland was the only one that could self-govern.8 Moreover, white wealth depended on black labor, which was described by Hlengiwe Portia Dlami as a master-servant relationship.9 During this period, King Sobhuza II was a key collaborator with white and multinational business interests.10 A hereditary monarch, he led “a largely ethnically homogenous entity with a common language, custom, tradition, and history.”11 The British strategy of indirect rule was implemented with the monarch, and despite his Western education, he remained committed to traditional Swazi governance, which was “the antithesis of liberal democracy and its corollary, periodic elections.”12 As independence approached, the British government recognized the king as the head of state, and he was made responsible “for external affairs, defence, finance, and internal security.”13 Following independence in 1968, the government became a constitutional monarchy as laid out by Whitehall, with modern political institutions along with Swazi tradition, whereby the king reigned with his mother (“or a ritual substitute”).14 Elections were held in 1972 in which opposition politicians won representation in the House of Assembly, to the king’s disappointment.15 The following year, King Sobhuza II repealed the constitution; he governed with proclamations and decrees until his death in 1982.16 The parliament was dismissed, and the country did not have another parliament until 1978.17 Despite the repeal of the constitution, the king decreed that government officials were “responsible to the king.”18 Dissent was not tolerated. All public meetings required prior approval from the commissioner of police, the military and police were “positioned” at strategic locations, and attempting to form a political party or engaging in a political demonstration was a criminal offense punished by six months in prison.19



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King Sobhuza II’s son, Mswati III, became king in 1986 at the age of eighteen. Between King Sobhuza II’s August 1982 death and Mswati’s taking control, Queen Regent Dzeliwe and then Queen Regent Ntombi became head of state and was “advised” by Sozisa Dlamini, who was appointed by Sobhuza and was his cousin, while the prince continued in school and was underage.20 As the king, Mswati III maintains absolute control over the government and has never been elected to lead the country.21 Officially, King Mswati III and his mother are “co-monarchs” (a tradition since 1815) who rule the government’s three branches; the king selects the prime minister, while “power remains largely vested with the king and his traditional advisors.”22 Opposition or resistance to his power has been met with repressive laws and force from the security services.23 Indeed, the international press has described how he “has ruled with an iron fist, and his security forces have been accused of extra-judicial killings, arbitrary arrests, detentions and torture. Security agencies allegedly closely monitor personal communications, social media, public gatherings, as well as criticism of the king.”24 King Mswati III developed a reputation for wealth and extravagance as well as the lifestyles of his more than dozen wives, who each are given a palace. In 2008, the New York Times reported that the country’s budget included $30 million in “royal emoluments” for him, and he had an estimated $200 million in wealth.25 In 2018, King Mswati changed the country’s name from the colonial era name Swaziland to eSwatini, meaning “land of the Swazis” in the Swazi language.26 Likely due to its small population and not being a strategic location or having valuable natural resources to attract foreign nations, the country faces a multitude of issues. In contrast to King Mswati III’s wealth, Eswatini’s population suffers from severe poverty and lack of social services. According to the US Agency for International Development in 2021, about “70 percent of the population lives in poverty,” and “most high-level economic activity is conducted by non-Africans.”27 The country’s HIV infections—over 25 percent of adults—is the highest in the world and further compounded by tuberculosis being “at crisis levels.”28 In fact, the “health situation has brought overall life expectancy below 50 years, leaving an estimated 130,000 children without parents or adequate support.”29 The country is also plagued with corruption, costing the country millions of dollars every year. In 2020, Transparency International’s Corruption Perception Index ranked it 117 out of 180, with smaller numbers representing the least corruption.30 Scholar Kempe Ronald Hope argued that “corruption has taken a destructive and demoralizing hold on Swazi society, causing government to lose a substantial amount of money through fraudulent behavior.”31 Despite anti-corruption efforts, including establishing the Anti-Corruption Commission, corruption has flourished, affecting school admissions and

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government appointments, with “nepotism/favoritism” becoming more prominent.32 Publicly, politicians and even the king have pledged “zero tolerance” for corruption, but it has remained a significant issue.33 INTELLIGENCE AND SECURITY SERVICES Eswatini’s intelligence capabilities rest within the security and military services. In a monarchical system, the king is the ultimate power behind the security establishment and the intelligence customer. Thus, he is at once the top decision-maker and overseer. The government has a bicameral legislature, but the king appoints the prime minister and is the defense minister. The country lacks a centralized intelligence service but has police and military intelligence for internal security. In 2019 rumors were published about the government secretly establishing a National Intelligence Agency or Ministry of Police and Security under the king, but this does not appear to have come to fruition due to government personnel thwarting the effort.34 As a result, the intelligence functions have remained with the police and military, similar to how they functioned under British colonialism.35 One notable difference is the sheer size of the security services, demonstrating the importance that intelligence and security have in the government. Intelligence is mainly the function of the police, who are tasked with internal security in general beyond just crime. The Royal Eswatini Police Service (REPS) is directly under the Office of the Prime Minister, and the police commissioner commands the police and answers to King Mswati III, who is the commissioner in chief of the police.36 REPS traces its history to 1907, starting with a few dozen police from Europe.37 The first training school was established in 1927, with a modern one created during 1965 in Matsapha for the postcolonial environment.38 Its current mission is centered on four objectives: preserving peace, protecting life and property, preventing crime, and maintaining law and order.39 There are several REPS components that have intelligence or intelligencerelated functions, including the Criminal Investigation Department (CID) and the Intelligence Services.40 Little is publicly available about the Intelligence Services, but CID is “responsible for acting upon intelligence received and then building a case, from analysis of the initial incident through to arrest and prosecution of any suspect.”41 In one case, a REPS intelligence unit recruited a journalist who provided intelligence that led to the arrest of protesting teachers.42 When asked about the story, the president of the Swaziland National Association of Teachers “said it was very unfortunate that in this



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country, anyone who wants to climb the political ladder or gain favors from those in power targets teachers.”43 In addition, the REPS Criminal Intelligence Service is one of eight directorates in the police and is centered on crime.44 In particular, it seeks “to identify crime patterns, hot spots, and trends and also provide the information necessary to identify criminal offenders to investigators for the detection and prevention of organized and serious crime.”45 According to Swaziland News in an article about crime intelligence, the police “struggle” with resources, which undoubtedly impacts police intelligence.46 Moreover, the country has a Financial Intelligence Unit that is tasked with protecting the financial system and countering money laundering “through detecting, collecting, analysing and disseminating financial intelligence stakeholders.”47 The unit has five departments, including a “monitoring and analysis department” that responds to requests for information and produces research for stakeholders.48 According to the unit’s director, it has “limited resources,” and its mission is to “fight against organized crime, corruption, human trafficking, wildlife crimes and sexual offenses.”49 Little is known about the country’s intelligence operations. However, in a rare public statement, Prime Minister Barnabas Sibusiso Dlamini (1942– 2018) revealed that “intelligence operations” have uncovered “victims of organized crime units and trafficked through to neighbouring countries or even overseas” with the promise of work or education.50 Furthermore, the US Department of State explains that REPS “monitors all announced demonstrations” and has “used non-lethal force to control and disperse protestors.”51 The military also has important internal and external security functions necessitating intelligence. In contrast to the police, the Umbutfo Eswatini Defence Force (UEDF) is under the Ministry of Defence, and the commander in chief is King Mswati III. It was estimated to have about three thousand members in 2005.52 The force is tasked with external security but has internal security objectives, such as protecting the royal family.53 The force’s postcolonial origins are in a 1973 decree from King Sobhuza II that established the Royal Swaziland Defence Force with “a small cadre of instructors and commanders as permanent members” and grew to have 10,000 men.54 In 1977, it was renamed the UEDF using a traditional Swazi name and was established with an army, air force, and navy.55 In addition, the UEDF has a border patrol unit that historically dealt with infiltration from Mozambique and South Africa as well as immigrants, smugglers, and refugees.56 Throughout its history many countries provided assistance to the force, including Kenya, Israel, South Africa, Taiwan, and the United Kingdom.57 For intelligence specifically, a military intelligence unit was created in 1976 and eleven officers were trained in intelligence by

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Taiwan.58 Military intelligence was further professionalized with the creation of the Defence Intelligence School with help from South Africa in 1987.59 Jeffrey Tshabalala, Cyprian Nhlengethwa, and Martin Rupiya explain that the armed forces were a “source of political infighting and insecurity in Swaziland—a situation that the military has always had to take into consideration vis-à-vis broader civil–military relations within the country.”60 For example, the king appointed the army commander to be prime minister, and the commander’s deputy was appointed chair of the Civil Service Board, which “reflected a fusing of political–military relations with the king’s bureaucracy.”61 Tshabalala, Nhlengethwa, and Rupiya argue that “Swaziland has a military culture, and as far back as the late 16th century had organised regiments” with “complex formal and informal, modern and traditional decision-making nuances that are unique to the kingdom.”62 Opposition to the king demonstrates both the power and limitations of the intelligence and security services. Regarding social media, the Eswatini government sought to fine citizens for social media posts that ran contrary to the law, but journalist Zweli Martin Dlamini asserts that the inability to fine social media users demonstrates the “government does not have enough resources and human intelligence” and thus exposes “a government with a weak security.”63 Indeed, this reflects broader complaints in the government about limited resources. Given the king’s absolute control over the country and the fact that political parties cannot participate in national elections, protests in the country have been infrequent. However, in June 2021 protests that originated in rural areas spread to the cities, calling for police reform and freedoms.64 In the midst of the unrest, rumors circulated that King Mswati III left the country for safety, which the government denied.65 Despite a violent crackdown by the security services resulting in the deaths of demonstrators and a curfew, protests opposing the king continued.66 Police officers from the king’s palace specifically were accused—with the press citing “electronic evidence”—of killing pro-democracy activists.67 Acting prime minister Themba Masuku said, “Security forces are on the ground to maintain law and order.”68 Meanwhile, pro-democracy figures were accused and charged with “terrorism.”69 By August 2021, King Mswati III was reportedly being protected by soldiers from Equatorial Guinea, based on “intelligence” that soldiers in the king’s Royal Close Protection Unit were plotting to kill him.70 It was further reported that “the king mentioned that he no longer trusted local security officers to be very close to him following the numerous leaking of classified information.”71



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INTERNATIONAL PARTNERS Reflecting its relatively small territorial size and population, Eswatini has a limited international presence. This undoubtedly influences the number of bilateral relations as well as defense partnerships. There is no publicly available information about intelligence relations. Yet the countries that have relations with Eswatini are noteworthy, as it significantly shapes defense partnerships, businesses, telecommunications, and pressure from global powers. Since Eswatini is a landlocked nation surrounded by just two nations, Mozambique and South Africa, these countries have played an outsized role compared to other foreign countries. In 1984 it signed a “secret security understanding” with South Africa that offered potentially returning territory in exchange for compliance during apartheid.72 Indeed, during “1986–87, scores of South African guerrillas were hunted down and killed in Swaziland, culminating in tension and prompting student and worker protests.”73 Eswatini has about a dozen foreign diplomatic missions representing foreign governments and engages in sending and receiving defense aid, among other issues.74 It has embassies in Kuwait, Switzerland, Qatar, United Arab Emirates, the United Kingdom, and the United States.75 The United States, in particular, brings about six Eswanti military members to the country annually for education and training as well as aid in police training.76 Additionally, while Eswatini does not have a diplomatic mission in the Russian Federation, Russia has an embassy in Eswatini and has supplied weapons, maintenance, and other military assistance.77 In addition to neighbors as well as global and regional powers, Eswatini also has relations with the much less internationally recognized Taiwan.78 In fact, Eswatini has been the only African country that recognizes Taiwan rather than China since 2018.79 As a result, Taiwan has given aid, voiced support for the country in international forums, and developed security partnerships. King Mswati III has visited Taiwan more than a dozen times, where he has observed military exercises and praised Taiwan’s military.80 In response, China has “threatened” Eswatini with preventing commerce, and Eswatini has banned Chinese technology companies in favor of US companies.81 CONCLUSION Eswatini’s intelligence culture is layered with several historical, political, and social factors. First, the British colonial legacy of intelligence resting with the police still impacts the country, as it lacks an independent civilian intelligence agency. It is one of the few countries in Africa to still follow

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this model. Second, the intelligence culture is significantly informed by the monarchy and related perceptions about King Mswati III’s support and effectiveness. Indeed, the political context of a monarch ruling over a country for four decades and that has more recently brutally attacked protestors impacts the intelligence culture. A monarch who is losing support and faces threats to his rule is more likely to expand and utilize intelligence and security officers to preserve power. Third, social issues, including corruption, poverty, and a high rate of HIV infection, directly and indirectly impact the intelligence culture as intelligence officers are not immune to social issues as well as the influence those issues have on society’s support for the monarch, government, and law enforcement. Worsening social issues might be connected to intelligence officers behaving corruptly, challenges in obtaining human intelligence, and the creation of more security challenges. Moreover, poverty and limited government resources undoubtedly restrain the intelligence capabilities of the government. It does not appear that King Mswati III’s power is immediately threatened, as the country’s relative isolation makes it largely immune from international pressure, and the security forces have the upper hand against threats to the king’s power. Consequently, the intelligence culture is also unlikely to change in the near term, as there is no endogenous factor that will stimulate significant reform. Indeed, Eswatini’s intelligence culture appears to remain intertwined with the monarch’s power and governance, and the intelligence and security services remain focused on preserving the monarch’s rule. NOTES   1.  “Eswatini,” Freedom House, 2021, https://freedomhouse.org/country/eswatini /freedom-world/2020.  2. “Eswatini,” in The World Factbook (Central Intelligence Agency, 2021), https://www.cia.gov/the-world-factbook/countries/eswatini/.   3.  Recently, the government has instituted changes; see “How the World’s Highest HIV-Prevalence Country Turned around, and in Record Time,” World Health Organization, December 1, 2020, https://www.afro.who.int/news/how-worlds-highest -hiv-prevalence-country-turned-around-and-record-time.   4.  Hlengiwe Portia Dlami, A Constitutional History of the Kingdom of Eswatini (Swaziland), 1960–1982 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2019), 39.  5. Ibid., 40.  6. Ibid., 41.  7. Ibid., 42.  8. Ibid., 43.  9. Ibid., 43. 10.  Ibid., 44.



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11.  Ibid., 45. 12.  Ibid., 49. 13.  Ibid., 188. 14.  Ibid., 238, 239. 15.  Ibid., 253. 16.  Ibid., 282, 290. 17.  Ibid., 290. 18.  Ibid., 293. 19.  Ibid., 291. 20.  Siyinqaba, “The Eswatini Monarchy,” Africa Insight 14, no. 1 (1984).): 14–16, https://journals.co.za/doi/pdf/10.10520/AJA02562804_192. 21.  Dimpho Motsamai, “Swaziland: Can Southern Africa’s Last Absolute Monarchy Democratise?,” African Security Review 20, no. 2 (2011): 42–50. 22.  2019 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Eswatini (US Department of State, 2019), https://www.state.gov/reports/2019-country-reports-on-human -rights-practices/eswatini/. 23. Kuseni Dlamin, “Swaziland: The Winds of Change,” Indicator SA 12, no. (Spring 1995): 18–22, https://journals.co.za/doi/pdf/10.10520/AJA0259188X_1142. 24.  Shannon Ebrahim, “The Sad Track Record of eSwatini’s King Mswati III,” Independent Online (South Africa), July 9, 2021, https://www.iol.co.za/news/opinion /the-sad-track-record-of-eswatinis-king-mswati-iii-42cf90dc-d43b-4d9d-905e -50f43639fbb8. 25. Barry Bearak, “In Destitute Swaziland, Leader Lives Royally,” New York Times, September 5, 2008. 26.  Sewell Chan, “Swaziland’s King Wants His Country to Be Called eSwatini,” New York Times, April 19, 2018. 27.  “Eswatini,” USAID, 2021, https://www.usaid.gov/eswatini. 28. Ibid 29. Ibid. 30.  “Swaziland,” Transparency International, 2021, https://www.transparency.org /en/countries/swaziland. 31.  Kempe Ronald Hope Sr., Corruption and Governance in Africa: Swaziland, Kenya, Nigeria (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017), 31. 32.  Ibid., 35. 33.  Ibid., 36. 34.  Zweli Martin Dlamini, “Secret Plot to Establish National Intelligence Agency,” Swaziland News, February 19, 2019, https://web.archive.org/web/20190325111243 /http://www.swazilandnews.co.za/swazinews1602201902.html. 35.  For more on colonial and postcolonial intelligence continuities, see Ryan Shaffer, ed., African Intelligence Services: Early Postcolonial and Contemporary Challenges (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2021). 36. “Eswanti,” INTERPOL, 2021, https://www.interpol.int/en/Who-we-are /Member-countries/Africa/ESWATINI. 37.  “Brief History of the Royal Eswatini Police Service,” Royal Eswatini Police Service, 2021, http://www.police.gov.sz/brief-history-of-the-royal-swaziland-police -service/.

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38. Ibid. 39. Ibid. 40. For the leadership of these two units, see “Press Release,” Government of Swaziland, December 15, 2011, http://www.gov.sz/transfers%202011.pdf. 41.  Royal Swaziland Police Service Annual Report 2010 (Royal Swaziland Police Service, 2010), 56, http://www.gov.sz/rsp%20-%20anual%20report%202011.pdf. 42. Zweli Martin Dlamini, “Ex-Times Journalist Rewarded with Job as Police Spy after ‘Crucifying’ Protesting Teachers,” Swaziland News, April 28, 2020, https:// www.swazilandnews.co.za/fundza.php?nguyiphi=356. 43. Ibid. 44.  Royal Swaziland Police Service Annual Report 2010. 45.  Ibid., 57. 46.  Zweli Martin Dlamini, “Jomo Khumalo Murder: Government Must Capacitate Police Crime Intelligence,” Swaziland News, December 6, 2019, www.swazi landnews.co.za/fundza.php?nguyiphi=70. 47. “Financial Intelligence Unit,” Swaziland Financial Intelligence Unit, 2021, http://www.sfiu.org.sz/about/index.php. 48. Ibid. 49.  “Remarks by the Honourable Minister,” Government of Eswatini, September 19, 2019, http://www.gov.sz/index.php/latest-news/204-latest-news?start=50. 50.  “Remarks by the RT Hon Prime Minister Dr B. S. S. Dlamini,” Government of Eswatini, 2012, http://www.gov.sz/index.php/latest-news/204-latest-news/1324 -swaziland-intensifies-fight-against-crime. 51.  Eswatini 2020 Crime & Safety Report (US Department of State, April, 21, 2020), https://www.osac.gov/Content/Report/675846fb-4889-456a-aaed-187ffcb2d7e2. 52. Jeffrey Tshabalala, Cyprian Nhlengethwa, and Martin Rupiya, “Caught between Tradition and Regional Warfare: The Umbutfo Swaziland Defence Force since 1968,” in Evolutions & Revolutions: A Contemporary History of Militaries in Southern Africa (Pretoria: Institute for Security Studies, 2005), 292, https://issafrica .s3.amazonaws.com/site/uploads/EVOLUTCHAP10.PDF. 53.  2019 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Eswatini. 54. Tshabalala, Nhlengethwa, and Rupiya, “Caught between Tradition and Regional Warfare,” 275, 276, 277. 55.  Ibid., 284. 56. Ibid. 57. Ibid. 58.  Ibid., 285. 59.  Ibid., 285. 60.  Ibid., 286. 61.  Ibid., 287. 62.  Ibid., 292. 63.  Zweli Martin Dlamini, “E10million Facebook Fine: Cabinet Lacks Resources and Intelligence to Control Digital Media,” Swaziland News, August 30, 2020, https:// www.swazilandnews.co.za/fundza.php?nguyiphi=598.



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64. “Eswatini: End Use of Lethal Force against Protesters,” Freedom House, June 30, 2021, https://freedomhouse.org/article/eswatini-end-use-lethal-force-against -protesters. 65. Helen Nyambura and Monique Vanek, “Africa’s Last Absolute Monarchy Eswatini Denies King Fled,” Bloomberg, June 29, 2021, https://www.bloomberg .com/news/articles/2021-06-29/africa-s-last-absolute-monarch-flees-amid-protests -sabc-reports. 66. “Tensions Run High in Eswatini as Pro-democracy Protests Continue,” Al Jazeera, June 30, 2021, https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2021/6/30/tensions-run-high -eswatini-pro-democracy-protests-continue. 67.  Zweli Martin Dlamini, “Revealed: How King Mswati Ordered Security Officers to Shoot Five People at Lobamba Mashibhini for Ritual Purposes,” Swaziland News, August 3, 2021, https://www.swazilandnews.co.za/fundza.php?nguyiphi=1402. 68. Ibid. 69.  Linda Givetash, “Arrest of Eswatini Lawmakers Condemned by International Community,” Voice of America, July 30, 2021, https://www.voanews.com/africa /arrest-eswatini-lawmakers-condemned-international-community. 70. Zweli Martin Dlamini, “King Mswati Now Escorted by Equatorial Guinea Soldiers after a Major Security Threat,” Swaziland News, August 5, 2021, www .swazilandnews.co.za/fundza.php?nguyiphi=1409. 71. Ibid. 72. Tshabalala, Nhlengethwa, and Rupiya, “Caught between Tradition and Regional Warfare,” 288. 73.  Ibid., 289. 74.  “Embassy in Washington DC,” Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International CoOperation, 2021, http://www.gov.sz/index.php/departments-sp-336728999?id=453. 75. “Missions Abroad,” Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International CoOperation, 2021. www.gov.sz/index.php/departments-sp-336728999. 76.  “U.S. Relations with Eswatini,” US Department of State, January 13, 2020, https://www.state.gov/u-s-relations-with-eswatini/. 77.  Jakob Hedenskog, “Russia Is Stepping Up Its Military Cooperation in Africa,” Swedish Defence Research Agency, December 2018, https://www.foi.se/rest-api /report/FOI%20MEMO%206604. 78.  “Missions Abroad.” 79.  Larry Madowo, “eSwatini—Taiwan’s Last Friend in Africa,” BBC, January 14, 2019, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-46831852. 80.  Teng Pei-ju, “eSwatini King Observes Military Exercises, Welcomed by 21Gun Salute, Treated with Great Courtesy in Taiwan,” Taiwan News, August 6, 2018, https://www.taiwannews.com.tw/en/news/3452297. 81.  Phillip de Wet, “Eswatini Has Vowed to Ban Chinese Companies from Its Cellphone Networks,” Business Insider, January 21, 2021, https://www.business insider.co.za/eswatini-joins-the-us-clean-network-plan-to-block-chinese-5g-equip ment-2021-1.

19 Ethiopia Intelligence in a Contradictory Context Ryan Shaffer

Ethiopia faces several internal and external stresses. Indeed, Ethiopia’s mod-

ern history has been marked by internal and external concerns ranging from Italian colonialism to Eritrean liberation. At the same time, the country has demonstrated a remarkable ability to continue its struggles, overcome challenges, and adapt to a variety of situations. As a state, Ethiopia’s government severely restricts civil liberties and political rights. Freedom House’s 2020 report rated the country as “not free” and ranked political rights in the country as 10 out of 40; civil liberties scored a mere 14 out of 60.1 The country suffers from corruption, with Corruption Perceptions Index ranking Ethiopia 94 out of 180 countries.2 Ethiopia also faces a variety of social issues, including more than twelve million people suffering from food insecurity, and violence has displaced over three million people.3 Bordered by Eritrea, Kenya, Djibouti, Somalia, Sudan, and South Sudan, it is one of the most populated African countries, with over fifty million people.4 A landlocked country dependent on Somalia and Djibouti for sea access, the economy is largely centered on agriculture. This chapter argues that Ethiopia’s intelligence culture has undergone reforms and established intelligence relations with foreign countries but remains politicized, as one of its key focuses is regime opponents rather than national security threats. Though the literature in English about Ethiopia’s intelligence is limited due to the political and wartime context of its postcolonial history, there are useful press materials and primary sources on the Ethiopia intelligence services’ website in English. This chapter synthesizes secondary sources about the intelligence services along with publicly available official documents as well as press and human rights organizations’ reporting. The chapter is divided into four parts. It begins with a background 239

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on Ethiopia’s history and security situation to provide the context about how intelligence services evolved. Next, it examines aspects of the current intelligence community, with attention to recent reforms and relations. Then the chapter explores foreign intelligence relations, activities, and oversight, with attention to security threats and challenges. Last, the chapter provides a brief conclusion, highlighting trends and the continuing contradictions impacting the intelligence culture. BACKGROUND Ethiopia has a rich ancient history with diverse ethnic groups speaking different languages, and the region is home to some of the earliest traces of hominids. In terms of security, the kingdoms and empires in the region have a long history of defending themselves from invaders. Scholar Bahru Zewde described 1769 as the start of the era known as Zamana Masafent, which marked the “nadir of imperial power” in which the nobility gained power, but it was not until 1855 that the emperor had his own army.5 Religious disputes shaped politics, and the peasant class played a key role in society with a “military ethos.” Zewde explained, “To be an armed retainer of a lord freed one not only from the drudgery of farming but also from the harassment and persecution of the soldier.”6 At the start of the nineteenth century, Europeans took a “renewed” interest in Ethiopia for a variety of national, religious, and scientific reasons.7 Meanwhile, Egypt emerged as a foreign occupier of Ethiopia as it expanded territorial control.8 The reign of Emperor Tewodros II, coronated in 1855, “inaugurated the modern history of Ethiopia,” and he built a reputation on his military victories against Egypt.9 However, troop discipline was a consistent concern, and he resorted to amputating soldiers’ limbs “for unauthorized fighting”; just prior to his suicide in 1868, he wrote that his “countrymen” had “turned their backs” on him for trying “to bring them under military discipline.”10 Subsequent leaders emerged to unite Ethiopia. Emperor Yohannes IV led victories against foreign invaders, and unification efforts incorporated a religious doctrine that enforced orthodoxy of the church.11 To aid the fight against invaders, the British provided weapons, and foreign individuals taught basic military training. Yohannes IV ended Egyptian expansion and defeated internal challenges, but Italy began its occupation of Massawa in 1885. Yohannes IV died on the battlefield fighting against Mahdist Sudan in 1889, and the Italians expanded control in the highlands.12 Emperor Menelik II succeeded Yohannes IV and declared the official borders of the country to the European powers.13 Facing fierce resistance,



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Menelik II personally joined the battles and established a capital city—Addis Ababa—in a strategic location.14 Menelik II also made agreements—including the 1889 Treaty of Wuchale—with the Italians, establishing diplomatic relations, free movement, and trade; securing arms from Europe; and providing a post for the Italians that later served “as a base for gathering intelligence.”15 The First Italo-Ethiopian War began in 1895 but ended in 1896 with Ethiopia’s victory, which ensured independence. However, the country still faced significant European influence despite its admission to the League of Nations in 1925 and faced an arms embargo over slavery.16 Just years before Menelik II’s death in 1913, he established a modern bureaucracy with a ministerial system to ensure government continuity by having, for example, Ministries of Interior, War, and Finance.17 Menelik II’s death prompted succession problems, including concerns among the nobility over policies and ideologies of the designated heir, which led to the reign of Menelik II’s daughter, Empress Zewditu, from 1916 until 1930.18 Seven months after her death in 1930, Emperor Haile Selassie I was coronated; he ruled Ethiopia until the 1974 revolution. A constitution in 1931 established the emperor’s absolute powers and created a parliament with members selected through “indirect elections” that “emphasized the belief that the people were not yet ready for active participation in the political process.”19 As for security, Ethiopia established the Imperial Bodyguard in 1930 with three infantry battalions and a company with machine guns that was led by officers educated by the French military as well as shaped by a Swedish military program starting in 1934.20 The Second Italo-Ethiopian War began in 1935 and had lasting effects following Italy’s 1937 victory, which established its power in the region until 1941. Fascist Italy’s October 1935 invasion of Ethiopia with modern warfare armaments proved too powerful for Ethiopia, and the country was defeated; Emperor Haile Selassie I fled into exile on a British warship.21 Ultimately Italian East Africa, with its “top-heavy bureaucracy and corruption,” was short-lived due to a combination of continued resistance and the Second World War’s Allied offensives against the Axis in Africa.22 A key aspect of the resistance was the guerrilla unit’s use of intelligence collected through guards or scouts who warned of Italian approaches, as well as the collection of human intelligence inside Italy’s military that provided details about strength, movements, and planned operations.23 Women in particular played an important role in these efforts, as they often raised “less suspicion” than men.24 Nonetheless, after five years the Italians were defeated in April 1941, and Emperor Haile Selassie I returned to Addis Ababa in May.25 After Italy’s defeat, Ethiopia underwent significant transformation and political turbulence. The challenges included unequal distribution of land,

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which displaced and prompted rebellions from peasants; outsized influence of the United Kingdom and then the United States; and a federation with Eritrea that gave Ethiopia a coast on the sea but led to a bloody three-decade war with residual conflict. Notably, the United States established a military base and provided military training during the 1950s.26 By 1972 the total aid received was over US$180 million, and more than twenty-five hundred Ethiopians received military training from the United States by 1968.27 Zewde argued that the 1955 constitution was “a legal charter for the consolidation of absolutism.”28 The security apparatus was key to state coercion. Modeled after the British, Germans, and then Israelis, the Department of Public Security under the Ministry of Interior suppressed political dissent.29 Zewde explained that the financial budgets demonstrated “priority accorded to the apparatus of coercion,” with 60 million Ethiopian birr (about US$30 million) going to the Ministry of Interior and 80 million birr (about US$40 million) to the Ministry of Defence out of the country’s entire 400 million birr (about US$200 million) budget in 1967.30 An attempted coup by the commander of the Imperial Bodyguard in 1960 proved to be a watershed, as peasants, students, and members of the military became radicalized because “repression left no other option”; ultimately the emperor was overthrown by the military in September 1974, and he was later killed.31 When the military forced the emperor from power, it also took control of the country; “1974–1991 marked one long period of unqualified disaster” for “much of the West.”32 Ranking officials, military figures opposed to the coup, and political opponents were labeled terrorists were executed without trial. The Derg (committee), officially titled the Provisional Military Government of Socialist Ethiopia, took control of the country and “was probably more anti-democratic than the monarchy it had abolished,” but “its discourse was democratic.”33 In 1977, Mengistu Haile Mariam—a military officer instrumental in the coup—became head of state, and he maintained absolute power until ousted by the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF)/Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF) in 1991.34 Mengistu exercised power ruthlessly, relying on soldiers to silence opposition, and established the Flame (Nabalbal) for counterinsurgency operations, with tight control over the security apparatus.35 As for intelligence, the Public Security Organization was a civilian intelligence and counterintelligence service, staffed by civilians, police, and military, who received training from the Soviet Union and East Germany.36 It included an internal security office of fewer than one thousand people (not including informants) who used torture, execution, and secret prisons, and a Military Security Main Department of about seven hundred people to monitor the military.37 There was a separate intelligence service under the Armed Forces chief of staff, named the Military



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Intelligence Department, that focused on military matters, including training, collection, and assessments for defense.38 As for external operations, Ethiopia’s intelligence services supported Sudanese and Somali insurgent groups.39 Despite the brutality and skill with which he had outmaneuvered his opponents in the 1970s and 1980s, Mengistu fled the country in 1991. His grip on power was loosened by continued guerrilla attacks that the military failed to defeat, as well as the Eritrean liberation movement, which fought Ethiopian forces until Eritrea received independence in 1991.40 Zewde wrote that, “politics, which had been the preserve of the privileged few, came down to the lower ranks of society, albeit carefully controlled and monitored from above.”41 The post-1991 environment witnessed further changes and contradictions. Mulugeta Gebrehiwot Berhe’s study of the TPLF’s and EPRDF’s transformation from liberation movement to government noted “much of the knowledge of the liberation war is not available in writing due to the difficulties of the war environment.”42 As a veteran of the war and a founding member of the EPRDF council, Berhe claimed that the military regime’s silencing of dissent left little alternative to violent radicalization. When the TPLF and EPRDF transitioned to government, the latter demobilized the old security services, including the military, during the 1990s, and established control over domestic security.43 Yet the Eritrean-Ethiopian War from May 1998 to June 2000 led the EPRDF to regress to a “politico-military style of leadership.”44 Contradictory actions emerged, with efforts in 2002 to professionalize the civil service, while the party’s and state’s structures “fused.”45 As a result, aspects of the party merged with the state, impediments to competitive politics were prevalent, and secrets were concentrated within a small segment of the leadership.46 In 2010, EPRDF “won 545 of 547 seats to remain in power for a fourth consecutive five-year term” amid reports of intimidation and harassment.47 In 2019, EPRDF transitioned into the Prosperity Party, and TPLF became the government’s opposition, raising concerns about ethnic and political representation and fault lines in the government that could stoke violence.48 Fighting broke out between the TPLF and government in 2020, with mass killings and Eritrea’s military becoming involved as the TPLF and its allies increasingly made gains during 2021.49 INTELLIGENCE COMMUNITY Ethiopia has a robust security service and military strength; intelligence is shared among relevant agencies, and the formal institution for national security decisions resides in the National Security Council under the Office

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of the Prime Minister.50 According to the International Institute for Strategic Studies in 2020, “Ethiopia maintains one of the region’s largest and most capable armed forces.”51 With external security deployments and aid to Sudan and Somalia, Ethiopia is engaging in a modernization effort for its military with Hungary, Ukraine, and the United States to supplement its small local military industry and replace its Soviet-era equipment.52 The military has a reported size of 138,000 personnel (the army with 135,000 and air force with 3,000).53 Additionally, there are five key intelligence and security services: National Intelligence and Security Services (NISS), Federal Police Commission, Information Network Security Agency (INSA), Immigration Nationality and Vital Events Agency (INAVEA), and military intelligence for the Ethiopian National Defense Force under the Ministry of Defense.54 The NISS is the most prominent, providing “vital and timely intelligence on threats and opportunities affecting the national security” for internal and external issues, and it posts intelligence officers in foreign countries.55 The NISS’s official history traces its origins to the 1935 Italian invasion of the country, in which the General Security Department was established under the Ministry of Governor with proclamation no. 6/1934; it was led by Lieutenant Workneh Gebeyehu from 1935 to 1953.56 Following an attempted coup in 1955, the General Security Department was moved under the supervision of the Emperor’s Special Cabinet and was led by Solomon Kedir until 1966.57 That year, the Military Derg took power and established the Committee for People’s Security and Peace by proclamation no. 10/1966; it was led by Colonel Tesfaye Woldesilassie from 1966 to 1983. It was not until August 1972 that it became a ministry, known as the Ministry of Security Protection for the Country and the People.58 In 1983, it was transformed into the Ministry of Internal Affairs under Kuma Demeksa; in 1987 it was renamed the Authority for Security, Immigration and Refugees Affair and placed under the Office of the Prime Minister by proclamation no. 6/1987.59 In 2005, it was officially renamed the NISS under proclamation no. 804/2005, with its director general appointed by the prime minister. Despite the changes, there has been a high level of continuity in leadership. It was led by Ato Kinfe G. Medhin from 1987 to 1993, Getachew Asseffa from 1993 to 2018, Adem Mohammed from 2018 to 2019, and Demelash Gebremichael from 2019 to 2020; since 2020 the director has been Temesgen Tiruneh.60 In 2013, the NISS regained “ministerial status as an autonomous federal government office having its own legal personality” with proclamation no. 804/2013.61 Besides the NISS, Ethiopia has several other intelligence- and securityrelated institutions. Notably, the Information Network Security Agency (INSA) is tasked with protecting Ethiopia’s “information and information infrastructure” by “ensur[ing] information superiority.”62 With a logo that



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resembles both a radio tower and an eye, it was labeled a “cyber-spying outfit” by the press, and its founding director was Abiy Ahmed, who became the country’s prime minister in 2018 (he also won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2019).63 In 2021, Facebook announced it was banning “a network of fake accounts” linked to the INSA for deceitfully posting criticism of opposition politicians.64 When Reuters contacted the Office of the Prime Minister about Facebook’s ban, the government responded: “INSA is under the ministry of peace and an independent institution—you can address your question there.”65 In addition to the INSA, the Federal Police Commission engages in law enforcement activities and is tasked with crime and security issues.66 Given Ethiopia’s turbulent history and the role of security in maintaining power, intelligence has a vital role in the current government. Indeed, those engaged in intelligence work have held prominent positions in government. In 2020, Prime Minister Ahmed boasted about his “intelligence background” and explained that he sees the intelligence services’ role as providing “information to enhance the executive body’s decision-making process, not to make executive decisions.”67 In 2019 Ahmed had appointed Adem Mohammed, then head of NISS, to be the military’s chief of staff following the death of the previous chief of staff due to an attempted coup, and in 2021 Mohammed was appointed ambassador to Turkey.68 Despite the importance of intelligence, the services appear to suffer from inadequacies, evidenced by a series of high-level changes, continued internal insurgencies, and reforms within the intelligence services. According to Ahmed, intelligence reform was initiated because “the security sector was filled with people with no training, knowledge or competence in security and intelligence issues.”69 People were “hired based on connections and family ties,” which meant “the security institutions literally required dismantling and rebuilding.”70 In 2019, Ato Temesgen Tiruneh, former INSA director and former minister of security affairs, was selected by Ahmed to initiate reform over a year to restructure the NISS in four “clusters,” replacing the internal security unit format that was organized by regions.71 The reform was needed because the NISS “was expected to analyze information and give advice [to] the policy makers and decision makers,” yet “it didn’t have a structure to do so.”72 Additionally, it was not following the law and did not even have a legal department.73 Finally, Tiruneh told the press the “NISS had no culture of giving any kind of” information to the “press” and “questioned [why] the leaders of the organization don’t give information on national issues.”74 In late 2020 amid fighting in Tigray, Tiruneh was appointed NISS director and said he would continue reforms.75 To improve the quality of its intelligence officers, the government launched several programs to train them. The NISS operates the National

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Intelligence University College (NIUC), which provides training and “theoretical knowledge” about security challenges.76 The NIUC is also attended by foreign intelligence officers, including a cohort from the Somali regional state’s Peace and Security Bureau that graduated seventy-one (fifty-seven male and fourteen female) officers.77 Additionally, the college has a cooperation agreement with Addis Ababa University to “provide undergraduate and post graduate educational trainings scholarships in regular, distance and continued education programs for NISS, NIUC leaders, and employees.”78 The NISS also offers its own training for other security personnel, such as hosting training on “how to easily prevent and foil terrorism attempts.”79 INTELLIGENCE RELATIONS, ACTIVITIES, AND OVERSIGHT Ethiopia has been vocal about its activities and information-sharing relationships, likely to highlight its international clout and bolster an image of effectiveness. Following the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, the United States and Ethiopia began sharing intelligence out of mutual interest. Scholar Sobukwe Odinga argued intelligence became a “central pillar” in US-Ethiopia bilateral relationship, but “the US was more reliant on this cooperation than Ethiopia.”80 More recently, in 2019 the United States issued a press release that it had signed an agreement with Ethiopia “for access to and exchange of information in order to strengthen the ability of both nations to protect against acts of terrorism.”81 More broadly, the NISS announced it had discussed ways to expand cooperation with Russia “in the field of intelligence and security.”82 In late 2020, the NISS explained that it had “agreed” with Israel’s Mossad “to strengthen . . . cooperation to jointly fighting terrorism in the Horn of Africa.”83 According to the press, Israeli deputy public security minister Gadi Yevarkan praised Ethiopia’s efforts in the region and intelligence reforms and was “keen to strengthen its relation with the country in intelligence and security issues.”84 Furthermore, NISS agreed to improve intelligence relations regarding weapons trafficking, terrorism, and border issues with South Sudan’s intelligence services following a meeting between NISS and South Sudan’s National Security Service.85 Ethiopia’s NISS engages in a broad range of national security and criminal investigative activities, including terrorism, illegal weapons trafficking, and surveillance. NISS has interdicted containers of illegal firearms destined for Ethiopia from Turkey via Djibouti and worked with intelligence services from Djibouti, Sudan, Libya, Turkey, and the United States to counter arms trafficking.86 Internally, NISS has also recovered illegal Turkish-made weapons.87



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Human Rights Watch has reported about surveillance used for “harassment, arbitrary detention, and prosecution of opposition leaders, journalists, and activists” through anti-terrorism and civil society laws.88 Former intelligence officers revealed that informants or intelligence officers provided human intelligence about organizations in addition to electronic surveillance.89 Indeed, the fear of surveillance in society prompts self-censorship even in email and other online communications.90 Ethiopia’s telecommunications industry was modernized by three major Chinese companies in 2006, and the NISS makes use of phone records and recorded calls, according to numerous reports collected by Human Rights Watch.91 Additionally, Prime Minister Ahmed has explained the importance of obtaining intelligence “through drone surveillance.”92 In 2020, Ethiopia’s intelligence and security services gathered for a one-day meeting to pass “resolutions” about intelligence priorities and had particular interest in the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam (GERD) and those opposed to the project.93 The implications of the dam impacting downstream countries have brought about tensions and risk of conflict with Egypt, which has signed security agreements with countries like Uganda concerning the dam.94 Though religion was not a key platform for insurgent groups, and the government took a secular turn in the 1974 revolution, more recently “an increasing number of Ethiopian Muslims have drifted towards the values and models of behaviour of radical Islamic movements, among which Salafism has been the most influential.”95 Concurrently, NISS has made counterterrorism a priority.96 For fiscal year 2019/2020 that ended in July 2020, the NISS announced that it had arrested over thirty suspected members from the Islamic State (IS) and Al-Shabaab and seized more than 400 Kalashnikov rifles, over 27,000 guns, and nearly 170,000 bullets.97 According to the US Department of State’s 2019 Country Reports on Human Rights, intelligence officers arrested opposition political party figures for “terrorist crimes.”98 In early 2021, NISS disrupted a planned terrorist attack on the United Arab Emirates’s embassy in Addis Ababa and a second attack at the diplomatic mission in Sudan, with help from Sudanese intelligence.99 Additionally, the government claimed that the NISS, in a joint effort with the Ethiopian National Defense Forces (ENDF), the Federal Police Commission, and the INSA, had broken up “underground” cells involving people in Germany and the United States planning to “disrupt” the elections.100 Oversight of Ethiopia’s intelligence service is cloudy, and there are no meaningful independent checks on the executive branch of the government. However, the NISS has acknowledged illegal actions and recently established a legal department to comply with the law.101 In April 2018, Ahmed described past NISS abuses as “terrorism” and claimed that he was seeking to distance

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the government from its authoritarian past by addressing human rights abuses.102 In November 2018, Attorney General Berhanu Tsegaye announced dozens of senior military and intelligence officers had been arrested for corruption and human rights abuses.103 In addition to officers being accused of a grenade attack targeting Prime Minister Ahmed, Tsegaye said prisoners were tortured and subjected to sexual abuses in “secret” prisons operated by the NISS.104 In particular, “detainees were subjected to various abuses including gang rapes, sodomy, prolonged exposure to extreme heat and cold, waterboarding and deprivation of sunlight.”105 Tsegaye reported that the abuses were “institutionalized” within the NISS.106 The charges involved actions taking place at seven secret prisons in the capital and involved former federal police commissioner and NISS deputy director Yared Zerihun.107 In May 2019, former NISS head Getachew Assefa (until June 2018) was charged along with dozens of other intelligence officers with human rights abuses, but he could not be located.108 The arrests and prosecutions should not imply that corruption or abuses in the government have lessened. In 2020, the US Department of State explained that the Ethiopian government “did not implement” laws against public corruption “effectively or comprehensively,” and there were officials who “engaged in corrupt practices with impunity.”109 In 2020, Amnesty International also reported that “the authorities subjected opposition politicians and journalists to prolonged pre-trial detention without charge, many of them for several months” and engaged in unlawful killings.110 The absence of the rule of law and the politicized environment undoubtedly feed a culture of arbitrariness and illegal behavior that supports regime survival. CONCLUSION Ethiopia’s intelligence culture is shaped by a broader historical legacy of battles against internal and external enemies marked by contradictory forces, ideas, and pressures. Whether under control of a foreign colonial power, a military leader who seized power in a coup, or a prime minister with an intelligence background, Ethiopia’s government has placed importance on building and maintaining its intelligence and security services. While the current government has denounced past abuses of the intelligence services for their violations of people’s rights, the government has been accused of human rights violations by the United Nations and international human rights groups. Moreover, the government has been unbothered about the broader political environment, which lacks political pluralism and independent and meaningful oversight for the security institutions. The threats Ethiopia faces



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from state and nonstate actors are very real, but the intelligence services devote significant resources to internal political opponents. Moreover, the effectiveness of the intelligence services amid internal conflict and political fragmentation is a serious question. According to the NISS, it has six organizational values: integrity, commitment, excellence, secrecy, collaboration, and accountability.111 It is clear these values are more aspirational based on the NISS’s reforms, arrests, and the public reports about failures to prevent internal insurgencies. The question remains whether the intelligence culture can employ these values when so much of the intelligence and security services’ actions and objectives serve a specific political party rather than the Ethiopian people as a whole. NOTES   1.  “Ethiopia,” Freedom House, 2021, https://freedomhouse.org/country/ethiopia /freedom-world/2020.  2. “Ethiopia,” Corruption Perceptions Index/Transparency International, 2021, https://www.transparency.org/en/countries/ethiopia.  3. Ibid.  4. “Ethiopia,” in The World Factbook, Central Intelligence Agency, 2021, https:// www.cia.gov/the-world-factbook/countries/ethiopia/.  5. Bahru Zewde, A History of Modern Ethiopia, 1855–1991, 2nd ed. (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2001), 11.  6. Ibid., 15.  7. Ibid., 25.  8. Ibid., 26.  9. Ibid., 27. 10.  Ibid., 33. 11.  Ibid., 47, 48. 12.  Ibid., 56, 57. 13.  Ibid., 61. 14.  Ibid., 62. 15.  Ibid., 74. 16.  Ibid., 85. 17.  Ibid., 115. 18.  Ibid., 123. 19.  Ibid., 141, 143. 20.  Ibid., 148. 21.  Christopher Clapham, “The Era of Haile Selassie,” in Understanding Contemporary Ethiopia: Monarchy, Revolution and the Legacy of Meles Zenawi, ed. Gérard Prunier and Éloi Ficquet (London: Hurst, 2015), 191. 22. Zewde, History of Modern Ethiopia, 162, 167. 23.  Ibid., 172.

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24.  Ibid., 172. 25.  Clapham, “Era of Haile Selassie,” 194. 26. Zewde, History of Modern Ethiopia, 184, 185. 27.  Ibid., 186. 28.  Ibid., 206. 29.  Ibid., 207. 30.  Ibid., 208. 31.  Ibid., 226. See also Clapham, “Era of Haile Selassie,” 205. 32.  Ibid., 229. 33.  Gérard Prunier, “The Ethiopian Revolution and the Derg Regime,” in Understanding Contemporary Ethiopia: Monarchy, Revolution and the Legacy of Meles Zenawi, ed. Gérard Prunier and Éloi Ficquet (London: Hurst, 2015), 228. 34. Zewde, History of Modern Ethiopia, 249. 35.  Ibid., 249, 250. 36. Berouk Mesfin, “The Architecture and Conduct of Intelligence in Ethiopia (1974–1991),” International Journal of Ethiopian Studies 5, no. 1 (Spring/Summer 2010): 40, 46. 37.  Ibid., 47, 48. 38.  Ibid., 50. 39.  Ibid., 55; and Clapham, “Era of Haile Selassie,” 203. 40. Zewde, History of Modern Ethiopia, 256. 41.  Ibid., 274. 42.  Mulugeta Gebrehiwot Berhe, Laying the Past to Rest: The EPRDF and the Challenges of Ethiopian State-Building (New York: Hurst, 2020), 3. 43.  Medhane Tadesse, “The Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF),” in Understanding Contemporary Ethiopia: Monarchy, Revolution and the Legacy of Meles Zenawi, ed. Gérard Prunier and Éloi Ficquet (London: Hurst, 2015). 44.  Ibid., 205. 45.  Ibid., 233, 242. 46.  Ibid., 272, 284, 287. 47.  “Ethiopia,” United States Department of State, 2021, https://2009-2017.state .gov/documents/organization/160121.pdf; Patrick Gilkes, “Elections and Politics in Ethiopia Since 2005,” in Understanding Contemporary Ethiopia: Monarchy, Revolution and the Legacy of Meles Zenawi, ed. Gérard Prunier and Éloi Ficquet (London: Hurst, 2015), 327. 48.  Awol Allo, “Why Abiy Ahmed’s Prosperity Party Could Be Bad News for Ethiopia,” Al Jazeera, December 5, 2019, https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions /2019/12/5/why-abiy-ahmeds-prosperity-party-could-be-bad-news-for-ethiopia. 49. Vivienne Nunis, “Ethiopia’s Tigray Crisis: Rebel Resurgence Raises Questions for Abiy Ahmed,” BBC, July 2, 2021, https://www.bbc.com/news/world -africa-57693784; Dawit Endeshaw, “Ethiopia PM Says Army Quit Tigray as No Longer ‘Centre’ of Conflict,” Reuters, June 30, 2021, https://www.reuters.com/world /africa/ethiopia-says-many-soldiers-civilians-killed-tigray-conflict-2021-06-30/; Adam Taylor and Siobhán O’Grady, “What’s behind the Renewed Conflict in Ethiopia’s Tigray Region?,” Washington Post, June 30, 2021, https://www.washington



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post.com/world/2021/06/29/ethiopia-tigray-conflict-faq/; and Stephanie Nebehay and Dawit Endeshaw, “Joint UN, Ethiopia Rights Team: All Sides Committed Abuses in Tigray,” Reuters, November 3, 2021, https://www.reuters.com/business/cop/un -ethiopia-rights-commission-release-report-abuses-tigray-2021-11-03/. 50.  “National Security Council,” Prime Minister’s Office, 2021, https://www.pmo .gov.et/national_security/. 51.  International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Middle East and North Africa,” Military Balance 120, no. 1 (2020): 477. 52. Ibid. 53. Ibid. 54.  “Five Intelligence and Security Agencies Agree to Combat Economic Sabotages, Terrorism and Illegal Activities,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2021, https://www.niss.gov.et/web/guest/w/five-intelligence-and-security-agencies -agree-to-combat-economic-sabotages-terrorism-and-illegal-activities. 55. “Vision and Mission,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2021, https://www.niss.gov.et/web/guest/mission-and-vision; “Mr. Temesgen Tiruneh, Director General of NISS, Remarked That Intelligence Officers Who Are Assigned to Work Abroad Should Perform Their Task Focusing on the National Interest of the Country,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2021, https://www.niss.gov .et/web/guest/w/news-2. 56.  “Organizational History,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2021, https://www.niss.gov.et/web/guest/organizational-history. 57. Ibid. 58. Ibid. 59. Ibid. 60. Ibid.; “Unprecedented Move by PM Abiy Sees New Leadership in Entire Security Sector, Foreign Ministry,” Addis Standard, November 8, 2020, https://addis standard.com/news-alert-unprecedented-move-by-pm-abiy-sees-new-leadership-in -entire-security-sector-foreign-ministry/; and Aaron Maasho, “Ethiopia’s Prime Minister Replaces Security Chiefs as Part of Reforms,” Reuters, June 8, 2018, https:// www.reuters.com/article/us-ethiopia-military/ethiopias-prime-minister-replaces -security-chiefs-as-part-of-reforms-idUSKCN1J40PU. 61. “Proclamation no. 804/2013: A Proclamation to Re-Establish the National Intelligence and Security Service,” Federal Negarit Gazette, no. 55 (July 23, 2013), https://chilot.files.wordpress.com/2014/09/proclamation-no-804-2013-national-intel legence-and-security-services-establishment.pdf. 62.  “Vision and Mission,” Information Network Security Agency, 2020, https:// www.insa.gov.et/web/en/vision-and-mission. 63.  Robbie Corey-Boulet, “Ethiopia’s PM Abiy: From Peace Prize to Grinding War,” Yahoo News, June 17, 2021, https://news.yahoo.com/ethiopias-pm-abiy-peace -prize-051813300.html. 64. Elizabeth Culliford, “Facebook Says It Removed Fake Ethiopia Account Network Ahead of Election,” Reuters, June 17, 2021, https://www.reuters.com /technology/facebook-removes-what-it-says-is-fake-ethiopia-account-network -ahead-election-2021-06-16/.

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65. Ibid. 66.  “About Us,” Federal Police Commission, 2021, http://www.federalpolice.gov .et/web/guest/about-us; and “How the Ethiopian Police Was Founded,” Federal Police Commission, 2021, http://www.federalpolice.gov.et/web/guest/background -information. 67.  “Responses by Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed,” Prime Minister’s Office, November 30, 2020, https://www.pmo.gov.et/media/other/a04bae2d-2da2-483d-a9e3 -74d441088401.pdf. 68.  “Ethiopia’s Intelligence Boss to Lead Military—PM’s Office,” Reuters, June 28, 2019, https://www.reuters.com/article/uk-ethiopia-security-military/ethiopias -intelligence-boss-to-lead-military-pms-office-idUKKCN1TT2C6; and “Adem Mohammed to Become Ambassador to Turkey,” Ethiopia Observer, January 25, 2021, https://www.ethiopiaobserver.com/2021/01/25/adem-mohammed-to-become-ambas sador-to-turkey/. 69.  “Responses by Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed,” Prime Minister’s Office, November 30, 2020, 80–81, https://www.pmo.gov.et/media/other/a04bae2d-2da2-483d -a9e3-74d441088401.pdf. 70.  Ibid., 81. 71.  “NISS Formulates Organizational Structure That Helps Achieve Its Reform,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2019, https://www.niss.gov.et/web /guest/w/niss-formulates-organizational-structure-that-helps-achieve-its-reform. 72. Ibid. 73. Ibid. 74. Ibid. 75.  “Temesgen Tiruneh Pledges to Bolster the Organizational Reform Process of NISS,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2020, https://www.niss.gov.et /web/guest/w/temesgen-tiruneh-pledges-to-bolster-the-organizational-reform-pro cess-of-niss. See also “Security Directorate Finalizes Its Reform,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2020, https://www.niss.gov.et/web/guest/w/security -directorate-finalizes-its-reform. 76.  “NIUC Graduates Officers in the Field of Intelligence Profession,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2021, https://www.niss.gov.et/web/guest/w/niuc -graduates-officers-in-the-field-of-intelligence-profession. 77.  “71 Intelligence Officers Were Graduated from National Intelligence University College,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2021, https://www.niss .gov.et/web/guest/w/news-5. 78.  “NIUC, AAU Have Agreed to Cooperate,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2021, https://www.niss.gov.et/web/guest/w/niuc-aau-have-agree-to -cooperate. 79.  “NISS Provides Counter-terrorism Training to Members of Security Forces,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2021, https://www.niss.gov.et/web /guest/w/niss-provides-counter-terrorism-training-to-members-of-security-forces. 80.  Sobukwe Odinga, “‘We Recommend Compliance’: Bargaining and Leverage in Ethiopian–US Intelligence Cooperation,” Review of African Political Economy 44, no. 153 (2017): 436, 437, 443.



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81. “The United States and Ethiopia Sign Agreement to Exchange Terrorist Screening Information,” U.S. Embassy in Ethiopia, August, 20, 2019, https:// et.usembassy.gov/the-united-states-and-ethiopia-sign-agreement-to-exchange-terror ist-screening-information/. 82. “Ethiopia, Russia Agree to Bolster Cooperation in Intelligence, Security Sectors,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2019, https://www.niss.gov .et/web/guest/w/ethiopia-russia-agree-to-bolster-cooperation-in-intelligence-secu rity-sectors. 83.  “NISS, Mossad Agree to Jointly Fight Terrorism in Horn of Africa,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2020, https://www.niss.gov.et/web/guest/w/niss -mossad-agree-to-jointly-fight-terrorism-in-horn-of-africa. 84.  “Ethiopia, Israel Agreed to Cooperate in Field of Intelligence, Security,” ENA, November 6, 2020, https://www.ena.et/en/?p=18223. 85. “Ethiopian, South Sudan’s Intelligence Services Agree to Work Together,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2020, https://www.niss.gov.et/web /guest/w/ethiopian-south-sudan-s-intelligence-services-agree-to-work-together. 86.  “NISS Says It Intercepts a Global Arms Smugglers Network Shipping Two Containers of Arms into Ethiopia,” Addis Standard, March 11, 2020, https://addis standard.com/news-niss-says-it-intercepts-a-global-arms-smugglers-network-ship ping-two-containers-of-arms-into-ethiopia/. 87.  “NISS Provided Intelligence to Control 599 Turkish Made Pistols That Were Being Moved Secretly from Sudan to Gonder,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2021, https://www.niss.gov.et/web/guest/w/news-1. 88. “‘They Know Everything We Do’: Telecom and Internet Surveillance in Ethiopia,” Human Rights Watch, 2014, 12, https://www.hrw.org/sites/default/files /reports/ethiopia0314_ForUpload_1.pdf. 89.  Ibid., 17. 90.  Ibid., 20. 91.  Ibid., 24, 30. 92.  “Responses by Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed,” 80–81. 93. “Intelligence, Security Organizations Underway Consultation and Pass Different Resolutions on Current Security Situations,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2021, https://www.niss.gov.et/web/guest/w/intelligence-security-organi zations-underway-consultation-and-pass-different-resolutions-on-current-security -situations. 94.  “Uganda Says It Has Signed Security Agreement with Egypt amid Tensions over Ethiopia Dam,” Reuters, April 8, 2021, https://www.reuters.com/article/uk -uganda-egypt/uganda-says-it-has-signed-security-agreement-with-egypt-amid-ten sions-over-ethiopia-dam-idUSKBN2BV0R7. 95.  Éloi Ficquet, “The Ethiopian Muslims: Historical Processes and Ongoing Controversies,” in Understanding Contemporary Ethiopia: Monarchy, Revolution and the Legacy of Meles Zenawi, ed. Gérard Prunier and Éloi Ficquet (London: Hurst, 2015), 93, 103, 106–107. 96. “Mr. Temesgen Tiruneh, Director General of NISS, Remarked That Intelligence Officers Who Are Assigned to Work Abroad Should Perform Their Task

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Focusing on the National Interest of the Country,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2021, https://www.niss.gov.et/web/guest/w/news-2.  97. “Ethiopia Arrests 33 Suspected Members of Extremist Groups in One Year,” Xinhua, August 27, 2020, http://www.xinhuanet.com/english/2020 -08/27/c_139322959.htm.   98.  “2019 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Ethiopia,” United States Department of State, 2019, https://www.state.gov/reports/2019-country-reports-on -human-rights-practices/ethiopia/.   99.  “Ethiopia Arrests 15 over UAE Embassy Attack Plot: Reports,” Al Jazeera, February 3, 2021, https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2021/2/3/ethiopia-arrests-15-peo ple-over-uae-embassy-attack-plot. 100.  “Intelligence, Security Task Force Foils Underground Cells Plotting to Disrupt the 6th General Election,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2021, https://www.niss.gov.et/web/guest/w/intelligence-security-task-force-foils-under ground-cells-plotting-to-disrupt-the-6th-general-election. 101.  “NISS Formulates Organizational Structure That Helps Achieve Its Reform,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2019, https://www.niss.gov.et/web /guest/w/niss-formulates-organizational-structure-that-helps-achieve-its-reform. 102.  “Ethiopia Charges Former Intelligence Chief over Human Rights Abuses,” SABC News, May 7, 2019, https://www.sabcnews.com/sabcnews/ethiopia-charges -former-intelligence-chief-over-human-rights-abuses/. 103. “Ethiopia Arrests Military and Intelligence Officers for Failed Attack on PM, Corruption, Torture,” Daily Sabah, November 12, 2018, https://www.dailysabah .com/africa/2018/11/12/ethiopia-arrests-military-and-intelligence-officers-for-failed -attack-on-pm-corruption-torture. 104. Ibid. 105. Ibid. 106. Ibid. 107.  William Davison and Leake Tewele “Abiy Attacks Impunity as MetEC and NISS Officials Held for Graft and Torture,” Ethiopia-Insight, November 15, 2018, https://www.ethiopia-insight.com/2018/11/15/abiy-attacks-impunity-as-metec-and -niss-officials-held-for-graft-and-torture/; and “Ethiopia Arrests Ex-deputy Chief of Intelligence Agency,” Xinhua, November 15, 2018, http://www.xinhuanet.com /english/africa/2018-11/15/c_137608875.htm. 108.  “Ethiopia Charges Former Intelligence Chief over Human Rights Abuses.” 109.  2020 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Ethiopia (United States Department of State, March 30, 2021), https://www.state.gov/reports/2020-country -reports-on-human-rights-practices/ethiopia/. 110.  “Ethiopia,” Amnesty International, 2021, https://www.amnesty.org/en/coun tries/africa/ethiopia/. 111.  “Organizational Values,” National Intelligence and Security Services, 2021, https://www.niss.gov.et/web/guest/values-objectives.

20 Gabon Intelligence Culture in an African Proto-State Martin R. Rupiya

Gabon is a small country in the western part of Central Africa and has had

only three presidents since gaining independence in August 1960.1 With a population of about two million people and mostly covered by forests, Gabon is described as “an upper-middle-income country” by the World Bank and the “fifth largest oil producer in Africa.”2 Despite its wealth and having held multiparty elections, Gabon is categorized as “not free” by Freedom House, which scored 3 out of 40 for political rights and 19 out of 60 for civil liberties.3 With a nonaligned policy, Gabon is a key node of stability in Central Africa and does not face security threats from neighboring hostile foreign nations. However, its intelligence and security services play a vital role for the government. This chapter explores Gabon’s intelligence culture, with attention to the power dynamics and characteristics that mark its intelligence and security services. Using publicly available sources, it argues Gabon’s intelligence culture is characterized by supporting a family political dynasty and is focused on ethnic and familial networks, which has made it reliant on external parties. The first section explores the country’s background, with attention to the political history involving French economic and political influence. Second, it highlights three key military and security events to demonstrate France’s influence on the country’s security as well as the use of security services against government opposition. Third, it discusses the key institutions involved in intelligence and security by describing activities and responsibilities. Then the chapter examines country-specific issues—such as corruption—and discusses how the intelligence services will play a role in the future of the country. Last, the chapter’s conclusion finds that the

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intelligence culture has been largely centered 0n ensuring two people remain in power, as well as being dependent on foreigners. BACKGROUND In June 1960, France granted its African colonies independence, but it signed secret agreements with the incoming political elite that Paris would control economic policy, defense and security, foreign policy, and manage the local currency.4 Viewed in the violent postcolonial era of decolonization, this sleight of hand by France resulted in almost no liberation movement arising in the colonies, except for the devastating and protracted Algerian War of Independence. France’s strategy in Gabon involved using a proxy elite in the presidency to shape the postcolonial state’s quasi-independence.5 From the late 1950s, France deployed more than ten thousand soldiers, housed permanently in Camp de Gaulle just outside the capital Libreville. The presence facilitated French multinational companies, such as Total and Elf, exploiting the country’s crude oil, uranium reserves, and timber from the “second Amazon” on the continent. Even after independence, the political power dynamics in Gabon were shaped by France under the leadership of Léon M’ba (from 1961 to 1967), El Hadj Omar Bongo Ondimba (from 1967 to 2009), and Ali Bongo Ondimba (from 2009 to the present). Thus, Gabon’s policy remained firmly influenced by the French under three postcolonial presidents. The Bongo family has been in office for more than fifty years, and the security services have played an important role in their power. Gabon attracts foreign interest for two major reasons. First, the country hosts minerals and natural forestry resources, which has undoubtedly contributed to the country’s “resource curse.” Gabon is host to the “second Amazon” after Latin America, having minerals, raw nuclear fuel, the finest crude oil, and timber available for exploitation. The presence of these resources resulted in direct French interest in physically occupying and exploiting the region. By the 1960s, more than ten thousand resident workers in French oil operated full time in Libreville.6 Notably, France’s nuclear bomb and Force de Frappe (strike force) was an African product that combined raw material from Gabon with testing accomplished in Algerian deserts.7 For French economic exploitation to proceed, Paris needed a proxy political leader whose role was maintaining a stable quasi-state from the outside; this was Omar Bongo. He did not gain power in a coup but had served as vice president to the ailing President Léon M’ba in 1966 who, when he could no longer continue, with French acquiescence had Omar Bongo considered for the post.



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In November 1966, the French agreed that Bongo, already a senior official in M’ba’s administration, should take over. Bongo had obtained special insight into French power when M’ba’s political opponents had launched a military coup, capturing him and his senior officials, including Bongo, the head of the cabinet. At the time, M’ba had exhibited antidemocratic tendencies when he suspended the multiparty constitution, banned all political parties’ activities, and restricted the press.8 When he dissolved the National Assembly in January 1964 to establish a one-party state, the army forced him from power. Within twenty-four hours, the French deployed a special paramilitary force made up of troops drawn from Dakar and Brazzaville, reversing the popularly supported military intervention against M’Ba by the Fang ethnic group without an official request from Gabon.9 M’ba, Vice President Omar Bongo, and other officials were rescued and restored to office amid the continuing suppression of riots and public protests. The unrest on the streets was suppressed by French soldiers, who were located at a permanent base at Camp de Gaulle just outside the capital, Libreville. This base exists today and is one of four French bases in Africa.10 These events demonstrated to Bongo that the French would not countenance any resistance to their influence. Indeed, Gabon became a case of neocolonialism where the French state exercised control.11 Omar Bongo established a partisan working relationship with the French, allowing them to access and exploit resources mostly exported to Europe. In 1967, the Centre de Documentation (Documentation Center, CEDOC) was established with French help for internal security.12 In parallel, from early in 1968 Bongo began by creating a new local military based on his home village and regional ethnicity. From a small ethnic group, he built political alliances with the Fang, the largest ethnic group in the country to expand support.13 In the following year, 1969, Bongo banned all political parties except his ruling Gabonese Democratic Party (Parti Démocratique Gabonais, PDG). The public sector was based on ethnic identity, and the PDG exercised key political and security functions. The local army worked with the French, sharing intelligence as well as receiving training and education for security purposes.14 Gabon’s security services and military were answerable to Bongo, but they were in actuality a complementary force to the French at Camp de Gaulle, who had primary responsibility for Gabonese security. Thus, the doctrine, equipment, and intelligence were largely a French task that drew insights from Gabonese.15 MILITARY AND SECURITY Three key events demonstrate Gabon’s intelligence culture since independence. These events focus on the role of external forces, namely France, in

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the country, as well as the role of internal security in squelching armed and unarmed opposition. Indeed, the “Francafrique” that provided French companies with preferential treatment also impacted the intelligence culture.16 This section demonstrates how Gabon’s intelligence culture has been influenced or dependent on foreign forces and the intelligence and security service’s main objective has been regime protection against democratic and undemocratic forces. First, France’s direct intention to restore the quasi-political authority in Gabon shortly after independence demonstrates not only French hard power in Gabon but also the dependence Gabon had on a foreign actor. When the Gabonese military launched a coup against President M’ba and Vice President Bongo, an act that enjoyed wide public popular support, this challenged French control of the Gabonese state. While M’ba and his staff were held, France quickly responded with units from Algeria and Senegal that restored the incumbent power. The French forces, joining the permanent contingent outside the capital in Camp de Gaulle, also decisively dealt with the restive political and military activists, who were brutally repressed, arrested, and incarcerated.17 For M’ba and Omar Bongo, this demonstrated security, and their power was linked to France’s support. When M’ba died in late 1966, his successor—Bongo—was vetted and confirmed by Paris.18 It is widely reported that once in office, Bongo, on the one hand, allowed the “incestuous relationships” with the French, while permitting French companies to exploit Gabonese minerals, natural resources including timber, and the abundant uranium that Paris now tightly controlled.19 On the other hand, Bongo amassed personal wealth through corruption and built a patronage network based on ethnic identity.20 Thus, the security provided by the French government resulted in financial benefits for private French companies as well as Gabon’s elite. Second, following inspiration for the democratic agenda from Benin, political opposition in Libreville sought democratic reform in 1990, including free and fair elections.21 Bongo had only been compelled to seek an elected presidency in February 1975. The National Convention in 1990 sought to establish a National Senate with authority beyond the presidency. Additionally, it sought to decentralize the state budget, with a more equitable allocation of resources. The National Convention also called for free speech and assembly and sought the elimination of exit visas that had been imposed by the state as a mechanism for control. By September 1990 two serious riots and protests had erupted on the streets as Bongo’s PDG attempted to maintain the oneparty system.22 The Paris Accords of 1994 involved talks between political opponents, but little progress was made. Meanwhile, Bongo’s approach to the political opposition was violent and resulted in people fleeing into exile in



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Cameroon and other neighboring states. Notably, Andrea M’ba Obame and former African Union chair Jean Ping were openly harassed, which prompted United Nations intervention.23 Third, the January 2019 military coup launched by junior officers highlights the military’s role in Gabonese politics and governance.24 Eight weeks prior to the attempted coup in November 2018, President Ali Bongo Ondimba, son of Omar Bongo, arrived in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, where he was hospitalized after suffering from a heart attack. For weeks the government did not issue any statement. Later it emerged that he was given treatment in Morocco, the same place his wife, Edith, had received treatment. Ali Bongo later appeared in a Moroccan military hospital, where he received dignitaries from Libreville to show the government was still functioning.25 The coup was defeated by the Republican Guard and National Gendarmerie of Gabon, both under Ali Bongo’s control.26 Weeks later Ali Bongo returned to Gabon, and in 2021 three soldiers were convicted for leading the coup, including a member of the Republican Guard.27 INTELLIGENCE AND SECURITY SERVICES Gabon has several key intelligence and security services. The Department of Documentation and Immigration (Direction Générale de la Documentation et de l’Immigration, DGDI) is the successor agency to the CEDOC and is under the Ministry of Interior.28 It oversees internal intelligence, including the admission of diplomats and foreigners.29 The DGDI reportedly has been involved in detentions and disappearances.30 In 2005, President Omar Bongo announced that the government would revoke the passports of those who criticized the government; Freedom House reported that “harassment on political and ethnic bases has been reported.”31 Furthermore, Omar Bongo had in place an “exit visa” whereby citizens had to apply to leave Gabon. Bongo also had an interest in intermarriages and the informal security networks these relations produced, generally with second wives. Notably, he had taken Republic of the Congo president Denis Sassou-Nguesso’s daughter, Edith Lucie Bongo (1964–2009), as his wife in a reflection of this trend. The press was also a target for the intelligence and security services. In 2016, for example, the DGDI raided the opposition newspaper the Echoes of the North (Les Echos du Nord), arresting more than a dozen people, and one person reported “ill-treatment.”32 The newspaper had previously published an article that accused the DGDI of corruption.33 In addition to the DGDI, there are several other intelligence- and securityrelated institutions. The Republican Guard is an elite force independent

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of the military that is responsible for protecting officials and government property, answering to the National Gendarmerie.34 Founded in 1960 before independence, the National Gendarmerie is charged with public safety as well as border protection and enforcing government orders.35 As for the armed forces under the Ministry of Defence, Gabon has forty-seven hundred active military personnel (an army of thirty-two hundred, a navy of five hundred, and an air force of one thousand), as well as a paramilitary of two thousand.36 According to the International Institute for Strategic Studies, Gabon’s military has “regular training with French forces and with the regionally deployed French navy, as well as with the US and other international partners.”37 In 2021, Gabon’s military took part in the Obangame Express, a US-led multinational maritime security exercise in the Gulf of Guinea.38 Significantly, these external partnerships were in fact an expression of French US-Africa policy, in which Paris deliberately drew Washington, D.C., as a partner for its African bases in Djibouti, Gabon, and particularly Madagascar, where France maintains considerable maritime and air support infrastructure that includes the islands of Réunion. COUNTRY ISSUES AND PROSPECTS FOR CHANGE The Gabonese gendarmerie and intelligence services are a second layer for French interests. France is the primary security force in the country, with a physical representation at Camp de Gaulle. Indeed, French military organization, equipment, communications, and training are far superior compared with those of Gabon and the neighboring states. Moreover, these countries do not represent a threat to Gabon or to regional security. Indeed, one of Omar Bongo’s wives, Edith, demonstrates cementing foreign relations through family networks. In contrast, Bongo had a difficult relationship with international nongovernmental organizations, such as Transparency International.39 Due to high levels of corruption, nongovernmental organizations brought attention to corrupt and abusive practices of Gabon’s officials, including Bongo. By early 2000, Omar Bongo was unable to freely travel overseas, particularly in Paris and other cities where he had purchased property, due to court rulings and investigations. As confirmed by French courts following a legal challenge from SHERPA and Transparency International, the family was tied to thirtynine properties in France by 2013.40 SHERPA and France’s Transparency International launched a wide-ranging court action against several African presidents and their children, including Republic of Congo president Denis Sassou-Nguesso and President of Equatorial Guinea Teodoro Obiang Nguema



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Mbasogo.41 The same charge was laid against his children and patronage network, limiting Gabonese officials’ movements and international activity. Even after President Omar Bongo’s death in 2009, French courts ruled in favor of the international organizations and transferred his ill-gotten gains to a trust.42 After 2019, there was renewed pressure for democratic reform due to the collapse of commodity prices for oil. For Gabon, which produces about two million barrels a day, the economic consequences were devastating. The government was forced to begin borrowing from foreign sources with attached conditions to meet its expenditure goals. In April 2021 President Ali Bongo had acknowledged his poor health and events in Riyadh.43 He had indicated his intention to groom a successor, his eldest son, Noureddin Valentine Bongo, who agreed to return from a lucrative European job. Thus, it appears that the Bongo family is planning to maintain the ruling dynasty. Given the country’s recent history, economic pressure and calls for democratic change are likely to be met with actions by the intelligence and security services to protect the head of state. CONCLUSION There is little known about Gabon’s intelligence services. A small country with just three presidents since independence, who tightly control information and have violently crushed dissident, there are few records available. Yet based on broader information about the country’s politics, government, and security, several conclusions can be made about its intelligence culture. First, since 1967 two people, Omar Bongo and his son, Ali Bongo, who took over in 2009, have controlled the levers of state power with little regard for freedom or tolerating dissent. The intelligence and security services play a role in protecting the incumbent rulers despite corruption and the lack of democracy. Meanwhile, external forces have benefited from their power due to the abundant minerals and natural resources. Second, the military infrastructure created by Omar Bongo based on ethnic identity likely persists into the intelligence services. Due to the selection of people based on ethnic identity rather than professionalism and knowledge, it is clear that the intelligence culture consists of a lack of professionalism and is dependent on outside experts, mostly from France, for more sophisticated capabilities. Indeed, this is the broader pattern in Gabon. The government depends on state and nonstate actors from France, while French multinational companies extract maximum benefit. The Gabonese leaders also receive financial benefits that the average person does not receive. In turn, this makes security for regime protection all the more vital, while the patronage networks depend on outside actors.

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NOTES  1. “Gabon,” in The World Factbook, Central Intelligence Agency, 2021, https:// www.cia.gov/the-world-factbook/countries/gabon/.  2. “Gabon,” World Bank, 2021, https://www.worldbank.org/en/country/gabon /overview#1.  3. “Gabon,” Freedom House, 2021, https://freedomhouse.org/country/gabon /freedom-world/2020.   4.  Guy Martin, “The Historical, Economic, and Political Bases of France’s African Policy,” Journal of Modern African Studies 23, no. 2 (June 1985): 189; and Daniel Bourmaud, “France in Africa: African Politics and French Foreign Policy,” Journal of Opinion 23, no. 2 (1995): 58–62.   5.  For more see Martin, “Historical, Economic, and Political Bases of France’s African Policy,” 189–208.  6. See Nicholas Robert Pederson, “The French Desire for Uranium and its Effects on French Foreign Policy in Africa” (MA thesis, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, May 2000), https://www.ideals.illinois.edu/bitstream/handle /2142/102031/TheFrenchDesireforUranium.pdf.  7. Gabrielle Hecht, “Rupture-Talk in the Nuclear Age: Conjugating Colonial Power in Africa,” Social Studies of Science 32, nos. 5/6 (2002): 691–727.   8.  Michael C. Reed, “Gabon: A Neo-Colonial Enclave of Enduring French Interest,” Journal of Modern African Studies 25, no. 2 (June 1987): 283–320.  9. Ibid. 10.  Camille Malplat, “Sixty Years after Independence Gabon Still a ‘Home’ for French,” AFP, August 16, 2020, https://news.yahoo.com/sixty-years-independence -gabon-still-104159849.html. 11.  See Reed, “Gabon,” 283–320. 12. François Ngolet, “Ideological Manipulations and Political Longevity: The Power of Omar Bongo in Gabon since 1967,” African Studies Review 43, no. 2 (September 2000): 55–71. 13.  “Gabon’s Bongo Names New Prime Minister after Thwarted Coup Attempt,” Reuters, January 12, 2019, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-gabon-politics/gabons -bongo-names-new-prime-minister-after-thwarted-coup-attempt-idUSKCN1P6095. 14.  Reed, “Gabon,” 283–320. 15.  Ibid., 283. 16.  “Gabon’s Bongo Names New Prime Minister after Thwarted Coup Attempt.” 17. Martin, “Historical, Economic, and Political Bases of France’s African Policy,” 189; and Bourmaud, “France in Africa,” 58–62. 18. Ibid. 19.  Pederson, “The French Desire for Uranium.” 20. Pierre Dupont, Roshanak Taghavi, and Kira Zalan, “Gabon’s First Family Stashed Cash in DC Property,” OCCRP, November 23, 2020, https://www.occrp.org /en/investigations/gabons-first-family-stashed-cash-in-dc-property. 21. “Gabon,” IREX, 2008, https://www.irex.org/sites/default/files/pdf/media -sustainability-index-africa-2008-gabon.pdf.



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22.  Ngolet, “Ideological Manipulations and Political Longevity.” 23. “Gabon Opposition Leaders Free as Ping Following French, UN Appeals,” RFI, September 3, 2016, https://www.rfi.fr/en/africa/20160903-gabon-opposition -leaders-free-ping-following-frenc-un-appeals. 24. “Gabon Coup Attempt: Government Says Situation under Control,” BBC, January 7, 2019, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-46779854. 25. “Ailing Gabonese President Calls on Government to Join Him at Hospital Bedside in Rabat,” RFI, November 28, 2018, https://www.rfi.fr/en/africa/20181128 -ailing-gabonese-president-calls-government-join-him-hospital-bedside-rabat. 26. Moki Edwin Kindzeka, “Gabon Closes Border with Cameroon after Failed Coup Attempt,” Voice of America, January 8, 2019, https://www.voanews.com /africa/gabon-closes-border-cameroon-after-failed-coup-attempt. 27.  Dylan Gamba, “Three Soldiers behind Gabon’s Failed 2019 Coup Jailed for 15 Years,” Yahoo, July 1, 2021, https://www.yahoo.com/now/three-soldiers-behind -gabons-failed-103104651.html. 28.  Direction Générale de la Documentation et de l’Immigration, 2021, https:// www.dgdi.ga/accueil/. 29. Ibid. 30.  Situation in the Gabonese Republic: Article 5 Report (International Criminal Court, September 2018). icc-cpi.int/itemsDocuments/180921-otp-rep-gabon_ENG .pdf, 38. 31.  “Gabon,” Freedom House. 32.  “Démission d’un haut-responsable de la police au Gabon” [Resignation of a senior police official in Gabon], Voice of America, November 10, 2016, https://www .voaafrique.com/a/gabon-media-arrestation-opposition-journalistes-police-demis sion-celestin-embinga/3591127.html; “Gabon: L’équipe des Echos du Nord relâchée après de mauvais traitements” [Gabon: Echos du Nord team released after illtreatment], Voice of America, November 5, 2016, https://www.voaafrique.com/a /gabon-l-euqipe-des-echos-du-nord-relachee-apres-de-mauvais-traitements/3582729 .html. 33. Ibid. 34. Jocksy Ondo Louemba, “Gabon, une ‘garde républicaine’ préposée aux basses oeuvres” [Gabon, a ‘republican guard’ in charge of bad works], Mondafrique, 2018, https://mondafrique.com/gabon-suite-garde-republicaine-preposee-aux-basses -oeuvres/amp/. 35. Ibid. 36. International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Sub-Saharan Africa,” Military Balance 120, no. 1 (2020): 478. 37. Ibid. 38. “Obangame Express,” Africom, 2021, https://www.africom.mil/what-we-do /exercises/obangame-express. 39. “Ill-Gotten Gains: Gabon,” SHERPA, 2021, https://www.asso-sherpa.org /ill-gotten-gains-gabon; Estelle Shirbon, “Gabon Detains Anti-corruption ActivistsFrench NGOs,” Reuters, January 6, 2009, https://www.reuters.com/article/france-ga bon/gabon-detains-anti-corruption-activists-french-ngos-idUKL666617920090106.

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40. Martin Revayi Rupiya, “Ill-Gotten Gains,” review of Political History of Equatorial Guinea: “The Rise and Entrenchment of Nguemism” by Geoffrey Wood, Advances in Historical Studies 9 (2020): 98–112. https://doi.org/10.4236 /ahs.2020.93009. 41. Ibid. 42. Ibid. 43.  Marwane Ben Yahmed, “Gabon: Corruption, Succession, Elections . . . President Bongo Opens Up,” Africa Report, April 9, 2021, https://www.theafricareport .com/78261/gabon-president-ali-bongo-ondimba-opens-up-in-exclusive-interview/.

21 The Gambia Uses and Abuses of State Intelligence Agencies Maggie Dwyer

The prominent role that the state intelligence agency played in the wider

political landscape in The Gambia came about under President Yahya Jammeh (1994–2017). Therefore this chapter focuses largely on the National Intelligence Agency (NIA) during his rule and the legacies of the intelligence approach in the years since the 2017 political transition. The Jammeh era was the darkest period in The Gambia’s history, marked by widespread civil liberty and human rights violations at the hands of state agents. As this chapter demonstrates, the intelligence agency was central to this pattern. The Gambia, which gained independence from the United Kingdom in 1965, has only had three presidents in its time as an independent nation. Dawda Jawara led the country from independence until 1994, when he was overthrown in a coup. Lieutenant Jammeh was one of the officers who orchestrated the coup and led the military junta that followed. Jammeh ultimately ruled the country for twenty-two years, having won elections in 1996, 2001, 2006, and 2011. However, these elections were not free or fair, and under Jammeh opposition was dealt with harshly, as discussed later in the chapter. Therefore, it came as a surprise to many that Jammeh lost the 2016 election to opposition figure Adama Barrow. While initially conceding defeat, Jammeh quickly backtracked and tried to annul the election results. It took significant domestic and international pressure and ultimately a military intervention led by the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) to convince Jammeh to accept the results and leave office. In January 2017, Jammeh went into exile in Equatorial Guinea, and Barrow became The Gambia’s third president.1 The intelligence sector in The Gambia under Jammeh was highly secretive. This is not only due to the guarded nature of state intelligence in general but 265

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also linked to the grave human rights abuses carried out by the NIA. During this period, scant details about the organization were available, and the media were highly repressed. However, the political transition of 2017 and attempts to come to terms with the past have shed light on the inner workings of the intelligence service. A Truth, Reconciliation, and Reparation Commission (TRRC) was established to create a record of human rights abuses in The Gambia during the Jammeh era and consider reparations for victims. The commission started public hearings in 2019 and heard hundreds of testimonies by its conclusion in 2021. Many of the testimonies focused on the NIA and were given by both victims and members of the organization. Further, ongoing discussions about the need for security sector reform and formal assessments of the security sector, including the NIA, have revealed more information about the organization. This chapter uses these newly available sources along with published media, reports from nongovernmental organizations, and the author’s interviews with members of the security sector and those working with the organizations conducted over the last decade. This chapter follows a chronological structure, starting with the origins of the NIA and an overview of its structure, leadership, and place within the wider state security environment. It then focuses on its role within the state under Jammeh, followed by dynamics within the organization during that time period. The final section looks at state intelligence since the political transition in 2017. ORIGINS AND OVERVIEW OF THE NIA Under President Jawara (1965–1994), intelligence was the responsibility of the National Security Service (NSS).2 The service’s exact size is not known, but it is likely to have been small given the few references to the organization in media reports and research on the country under Jawara’s presidency. Furthermore, a small intelligence service is consistent with Jawara’s approach of minimal state security services. The Gambia under Jawara, as well as today, had few external threats and generally good relations with its only neighbor, Senegal. As such, Jawara did not invest in developing security forces in the way that many other countries in the region did after independence.3 For example, The Gambia did not have a military until nearly twenty years after independence and instead relied on a small Field Force of roughly five hundred personnel and a defense agreement with Senegal.4 On several occasions, the NSS had warned Jawara about discontent within the armed forces and raised concerns about coup plots in the later years that he was in office.5 In particular, the day before the 1994 coup that overthrew



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Jawara, the NSS disarmed military officers, including Lieutenant Jammeh, when they arrived at the airport upon the president’s return from abroad.6 Still, their warnings were unable to prevent the coup that occurred on July 22, 1994, and the director of the NSS, Kebba Ceesay, was one of many arrested during the event.7 The coup leaders announced the establishment of the Armed Forces Provision Ruling Council (AFPRC), led by Lieutenant Yahya Jammeh. In November 1994, less than four months into the AFPRC rule, widespread grievances against the military junta coalesced into a coup attempt. But word of the plot reached the junta before it could get underway, and the planned coup was violently thwarted. Anyone suspected of being involved was detained, and many were tortured. At least ten soldiers who were suspected of having led the plans were executed on the night of the planned event.8 It was only in April 2019, nearly twenty-five years after the executions, that the victim’s families were able to find out their fate, following testimonies at the TRRC.9 The turbulence in the early months of Jammeh’s rule set the stage for the rest of his time in power. The coup plan against Jammeh in 1994 was only the beginning of a series of attempts, the most notable being in 2000, 2006, and 2014. He was preoccupied with the issue of loyalty and built the security forces around detecting and avoiding disloyalty, with the central aim of regime protection.10 The National Intelligence Agency (NIA) was established by Decree No. 45 in the summer of 1995 under the AFPRC, along with a series of other decrees that prioritized regime security over civil liberties. For example, the death penalty was reestablished, and detention without trial was extended from 90 to 180 days.11 These decrees under the new military junta led by Jammeh were a reaction to the opposition faced by the AFPRC in its first year in power. The NIA was originally seen to be a way to thwart dissidence within the army, but was then extended to opposition within the civilian sector.12 The NIA reported directly to the Office of the President and had authority for arrest, detention, interrogation, and surveillance. As explained in Decree No. 45, the NIA was empowered to “obtain and provide the government with information relating to actions and intentions of persons which may be a threat to state security” and “to arrest and detain for investigation any person . . . suspected of having an intention to undertaking or undertaking activities inimical to the security of the state.”13 This vague mandate gave the NIA sweeping powers and allowed the organization to operate without restrictions. The legal framework of the NIA was later incorporated into the 1996 constitution.14 The NIA was led by a director general, who was appointed by the president. The NIA director had the authority to issue search warrants, a power previously held by the judiciary.15 The NIA director’s close working relationship

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with the president and ability to order searches and arrests without any outside authorization made the position one of the most powerful in the country. At times, the director of the NIA was an individual with experience in the NIA, but the position was often assigned to individuals working within the police or military who were then seconded to the NIA. Many of the directors and other senior leadership within the NIA were from the same ethnic group as Jammeh, the Jola.16 The organization’s secretiveness and rapid turnover of leadership makes the creation of a comprehensive list of leaders challenging. Still, following is a list of known leaders of the NIA under Jammeh, in chronological order.17 • Samba Bah (first director of NIA) • Daba Marena • Kebba Ceesay • Abdoulie Kujabi • Daba Marena • Harry Sambou • Momodou Lamin Hydara • Pa Jallow • Malamin Jarjue • Benedict Jammeh • Lamin Bo Badjie • Numo Kujabi • Lamin Saine • Yankuba Badjie (director at the time of the 2016 election) The exact size of the organization over time is not publicly known. However, during the 2017 political transition, the NIA consisted of 572 personnel.18 The agency’s role in protecting Jammeh meant that loyalty was the key recruitment trait, rather than education or specialized skills. Many, if not most, of the members of NIA were brought into the organization by direct links to NIA directors or other senior leadership. It was suspected that a disproportionate amount of the service came from Jammeh’s home region.19 A report written by a legal adviser to the NIA after the 2017 political transition found that 60 percent of the organization was functionally illiterate.20 While the director of the State Intelligence Service quickly refuted this claim, the issue of low education levels and illiteracy within the NIA was also identified in numerous NIA testimonies at the TRRC.21 Although the NIA was already an elite organization within the security architecture in The Gambia due to its direct reporting to the president, there were special units within the NIA. The most notorious of these was the Spe-



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cial Operations Unit (SOU), created in 2007. Past heads of the unit include Alagie Morr and Lamin Darboe. The SOU was responsible for high-profile arrests, such as of ministers or others in the security services, on whom it frequently used torture to extract information.22 CREATING A CLIMATE OF FEAR AND ABUSE The NIA’s creation became part of a wider pattern of an expanding state security structure under Jammeh. The expansion involved a growth in personnel size but also a structure that included overlapping roles, unclear chains of command, and units not officially part of the structure. The Ministry of Defense (MOD) oversaw the army, navy, and national guard, while the Ministry of Interior (MOI) led the police and various special services (immigration, prison services, etc.). Yet there was also a State Guard, which at the time of the political transition included 601 personnel, which drew equally from the police and the army. Assessments at the time note that the “institutional position” of the State Guards was unclear, as they seemed to fall under both the MOD and MOI but nonetheless had close allegiance to Jammeh.23 A final important part of the security structure in The Gambia was the Junglers. This paramilitary unit worked directly for President Jammeh and was not part of any official institutional diagram. It was formed in 2003–2004, and many of its members were part of the police and army. Members of the Junglers patrolled the area around the State House and Jammeh’s home in Kanilai and have been regularly described as a “hit squad” for the president.24 Within the state security structures, it was the NIA that was involved in day-to-day security affairs and regime protection. This involved surveillance and arrest of anyone deemed a threat to Jammeh. The NIA also employed torture, forced disappearances, executions of detainees, and targeted murders. Victims of the NIA include political opposition figures, journalists, religious leaders, members of the security forces, and in many cases “regular” civilians who were accused for unknown reasons.25 The NIA worked closely with the Junglers, especially in detaining and interrogating individuals accused of plotting against Jammeh.26 Members of the NIA and Junglers were often plainclothes officers and in many cases did not publicly identify their role in the organization. The idea that anyone could be a member of the NIA or Junglers was a key part of the strategy to deter disloyalty or revolts against Jammeh. Individuals were less likely to express dissatisfaction for fear that they might be unknowingly speaking to a member of Jammeh’s closest units. This dynamic also gave further freedom to the units to allegedly carry out illegal activity. Individuals within the regular state

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security forces report being afraid of stopping or reporting individuals who were involved in illicit activities for fear that they might be part of Jammeh’s entourage.27 The NIA and the Junglers had access to The Gambia’s prisons, including Mile Two Prison in Banjul, where most political prisoners were held. Many prison service members explained that NIA personnel would often take detainees from the prison to the NIA compound, where they were violently interrogated and tortured before being returned to prison. Many victims of NIA’s arbitrary arrests spent years in Mile Two Prison in horrid conditions, while others agreed to forced confessions under duress. The NIA wrote statements for forced confessions, some of which were televised.28 The NIA’s role under Jammeh extended beyond physical abuse and intimidation; the agency also manipulated judiciary processes. NIA members have admitted to paying witnesses to testify to false information, creating fake affidavits, and fabricating evidence. These actions led to false convictions and attempted to steer attention for crimes away from NIA personnel or others close to Jammeh such as the Junglers.29 Further, there were widespread patterns of NIA personnel using their positions for personal gain. There was NIA involvement in illegal land grabbing, in which forged documents were used to illegally sell land that was already owned by private citizens. NIA members arrested and intimidated those who challenged the process.30 Another example of abuse for personal gain involves a practice of NIA personnel being hired by individuals to settle scores with enemies or serve to recover debts for private individuals. Some have also admitted to stealing money from civilians, such as sex workers.31 TURBULENCE WITHIN THE NIA The NIA’s central role in regime protection and closeness to President Jammeh gave the organization exceptional power, and its members were generally above the law. Still, they were also a key source of suspicion, as Jammeh feared a revolt from within. The agency was also highly turbulent, with regular leadership changes.32 As the list of directors shows, the NIA had at least thirteen changes of leadership between its creation in 1995 and Jammeh’s departure in 2017. Many of these directors only served for several months (in one case, only weeks), with little public explanation being given for the changes. While arbitrary arrest and torture was a standard practice of the NIA, many of its members, including some former directors, later found themselves on the receiving end of this treatment when they were accused of disloyalty.



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Accusations against members of the NIA were treated as especially serious due to their proximity to the president and were often dealt with brutally. Just as the NIA was responsible for creating a climate of fear in The Gambia, its members reported the same dynamic of fear within the agency. For example, former members of the NIA describe the environment as “toxic” and “treacherous.”33 One of the most volatile moments in the organization occurred in 2006. While Jammeh was on an official state trip to Mauritania, a coup plot was foiled that was allegedly led by Chief of Defense Staff Ndure Cham and backed by army and NIA elements. The director of the NIA at the time, Daba Marena, was in Mauritania with the president during the attempt. Yet he was arrested days after the event and accused of failing to prevent the coup and of covertly supporting it. Days after this arrest the government announced that Marena (along with four military officers) had escaped en route to prison, a story that was seen as highly unlikely.34 Human rights organizations expressed concerns that the men had been killed, but the government stuck by its claim.35 It was not until testimonies at the TRRC that it was confirmed that Marena and the others were shot by the Junglers and their bodies dumped in a well.36 The tensions within the agency that were already present before this event were heightened afterward, according to those in the NIA. In the three years following the arrest and murder of Marena, the NIA had at least six different directors. Suspicions and allegations from this failed coup consumed the security services for years to come. Over three years after the event, more trials were held accusing senior military officers of playing a role in the 2006 coup attempt. NIA personnel have since admitted to paying witnesses to falsely testify against these officers.37 FROM THE NIA TO THE SIS When Adama Barrow ran against Jammeh in the 2016 elections, he promised significant reform of the NIA in his electoral campaign.38 Therefore, once he was elected there were widespread expectations and calls in the media and civil society to disband the agency because of its role in Jammeh’s regime and history of abuses. Yet Barrow decided not to dissolve the organization, instead renaming it the State Intelligence Service (SIS) and introducing plans to reform it. One important change is that the SIS does not have arrest authority, as the NIA did. This limits its power and aims to avoid the types of arbitrary and politically motivated arrests that had been common under Jammeh.

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Those expecting significant transformation of the intelligence sector have been disappointed, as four years after the political transition, the SIS is roughly the same size as the NIA and staffed with mostly the same personnel. A State Intelligence Bill has been drafted that would better define the SIS’s roles and responsibilities, but in 2021 it was still under review.39 The slow pace of reform of the SIS is mirrored in the wider security sector, with both domestic and international actors expressing frustration at the delays in the reform process.40 Another area that has raised some concern is that the SIS senior leadership is made up of familiar figures from the NIA. Musa Dibba was appointed by Barrow to be the first director of the SIS. Dibba is a career security professional, first joining the police in 1985, then moving to the NSS in 1993 and NIA in 1994. He was arrested during the alleged coup plot in 2006 but later released and reinstated in the NIA in 2009 and made deputy director, before being removed in 2011.41 However, just weeks after receiving the post, Dibba was moved to deputy director, and Ousman Sowe was appointed director. Like Dibba, Sowe is also a seasoned intelligence professional. Sowe was in the first batch of members of the NIA in 1995 and stayed in the organization for fourteen years.42 For many people, the previous roles of SIS’s leadership signal a continuation of the past rather than a fresh start for the SIS. These concerns increased when Sowe came under significant scrutiny by the TRRC for denying knowledge of torture carried out by the NIA. Further, he was accused of tampering with evidence that could have been instrumental in understanding the abuses of the NIA during the Jammeh era. In his first weeks as director of the SIS, he renovated the NIA complex, including prisoner cells and torture rooms, destroying evidence of the acts that had taken place there. Additionally, when he was asked to provide past detention registers to the TRRC, the documents did not include the year he had served as head of NIA investigations (2004).43 Many believe that Sowe has obstructed the mission of the TRRC and concealed information that would implicate him in human rights violations, an allegation he denies. Sowe has called for patience with the reform process, noting that the SIS “is in its infant stage.”44 He has clarified that “our objectives are to serve, not as oppressors of the people but protectors of their security and well-being governed by policies that are ethical, honorable, and in accordance with human rights.” To meet these objectives there has been some additional training on human rights provided to the SIS by international partners, and the process of training for new recruits is more extensive.45 Still, questions remain about the qualifications of the existing force, especially given claims about low literacy.



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An area of uncertainty within the SIS is whether some of its members will be held accountable for crimes committed under the Jammeh era. Nine senior members of the NIA were arrested soon after the 2017 political transition, with a total of twenty-five charges raised against them including murder, torture, and conspiracy.46 Following years of delays, the trial of NIA members concluded in 2022 and six of the former NIA members were found guilty of murdering youth leader Solo Sandeng in 2016 and inflicting harm on dozens of others. The former NIA director, Yankuba Badjie, was among those found guilty and sentenced to death (a sentence which will likely be commuted to life imprisonment). The trial against the NIA members has been the most high-profile case against state security agents from the Jammeh era within The Gambia and has led to hope that others involved in abuse will also be brought to justice.47 CONCLUSION This chapter described how the National Intelligence Agency in The Gambia played a central role in regime protection for Jammeh. It worked directly for the president and had sweeping powers, making the NIA one of the most powerful organizations in the state. The agency’s domestic focus and widespread use of violence and intimidation created an aura of fear around the organization among civilians and security personnel alike. New details that have emerged since the political transition of 2017 highlight systematic human rights violations by state intelligence agents. The NIA’s powerful position in the country was a double-edged sword, as Jammeh feared it could turn against him. As a result, it was also a highly turbulent organization with regular turnover of leadership and accusations made against its members of disloyalty. Many members of the NIA, including its leadership, ultimately fell victim to the same types of abuse it was known for enacting against others. Jammeh’s departure from office in 2017 created uncertainty for the agency that was built around loyalty to the past president. While Barrow decided not to disband the organization, many questions remain for the newly named State Intelligence Service. One area of uncertainty is whether SIS members will be held accountable for their actions in the NIA under Jammeh. Further, there are concerns about the appropriate tasks and basic functioning of the SIS, given the limited training and allegedly low levels of literacy among its members. These challenges are compounded by technical deficiencies that need to be tackled. Additionally, there are domestic and international pressures to downsize the force, along with the wider security sector, and some calls for more neutral leadership. Significant reform within the SIS is needed to rebuild the organization’s reputation and prevent it from again becoming a tool for political leadership.

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NOTES   1.  Niklas Hultin, Baba Jallow, Benjamin N. Lawrence, and Assan Sarr, “Auocracy, Migration, and The Gambia’s ‘Unprecedented’ 2016 Election,” African Affairs 116, no. 463 (2017): 321–340.  2. David Perfect, Historical Dictionary of The Gambia, 5th ed. (Plymouth, UK: Rowman & Littlefield, 2016), 308.   3.  Maggie Dwyer, “Fragmented Forces: The Development of the Gambian Military,” African Security Review 26, no. 4 (2017): 362–377.   4.  Arnold Hughes and David Perfect, A Political History of The Gambia, 1816– 1994 (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2006), 209.   5.  Dawda K. Jawara, Kairaba (Haywards Heath, UK: Alhaji Sir Dawda Kairaba Kawara, 2009), 380.   6.  Events of this day are described in detail in Jawara, Kairaba, and TRRC Digest nos. 1 and 2 found at https://www.aneked.org/archives.  7. Amnesty International Report 1995—Gambia, Amnesty International, January 1, 1995, https://www.refworld.org/docid/3ae6aa0214.html.   8.  For details of this event see TRRC Digest nos. 3 and 4 found at https://www .aneked.org/archives.   9.  “Coup Mass Grave Found in Gambian Barracks,” APA Banjul, April 17, 2019. 10. Maggie Dwyer, Soldiers in Revolt (New York: Oxford University Press, 2018), 125–145. 11.  Arnold Hughes, “‘Democratisation’ under the Military in The Gambia: 1994– 2000,” Journal of Commonwealth & Comparative Politics 38, no. 3 (2000): 45–46. 12. Perfect, Historical Dictionary of The Gambia, 308. 13.  Jimmy D. Kandeh, “What Does the ‘Militariat’ Do When It Rules? Military Regimes: The Gambia, Sierra Leone and Liberia,” Review of African Political Economy 23, no. 69 (1996): 395. 14. Perfect, Historical Dictionary of The Gambia, 308. 15. Mustapha K. Darboe, “When ‘Legal Junglers’ Defend Their Role under Military Rule,” Justiceinfo.net, May 3, 2021, https://www.justiceinfo.net/en/76670 -gambia-legal-junglers-defend-their-role-military-rule.html. 16. Perfect, Historical Dictionary of The Gambia, 309. 17.  This list was created using a variety of sources, including individual public profiles and government-issued announcements about position changes. 18. “Gambia Security Sector Public Expenditure Review,” World Bank (draft September 2018). 19. Sanna Camara and Lamin Jahateh, “More than 60% of NIA ‘Illiterate,” Point, June 8, 2017, https://thepoint.gm/africa/gambia/article/more-than-60-of-nias -illiterate. 20. Ibid. 21.  “NIA Refutes 60% Illiteracy Claim,” Point, June 9, 2017, https://thepoint.gm /africa/gambia/article/nia-refutes-60-illiteracy-claim.



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22.  Mustapha K. Darboe, “Gambia Truth Commission: Darboe, the Faithful Silent Agent of the NIA,” JusticeInfo.net, February 9, 2021, https://www.justiceinfo.net /en/73502-gambia-truth-commission-darboe-faithful-silent-agent-nia.html. 23.  “Gambia Security Sector Public Expenditure Review.” 24.  “Who Were Gambia’s Feared Junglers?,” APA Banjul, August 8, 2019, http:// apanews.net/en/news/who-were-gambias-feared-jungulars. 25.  For detailed documentation of NIA abuses see “State of Fear: Arbitrary Arrests, Torture, and Killings,” Human Rights Watch, September 16, 2015, https://www.hrw .org/report/2015/09/16/state-fear/arbitrary-arrests-torture-and-killings; TRRC Digests produced by the Point and A.N.E.K.E.D., especially numbers 16 and 17, available at https://www.aneked.org/archives. Further analysis of NIA crimes can also be found at JusticeInfo.net at https://www.justiceinfo.net/en/regions/gambia. 26.  “State of Fear: Arbitrary Arrests, Torture, and Killings,” Human Rights Watch, September 16, 2015, https://www.hrw.org/report/2015/09/16/state-fear/arbitrary -arrests-torture-and-killings. 27.  One such example is TRRC testimony by Lamin Badjie, August 6, 2019. 28.  Details of the prison system under Jammeh and NIA’s access to it can be found in many TRRC testimonies; see TRRC Digest nos. 13, 14, and 15 produced by the Point and A.N.E.K.E.D., available at https://www.aneked.org/archives. 29.  Mustapha K. Darboe, “Gambia’s Truth Commission Hears the NIA Torturers,” JusticeInfo.Net January 18, 2021,. https://www.aneked.org/archives. 30.  Mustapha K. Darboe, “Gambia: Jammeh’s Intelligence in Spotlight,” Justice Info.Net, November 2, 2020, https://www.justiceinfo.net/en/45832-gambia-jammeh -intelligence-spotlight.html. 31.  Mustapha K. Darboe, “Gambia’s Truth Commission Hears the NIA Torturers,” JusticeInfo.Net January 18, 2021, https://www.aneked.org/archives. 32.  Abdoulaye Saine, The Paradox of Third-Wave Democratization in Africa: The Gambia under AFPRC-APRC Rule, 1994–2008 (Plymouth, UK: Lexington Books, 2009), 67. 33.  Mustapha K. Darboe, “Gambia Truth Commission: Darboe, the Faithful Silent Agent of the NIA,” JusticeInfo.Net, February 9, 2021, https://www.justiceinfo.net /en/73502-gambia-truth-commission-darboe-faithful-silent-agent-nia.html. 34.  The four others are Ebou Lowe, Malafi Corr, Alieu Bah, and Massin Jammeh. 35.  “State of Fear”; “Gambia: Alleged Coup Plot Must Not Be Used as Excuse to Violate Citizens’ Human Rights,” Amnesty International, April 13, 2006, https:// www.amnesty.org/download/Documents/68000/afr270042006en.pdf. 36. Baba Sillah, “Jungler Reveals Daba, Others Killed, Thrown into a Well in Foni,” Standard, December 29, 2017, https://standard.gm/jungler-reveals-daba -others-killed-thrown-well-foni/. 37.  Mustapha K. Darboe, “Gambia’s Truth Commission Hears the NIA Torturers,” JusticeInfo.Net January 18, 2021, https://www.aneked.org/archives. 38. Chido Mutangadura, “Secruity Sector Reform in The Gambia: What Is at stake?,” Institute for Security Studies, West Africa Report 31, November 2020, 13. 39.  Ibid., 13–14.

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40.  Maggie Dwyer, “Security Force Assistance to The Gambia Following the 2017 Political Transition: A Recipe for Further Fragmentation?,” Journal of Intervention and Statebuilding 15, no. 5 (2021): 630–646. 41. Sam Phatey, “Former NIA Deputy Director is now state intelligence chief,” SMBC News, February 1, 2017. https://web.archive.org/web/20170204193231 /https://gambia.smbcgo.com/2017/02/01/former-nia-deputy-director-now-state-intel ligence-chief/. 42.  Mustapha K. Darboe, “Gambia: The Spy Chief who Knew Too Much or Not Enough,” JusticeInfo.Net, January 11, 2021, https://www.justiceinfo.net/en/46425 -gambia-spy-chief-who-knew-too-much-or-not-enough.html; and “Ousman Sowe Appointed as Director General of Gambia SIS,” University of Bradford, February 20, 2017, https://www.bradford.ac.uk/news/archive/2017/ousman-sowe-appointed -as-director-general-of-gambia-sis.php. 43.  Darboe, “Gambia.” 44. Abdoulie Nyockeh, “SIS Graduates Maidan Batch of Recruits on Human Rights,” Point, May 12, 2017, https://thepoint.gm/africa/gambia/article/sis-graduates -maiden-batch-of-recruits-on-human-rights. 45. Mutangadura, “Security Sector Reform in The Gambia, 13; Abdoulie Nyockeh, “SIS Graduates Maidan Batch of Recruits on Human Rights,” Point, May 12, 2017, https://thepoint.gm/africa/gambia/article/sis-graduates-maiden-batch-of -recruits-on-human-rights. 46.  Yankuba Jallow, “NIA 9 Case: State Institutes 25 Charges,” Foroyaa, October 21, 2017, https://foroyaa.net/nia-9-case-state-institutes-25-charges/. 47. Mustapha K. Darboe, “Death Penalty for Former Leaders of the National Intelligence Agency.” JusticeInfo.Net, July 18, 2022, https://www.justiceinfo.net /en/103778-gambia-death-penalty-former-leaders-national-intelligence-agency.html.

22 Ghana The Origins and Evolution of a National Intelligence Culture Michael Yekple, Daniel Banini, and Philip Attuquayefio

This chapter analyzes how colonial history, military governance, democratic

rule, and subsequent democratic consolidation have led to different epochs of Ghana’s intelligence culture. It argues that intelligence institutions have been slower to reform than other aspects of Ghana’s government, and the culture is still marked by abuses and political favoritism. The chapter draws from published memoirs, news reports, and government records on characters and events that have shaped Ghana’s intelligence culture. In doing so, it provides a reflection on the successes, failures, and transformations of key intelligence organs in Ghana. The chapter is organized in three sections. The first part explores early events, such as the February 1948 riots, that prompted the establishment of Britain’s colonial intelligence network, which laid the foundation for Ghana’s contemporary intelligence-gathering structure. It demonstrates how the security apparatus’s inadequacy in containing nationalist sentiments and agitation for self-rule led to the intelligence formation known as the Special Branch within the Police Service. The Special Branch expanded rapidly, doubling its human resources and operational capacity, with its modus operandi directed toward thwarting political activism and perceived subversion against the colonial state. The Special Branch, despite its capabilities, was unable to derail the movement toward independence, and some of its members were later instrumental in overthrowing Ghana’s first elected president. Additionally, it assesses the nature of intelligence and its use under Kwame Nkrumah, paying attention to the Special Intelligence Unit (1963), the Presidential Detailed Department (PDD) or Department 1, and Presidential Guard Company. Next, the chapter examines intelligence’s cultural characteristics and its use under the military regimes (1966–1992). The overthrow of Nkrumah’s 277

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regime opened a Pandora’s box of security challenges. For instance, in short succession, Ghana had six changes in government, mostly through military coups. In particular, the National Liberation Council (NLC) government, which took over from Nkrumah, led by General Joseph Arthur Ankrah (1966–1969), was replaced by Akwasi Afrifa (April–September 1969). Prime Minister Kofi Abrefa Busia’s civilian regime (1969–1972) was overthrown and replaced by Ignatius Kutu Acheampong (1972–1978), followed by Fred Akuffo (1978–1979), and Jerry Rawlings (1979–1992). During this period, which marked a complete breakdown of civilian control of the security apparatuses and witnessed the most brazen political purges, regime survival was central to intelligence collection and its use. Thus, intelligence institutions were more preoccupied with protecting the regimes, albeit some more than others. Regime protection was used to curtail the activities of political opponents and unearth plots as well as dissension until the return to constitutional democracy in 1992. The final section examines the governance of intelligence institutions by describing the legal framework establishing these agencies, functions, and leadership. It highlights how Ghana’s post-1992 intelligence oversight was designed to cope with the demands of democratic governance, responding to calls for reforms in the security sector following the transition to democracy. EARLY INTELLIGENCE CULTURE There is little documentation on intelligence capacity in Gold Coast, presentday Ghana, during the British colonial administration. The British system of the indirect rule adopted in its colonies partly accounted for the lack of a well-planned and coordinated intelligence-gathering capacity, as the colonial authorities relied on the local chiefs to govern. However, the February 1948 riots changed this. The riots had caught the British colonial administration by surprise, totally unprepared, creating the need for intelligence-gathering capabilities.1 Frustrations against the colonial authorities culminated in the February 1948 riots. The most notable was the boycott of all European goods, led by Nii Kwabena Bonne II, on January 26, 1948, in response to high prices, which took a toll on people’s living conditions. The boycott led to the closure of several shops in the capital and other commercial towns. Building on the momentum the boycott had generated, on February 28, 1948, Second World War veterans who had fought with the Gold Coast Regiment of the Royal West African Frontier Force organized a peaceful march to Christiansborg Castle, the seat of the colonial administration, to hand in a petition to the colonial governor. Among the six key demands, the



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ex-servicemen asked for the payment of end-of-war benefits as promised by the colonial administration as well as the official recognition of the exservicemen’s union. The demonstration was initially peaceful but escalated when the police used tear gas, failing to disperse the demonstration. In response, people began throwing stones at the police and Assistant Police Commissioner Colin Imray discharged his weapon, killing three ex-servicemen: Sergeant Adjetey, Corporal Attipoe, and Private Odartey Lamptey.2 The killing of the three ex-servicemen and wounding of several others resulted in spontaneous riots in the colony. The unrest involved widespread attacks on foreign businesses, including significant property destruction, marking a turning point in Ghana’s political history. Before the 1948 riots, there was little coordinated intelligence-gathering capability in the Gold Coast. Scholar Richard Rathbone suggested that the security services lacked central intelligence-gathering capabilities, which may have led to the clumsy response from a police detachment that shot into the crowd to quench the riots, killing the three ex-servicemen. Before the February 1948 riots, duties of the security services were limited to containing local disturbances, urban crime prevention, and traffic control. The colonial authorities anticipated a gradual increase in subversive political activities because of the decolonization sentiments in places like India, where they had established the Mobile Police Force in 1947, used extensively in subsequent years, leading to over two hundred deployments by September 1951.3 Yet the effects from the 1948 riots reconfigured intelligence-gathering capabilities in the Gold Coast. The riots put severe pressure on the police service to become more adept at confronting the changing security situation. This led to the drafting of several senior police officers from other British colonies. More than twenty police officers were recruited from British Guiana, Mauritius, and Uganda to the Gold Coast to help improve security. By early 1949 the size of the police force had doubled, and other specialized units had emerged to gather intelligence on local dissidents.4 One such unit with the purpose of intelligence gathering and sharing was the Special Branch. The Special Branch was the first attempt by the colonial administration to emplace a structured domestic intelligence organization. The branch was tasked to collect and share intelligence on events in the colony as a way of safeguarding the stability of the state. Its establishment was due to the colonial administration’s inability to respond swiftly to security’s changing dynamics. The riots and agitation in the colony made the colonial authorities believe that existing security structures were inadequate for the colony’s security.5 The Watson Commission, created to determine the causes of events that cascaded into the 1948 riots, recommended in its report of June 9, 1948, that “early

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steps be taken to reorganize and strengthen the intelligence Branch of the Police Force” to prevent the kind of intelligence failures regarding riots in the future.6 Therefore, the branch dedicated its human and material resources to safeguarding intelligence, deeming it a critical need for the government. The combination of events highlighted the heightened security needs of the colony, leading to the Special Branch’s establishment within the Police Service. The timeline for creating the Special Branch is not definitive; however, evidence suggests that it may have been established between March and May 1948.7 Although the Special Branch was established due to the inadequacy of existing security structures to deal with intelligence lapses, its activities were directed toward political activism and perceived subversion against the colonial state. The Special Branch provided its first detailed analysis of nationalist activists, focusing primarily on the United Gold Coast Convention (UGCC) leaders starting in 1949. In the ensuing years, the Special Branch thoroughly infiltrated all organizations and persons who held views and beliefs contrary to the colonial government’s interest.8 It carved a niche for its specialized political intelligence-gathering capabilities, with the ability to gather information on unrest in the country.9 Chase Arnold documented the Special Branch’s activities, noting that it cultivated human intelligence (HUMINT) within months following the riots and continuing for several years to come.10 The success in penetrating organizations and individuals perceived to harbor ulterior motives against the government was partly due to the ideological cracks within the leadership of the UGCC, formed in 1947. The Special Branch was concerned about anti-colonial politics, thus appraising socialist sentiments that drove a section of the nationalist politics in the Gold Coast. While it used local HUMINT sources to gather intelligence, the Special Branch’s coordination center remained the British Security Service (MI5).11 The Special Branch was developed according to the British intelligencegathering structure. MI5’s role in intelligence collection on the Gold Coast is particularly noteworthy. MI5 retained several avenues for gathering information from the Gold Coast and had several of its officers stationed in Accra as advisers to the local administration. The Special Branch infiltrated the main nationalist parties and gathered data regarding the key interests, associations, and operations of leading political actors of the day.12 Thus, it was a more significant force in the Gold Coast political process than nationalist activists. According to Arnold’s research, the Special Branch worked with likely rival Ghanaian elites to monitor pro-independence parties and politicians, including elected local government representatives and cabinet ministers.13 The branch’s extensive intelligence-gathering work in the years preceding independence “undoubtedly sapped the once virtually untouchable power of Chief Commissioners, the ‘barons’ of the pre-1948 Gold Coast.”14 Rathbone’s



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analysis noted that political intelligence gathering improved significantly after the February 1948 riots, as “it was no longer the fragile thing that had proved so incapable of predicting, let alone resisting, the considerable pressures it was subjected to in the last months of 1947 and the first of 1948.”15 While the Special Branch dedicated significant resources to investigating and quenching anti-colonial sentiments, the winds of change and the independence movement left this exceptional intelligence-gathering outfit unable “to protect a state that no longer existed.”16 It is equally important to note that although the Special Branch was instrumental in perpetuating the colonial project, it was also instrumental in the dissolution of British rule in the Gold Coast.17 As self-rule became likely, the Special Branch allegedly trained individuals to take over from the British. The National Liberation Movement (NLM) party, established in 1954, reportedly aimed to train future National Liberation Council leaders. When Ghana gained independence in 1957, Kwame Nkrumah emerged as the first president against whom much of the Special Branch’s activities were directed. In his reflections on the Special Branch, Nkrumah described the institution as “a typically British creation” that taught its officers to view him “as a dangerous man whose political views and activities threatened all that was stable and respectable in British eyes.”18 In Nkrumah’s view, the Special Branch was created to undermine his political work in the years preceding independence and subsequently channeled its efforts to subverting his presidency and undermining the African nationalism he advocated. Nkrumah also alleged that the Special Branch officers masterminded the six attempts on his life. The 1966 coup that finally toppled Nkrumah while he was on his way to Vietnam was believed to be an “overt demonstration of the Special Branch’s persistent efforts to destabilize Ghana in fulfillment of its first, colonial purpose.”19 While the 1966 coup has been given various interpretations, Kofi Bentum Quantson documented how the Special Branch assumed a new face once Ghana transitioned to independence.20 Himself an officer of the Special Branch, Quantson noted that the branch’s operations detected the coup that later toppled Nkrumah. He pointed out how the desk officer who processed the Special Branch director’s report called attention to an officer’s outbursts in Kumasi. The information sent to the president’s office regarding the particular event was severely watered down, making the security implications vague. It later turned out that Major Akwasi Afrifa, who spearheaded the coup that toppled Nkrumah’s regime, was the subject in the Special Branch’s intelligence. He also happened to be the nephew of the Special Branch director.21 The new regime became dictatorial, causing resentment and opposition. The police intelligence services ultimately took advantage of the dissatisfaction and launched a successful coup against the regime.22

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INTELLIGENCE CULTURE FROM THE MILITARY REGIMES TO THE FOURTH REPUBLIC Military regimes since the overthrow of the First Republic in 1966 have used the intelligence institutions principally for regime survival. The successes and failures arising out of this objective have shaped the structure and organization of intelligence efforts running throughout the military regimes through the return to constitutional democracy in 1992. Cognizant of the role played by the intelligence establishment in plotting the overthrow of the Nkrumah regime, the National Liberation (NLM) regime that assumed power after Nkrumah restructured the intelligence institutions to safeguard the regime from perceived enemies. Significantly, the regime took the monopoly over intelligence away from the police to include the military, paving the way for the creation of the Military Intelligence Unit (MIU).23 However, this failed to guarantee regime survival as anticipated. The director of the newly created MIU, Colonel Kutu Acheampong, who was appointed to the role because of his friendship with Prime Minister Kofi Abrefa Busia, led a coup d’état to overthrow the democratically elected government of the Progress Party and its leader Busia on January 13, 1972. He promoted himself to the rank of general and installed himself as head of state. Acheampong’s rising caused the intelligence institutions to weaken due to a tenuous and fractured intelligence sector riven by divisions, dissent, and reputational damage to the MIU.24 Unsurprisingly, three successful coups occurred after this coup, led by Akuffo (1978) and Rawlings (1979, 1981). When Rawlings and his Armed Forces Revolutionary Council (AFRC), and later the PDNC, took power, they distrusted the intelligence agencies under military control. Rawlings and his revolutionaries evaded the intelligence radar of the military to successfully launch a coup in 1979 and 1981 despite heavy MIU and SB surveillance on them. As result, tensions between the regime and the military only deepened.25 Like Busia, Rawlings restructured national intelligence. He disbanded the MIU and embarked on a mission to transform the entire intelligence architecture. Like Busia, the Rawlings regime created a new internal intelligence unit, the Bureau of National Investigations (BNI). The regime dissolved the MIU to get rid of those whose loyalty to the regime was questionable. The BNI assumed all intelligence duties of the state and was independent of both the military and the police. The center of national intelligence also moved to the offices of the national security adviser, who was a close associate of the president. The new BNI recruited young graduates considered independent minded to get rid of disloyal persons.26 The Rawlings government set up the BNI to crack down on dissent and keep opponents of his administration under control. For a long time, the BNI



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has been the face of an intelligence agency to many Ghanaians and is what comes to mind when national security is mentioned. In particular, the BNI’s public image is that of terror, harassment, political intimidation, and reprisal against critics of the ruling government. Among its darkest episodes, there have been reports of the BNI torturing and killing political opponents of the Rawlings administration, and many more were reportedly disappeared.27 When Ghana transitioned into constitutional rule in 1992 and the Rawlings administration handed over power in 2001, the perception of the BNI did not significantly change aside from extreme human rights violations like torture and killings. Specifically, the ruling parties and governments continued using the BNI to harass and intimidate their political opponents.28 Soon after the new government came to office in 2000, the BNI turned on its former masters. The BNI targeted former president Rawlings and his associates, raided their private properties, and put surveillance on their daily activities.29 The Ghanaian media reported that the new John Kufour government believed former president Rawlings had piles of weapons concealed in some private properties across the country. However, no weapons were found.30 Incidents of using the BNI to intimidate former political opponents occurred in successive administrations throughout the Fourth Republic. There were many instances of the two major political parties (the National Democratic Congress, NDC, and the New Patriot Party, NPP) perpetuating a culture of using the BNI as a political weapon against their political opponents once they were in office. This culture has gradually permeated other law enforcement agencies, including the police. For instance, in 1999 then member of Parliament and now president Nana Akufo Addo was arrested by the police in violation of his parliamentary immunity, members of Parliament in the ruling party argued that parliamentary immunity could not apply because Parliament was not in session on the day of the arrest.31 When the government in which Akufo Addo served came to power in 2001, a former minister was detained and mishandled by the BNI over a football stadium disaster that occurred under his tenure as sector minister. The then minority in Parliament condemned the BNI being used by the current government for political persecution. Yet the ruling party’s members of parliament said the arrest did not violate parliamentary immunity because the arrest was made on Sunday, when Parliament does not sit. This position was in complete reversal of the one they had taken when Akufo Addo was arrested.32 In a similar case, when the previous chief of staff under former president Kufuor was arrested, detained, and interrogated for several hours, under the new NDC government, E. T. Mensah justified it by saying he had received a worse treatment from the BNI than the former chief of staff was being subjected to, as if to suggest that his government was being charitable in returning the favor of persecution.33

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Thus, both parties when in opposition have accused the ruling government of weekend arrests and detention to punish political opponents because weekends do not count toward the forty-eight-hour mandatory limit for holding arrested persons. Yet they have allowed the same practice when in power.34 In 2004, the minority leader in Parliament and other political leaders were invited to give a talk to a university students’ group. The leaders and organizers were arrested, interrogated, and asked by the BNI to produce the minority leader’s speech.35 Politicians and political parties’ relationship with the intelligence agencies, both in and out of office, reveal a perverse incentive in using intelligence for their advantage when they again assume political power. To some extent, they are willing to endure a political witch hunt by the intelligence agencies, so they have the opportunity to act in kind when they return to power. Moreover, there have also been allegations of the BNI being used by influential private citizens for personal ends.36 In 2016 the Ghanaian Chronicle reported that the national security adviser had ordered the BNI to arrest and detain a private businessman for taking and publishing photographs of vehicles presumably belonging to the state but being rebranded in ruling party colors for campaign purposes. On other occasions, the BNI arrested and detained private citizens suspected of being members sympathetic to the opposition party for allegedly making disparaging comments about the president, even though the criminal libel law that punished such speech had long been repealed.37 Thus, one consistent pattern is that both political parties only complain about abuses by the intelligence services when in opposition and condone them when in power. GOVERNANCE AND OVERSIGHT Development of intelligence governance and oversight institutions evolved through different phases in the political history of Ghana. After independence, the intelligence governance architecture under Nkrumah was largely shaped by Nkrumah’s vision of radical Pan-Africanism and African liberation.38 The regime inherited the colonial police force and maintained the Special Branch, but created the Foreign Research Bureau (FSRB) with help from India and the African Affairs Secretariat to further covert activities in support of liberation movements across the continent.39 These units fell under the direct supervision of the presidency and reported directly to the president.40 While major changes in oversight and governance structures did not occur until 1981 under the PNDC, various governments after Nkrumah made changes, rotating or splitting the center of national intelligence activities



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between the police and the military at different times. After Nkrumah, the National Liberation Movement that followed scrapped both the African Affairs Secretariat and the Bureau of African Affairs and integrated remaining personnel into the FSRB.41 The regime created the Military Intelligence Unit (MIU), through which the military shared national intelligence responsibilities with the police. The Provisional National Defence Council (PNDC) under Rawlings brought major changes in 1981. The PNDC regime disbanded the MIU and created the Bureau of National Investigations (BNI) as a unit independent of the police and the military. The BNI was placed under the national security adviser, reporting directly to the president. The PNDC went on a major recruitment drive to make the BNI a professional agency.42 Generally, oversight of the intelligence services has been tied to the nature of the political landscape in the country. Ghana’s return to democratic rule in 1992 ensured liberalization of the political and media space, civil society activism, demands from the international community to adopt good governance, and institutional reforms, including in the security and intelligence sector. The 1992 Constitution, in article 83, established the role of the National Security Council under the executive arm of government to coordinate the work of state intelligence institutions. This meant that the presidency has primary oversight of intelligence institutions. As part of systemwide reforms, the NDC government passed the security and Intelligence Agencies Act, Act 526 (1996) (now amended to Act 1020 [2020]), bringing for the first time, transparency and a broad-based democratic oversight of intelligence institutions in the country.43 Overall, Act 526 (1996) contains a progressive oversight mechanism compared to previous regimes. Under the act, there is a National Security Council that has oversight over all agencies involved in intelligence; the National Security Council is in turn under the oversight of the executive arm of government. The main national security agencies are the BNI for domestic intelligence, the Research Department for foreign intelligence, and the Department of Defence Intelligence (DI). Other secondary units under the act include the Criminal Investigations Department (CID) of the Ghana Police Service (GPS), the Financial Intelligence Centre (FIC), and the Economic and Organized Crime Office (EOCO). The act also created the National Security Council (NSC) to be headed by the president, with membership composed of the vice president and ministers of interior, defense, and foreign affairs and leaders of all other security agencies in the country. The NSC is supported by the National Security Council Secretariat, which collates and analyzes intelligence from all intelligence agencies for official use. Section 17(2) of the act provides for parliamentary oversight by creating a minister of intelligence who is answerable to Parliament on matters of

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national security. Furthermore, for the first time, ordinary citizens who feel aggrieved by activities of the intelligence agencies can file a complaint with the director of national intelligence.44 The act has also improved accountability of intelligence agencies to citizens by shredding the cloak of secrecy surrounding the work of the national intelligence agencies. For the first time, national intelligence institutions would be subjected to parliamentary oversight, and a minister responsible for national intelligence (to be appointed) could be summoned before Parliament to answer questions and provide an annual report on their activities.45 Similarly, Parliament approves budgets of intelligence agencies.46 Moreover, citizens could file a complaint with the director of national intelligence.47 Considering that the work of national intelligence agencies has always been clandestine, this reform is significant in normalizing their work for the public. However, aspects of the reform contradict freedoms and human rights guaranteed under the 1992 constitution. Section 12(1)d of the act states that the government will take action against persons intending “to overthrow the government of Ghana or undermine the constitutional order.” While the reforms opened up the intelligence agencies to constitutional oversight, it left a conduit that incumbent governments and political parties can exploit to justify their use for regime protection. The provision did not define what conduct would amount to wanting to overthrow the state or undermining the constitution, leaving a broad category of behaviors that could fall under the interpretation of intelligence agencies themselves. The fear of potential abuse of this provision has not been unfounded. Indeed, it has become fodder for governments and political parties to justify using intelligence services to intimidate and harass political opponents and to crack down on dissent. Arguably, this provision provides context and justification for how ruling governments have used the BNI under the Fourth Republic. Most importantly, aspects that would ensure effective oversight have not been implemented by successive governments since the act’s passage. The act requires the creation of a national security minister who is accountable to the Parliament’s work of national intelligence services. It was only in 2017 that the ministry was properly created for the first time, under the Akufo Addo regime. Previous attempts to have a national security minister did not come with a ministry to support the position, arguably accounting for their lack of success in the role.48 Some argued this was an executive ploy to evade parliamentary oversight.49 The act further requires heads of intelligence agencies to be politically neutral.50 However, safeguards like security of tenure to incentivize agency heads to live up to this expectation are nonexistent in Ghana, leading to bias in favor of incumbents to protect their jobs. This may have contributed to the worrying trend of ruling governments’ partisan and



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political deployment of intelligence agencies in Ghana. Furthermore, there is no dedicated intelligence committee to review the activities of intelligence agencies as in other democracies with a parliamentary culture. If Ghana’s intelligence culture is to improve, Parliament and civil society must hold the government accountable to create these institutions. In a positive development, the current Akufo Addo government has indicated commitment to security reforms, including plans to create a parliamentary intelligence committee to deepen parliamentary oversight of intelligence activities.51 Moreover, the current government has developed a national security strategy to change the scope of the threats and streamline efforts at addressing them.52 CONCLUSION For many Ghanaians, the term national security describes oppression because of how successive ruling parties and governments have captured the establishment and applied it to perverse political ends, including intimidating political opponents, silencing dissent, and punishing speech critical of incumbents. The use of national intelligence for regime protection throughout Ghana’s political history left an intelligence culture that favors regime protection. Under the Fourth Republic, that culture has been reinforced by the two major political parties, which deploy the intelligence agencies against dissent and political opponents. The BNI, which was renamed the National Intelligence Bureau in November 2020, is the face of intelligence for Ghanaians, and its activities have arguably demonstrated a focus on regime protection.53 When power changes hands, the perceived loyalties of the intelligence agencies shift to the ruling party, giving reason to question whether the BNI is supposed to serve the state, protect the political party in power, or worse, punish detractors on its behalf. Unsurprisingly, this phenomenon is noticeable in other security services, such as how the police prosecute cases. Cases against persons affiliated with the ruling party are handled lightly, as opposed to cases involving persons affiliated with the opposition. The pattern reverses itself when power changes hands to the opposition party. NOTES 1.  Johnny Kwadjo, “Changing Intelligence Dynamics in Africa: The Ghana Experience,” in Changing Intelligence Dynamics in Africa, ed. Sandy Africa and Johnny Kwadjo (Birmingham, UK: GFN-SSR and ASSN, 2009), 98. 2.  Adrienne M. Israel, “Ex-Servicemen at the Crossroads: Protest and Politics in Post-War Ghana,” Journal of Modern African Studies 30, no. 2 (1992): 368.

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  3.  Richard Rathbone, “Political Intelligence and Policing in Ghana in the late 1940s and 1950s,” in Policing and Decolonisation: Politics, Nationalism and the Police, 1917–65, ed. David M. Anderson and David Killingray (Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 1993), 108.  4. Ibid., 108.   5.  Chase Andrew Arnold, “The ‘Cat’s Paw of Dictatorship’: State Security and Self-Rule in the Gold Coast, 1948 to 1957” (PhD diss., California Digital Library, University of California, 2019), 26.   6.  Report of the Commission of Enquiry into Disturbances in the Gold Coast, Chairman A. Watson, Public Record Office, Kew (PRO), 1948.   7.  See Rathbone, “Political Intelligence and Policing in Ghana,” 109.   8.  Chase Arnold, “The ‘Cat’s Paw of Dictatorship’: Police Intelligence and SelfRule in the Gold Coast, 1948–1952,” Journal of the Middle East and Africa 11, no. 2 (2020): 161–177.   9.  Mathieu Deflem, “Law Enforcement in British Colonia Africa: A Comparative Analysis of Emperial Policing in Nyasaland, the Gold Coast and Kenya,” Police Studies 17, no. 1 (1994): 45–68. 10. Arnold, “The ‘Cat’s Paw of Dictatorship’: Police Intelligence”; and “The ‘Cat’s Paw of Dictatorship’: State Security.” 11. Arnold, “The ‘Cat’s Paw of Dictatorship’: State Security,” 26; and David Killingray, “The Maintenance of Law and Order in British Colonial Africa,” African Affairs 85, no. 340 (1986): 411–437. 12. Arnold, “The ‘Cat’s Paw of Dictatorship’: Police Intelligence”; and “The ‘Cat’s Paw of Dictatorship’: State Security.” 13.  Arnold, “The ‘Cat’s Paw of Dictatorship’: Police Intelligence,” 163. 14.  Rathbone, “Political Intelligence and Policing in Ghana,” 124–125. 15.  Ibid., 124. 16.  Arnold, “The ‘Cat’s Paw of Dictatorship’: State Security,” 42. 17.  Ibid, 2. 18.  Kwame Nkrumah, Dark Days in Ghana (New York: International Publishers, 1972), 41. 19.  Arnold, “The ‘Cat’s Paw of Dictatorship’: Police Intelligence,” 162. 20.  Kofi Bentum Quantson, Security in the Hands of God: My Amazing Testimony (Accra, Ghana: self-published, 2000). 21.  Deflem, “Law Enforcement in British Colonia Africa,” 53. 22. Ibid. 23. Kwadjo. 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid. 26. Quantson, Security in the Hands of God. Chapters from the section “Intelligence Sector.” 27.  “BNI Chases Rawlings,” Weekly Insight, February 27, 2001. 28.  There has been wide media coverage of human rights violations by the BNI under different administration over the years since the fourth republic. Many newspa-



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pers report on such abuses against different categories of people, including political opponents and ordinary citizens. 29.  “BNI Chases Rawlings.” 30. Ibid. 31  Article 117 of the 1992 Constitution outlines the proper procedures to serve arrest warrants on a sitting member of parliament, including prior communication to the speaker of parliament. 32.  “Why the BNI Is Impudent and Lawless,” Ghanaian Chronicle, January 31, 2012. 33.  According to accounts by Mensah, he was interrogated from about 8:00 a.m. to about 5:00 p.m; he was asked to strip to his pants; he was manhandled by BNI operatives; and he was detained and made to sleep on an old, dirty mattress in a mosquito-infested room. His home was searched, first by fifty soldiers and later by seventy soldiers, all armed, and he was subjected to many other inhumane treatments. See “Why the BNI Is Impudent and Lawless.” 34.  In Ghana, as in many common law jurisdictions, it is illegal to arrest and detain any person for more than forty-eight hours without charging them with a crime. The security agencies purposely plan to arrest persons just before close of business on Friday in order to detain them over the weekend without violating the habeas corpus principle. 35.  “BNI Should Deal with Core Functions, Insists Bagbin,” Ghanaian Chronicle, June 3, 2004. This was in 2004 when live coverage and publication of events were not widely available, and the BNI regional officers could not have access the speech on their own. 36.  “BNI Doing NDC Bidding,” Ghanaian Chronicle, April 5, 2016. 37.  “BNI Frees Fadi Daboussi,” Ghana Star, September 26, 2016. 38. Quantson, Security in the Hands of God; and Kwadjo. 39.  Ryan Shaffer, “Unraveling India’s Foreign Intelligence: The Origins and Evolution of the Research and Analysis Wing,” International Journal of Intelligence and CounterIntelligence 28, no. 2 (2015): 261; and Avinash Paliwal, “Colonial Sinews of Postcolonial Espionage—India and the Making of Ghana’s External Intelligence Agency, 1958–61,” International History Review (2021). 40. Kwadjo. 41. Obuobi. 42. Quantson, Security in the Hands of God. 43. Now amended to Security and Intelligence Agencies Act, 1030 (2020), to reflect current dimensions. 44.  Section 21(1). Whether this apples in practice is another matter, as abuse of citizens by the BNI suggests that this does not work. 45.  Section 17 (2). 46.  Section 23. 47.  Section 21 (1). 48. Under the Rawlings regime with the appointment of Honorable Totobi Kwakye as national security minister, and Honorable Francis Poku under the Kufour regime in 2006.

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49. Obuobi. 50.  Section 14 c. 51.  Public Appointment Hearing Session of the Minister Designate for National Security, Honorable Albert Kan Dappah. 52. Ibid. 53. Judith Lamiokor Lamptey, “BNI Changes Name to National Intelligence Bureau (NIB),” Graphic Online, November 23, 2020, https://www.graphic.com.gh /news/general-news/bni-changes-name-to-national-intelligence-bureau-nib.html.

23 Guinea A Culture of Impunity amid Stability and Instability Ryan Shaffer

Guinea’s intelligence and security services have played a contradictory role

in supporting the country’s head of state since independence. As a key enforcer of the head of state’s demands, the services have also forced the head of state from power. With the country largely governed by three men since independence, the intelligence and security services have been both a tool for the elite and an actor with impunity that can topple the leader. Interim president Mamady Doumbouya, who obtained power in a 2021 coup, is not only a Guinean soldier but served in the country’s intelligence and security services. This is no coincidence because the country’s leadership has intertwined political power with the security sector.1 A former French colony, Guinea is a West African country between Guinea-Bissau and Sierra Leone with a population of about thirteen million.2 The largest urban population is in the capital, Conakry, with about two million residents. Freedom House, before the 2021 coup, rated the country “partly free,” explaining that it “uses restrictive criminal laws to discourage dissent, and ethnic divisions and pervasive corruption often exacerbate political disputes. Regular abuse of civilians by military and police forces reflects a deep-seated culture of impunity.”3 Officially known as the Republic of Guinea and also referred to as Guinea-Conakry, the country relies heavily on mining. Despite corruption and poor infrastructure, mining makes up about 35 percent of the country’s gross domestic product.4 In particular, Guinea is the world’s second largest source for bauxite—used to make aluminum—with eighty-two million tons extracted in 2020, processed in China for use in making vehicles and cans. Beyond bauxite, the country is the seventh largest source for gold in Africa and has diamond reserves. Yet the World Bank’s most recent data reports that 43.7 percent of the population 291

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lives below the national poverty line, and it is one of the poorest countries in the world.5 This chapter explores the intelligence and security culture in Guinea with attention to the historical evolution of the services. Drawing from academic sources, press reports, and published government publications, it argues that the political, social, and economic climate has developed an intelligence and security culture of impunity wherein the officials’ objectives are regime protection and personal enrichment. The chapter is organized in three parts. The first examines the country’s political history, by reviewing the security services’ and military’s involvement in politics. Next, the chapter explores the intelligence culture by reviewing specific intelligence and security services’ size, functions, and activities. The third section explores foreign relations, with attention to intelligence sharing and training. The chapter concludes by highlighting aspects of the intelligence culture in light of the coup in 2021. BACKGROUND Contemporary Guinea was colonized by France; when offered autonomy under the new French Community, the country declared independence immediately, in September 1958.6 Guinea disassociated itself from its former colonizing state and sought to establish a new socialist system, as France withdrew from the country, leaving it without vital expertise.7 President Ahmed Sékou Touré (1922–1984) governed the country from 1958 until his death in 1984 as a one-party state under the Democratic Party of Guinea (Parti Démocratique de Guinée, PDG), following a Marxist-Leninist doctrine. The PDG was “highly centralised and hierarchically structured,” and some people would later describe the era “as a secure time when almost no crimes were committed.”8 Touré, a “charismatic” figure and “gifted” speaker, had ultimate authority over the party, which tried to “control every aspect of a person’s life.”9 Bram Posthumus described the newly independent government as having “imposed but answered to the rules that were derived from age-old guiding principles of African empires,” while it “inherited a political system that had removed any and all semblance of traditional African checks and balance.”10 The country was a Cold War front where communist and anti-communist countries offered assistance for influence. It became a socialist police state that engaged in public executions with a Cuban-trained military to enforce obedience. Women held senior positions in the government, which included female “secret agents.”11 As for cultural assistance, Frank Gerits argued that



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by 1960 the harsh dissociation between Guinea and France was reversed and became “transactional,” whereby “cultural resources were more consciously granted to those countries that were expected to remain closely allied with France.”12 In the first major leadership change of postcolonial Guinea, the military and security services seized control of the government. In March 1984 Touré died, and the constitution mandated that the prime minister ascend to be head of state. Yet days after Touré’s death, the National Army took control, announcing that it had seized power “to create the foundations for a real democracy, preventing any future personal dictatorship.”13 The military justified the coup by citing the infighting for control among Touré’s “comrades,” who were “guilty of the general corruption of the government and its institutions.”14 The Military Committee of the National Recovery (Comité Militaire de Redressement National, CMRN) established a new government, naming the country the Republic of Guinea, and Colonel Lansana Conté subsequently served as the country’s president from April 1984 until his death in December 2008. According to scholar Posthumus, the military played “a leading role in Guinea’s politics for the next 25 years,” centered “around” Conté for twentyfour of those years.15 Conté had served in the French Army and received his military education at the École militaire in Saint Louis, fought against Algerian liberation forces, and joined Guinea’s armed forces after independence. He “played a leading role” in defending his city against the 1970 Portuguese attack and was promoted in the military, eventually serving in the National Assembly and participating in “interrogations at Camp Boiro.”16 Conté’s government quickly arrested potential political opponents, but simultaneously dissolved the prison camps, and Touré’s political prisoners were released. As for the economy, it was given a degree of liberalization, with state-run businesses being privatized and foreign banks opening. The prime minister appointed in 1983, Diarra Traoré (1935–1985), was ousted, and the prime minister position was abolished. Traoré led a failed coup in July 1985, was captured, and was later executed. In response to an alleged conspiracy, “violent repression and a resurgent ‘ethnification’” emerged, and the Malinke community was attacked in an effort by the Touré-Keita clan “to hold on to power.”17 The 1990s marked a shift for Conté’s governance. Political parties were legalized in 1992, and Conté established the Unity and Progress Party (Parti de l’Unité et du Progrès, PUP). Several opposition parties were also formed, notably former student activist and French-educated political scientist Alpha Condé’s Rally of the Guinean People (Rassemblement du Peuple Guinéen, RPG), which began building support. In 1993 Conté was elected president

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in the first multiparty election. Meanwhile, journalism emerged, with private newspapers being established. Strife continued, with demonstrations and clashes as the Ministry of the Interior suppressed government critics.18 With the security services attacking government opponents, people were killed and specific ethnic groups were allegedly targeted.19 Conté’s success in elections was due to the sheer power of the state apparatus, opposition weaknesses, and the Ministry of the Interior’s changing the vote tally.20 The June 1995 parliamentary elections were boycotted by the opposition, allowing Conté to consolidate significant political power with his party in parliament. In February 1996 soldiers directly attacked the political powers over poor conditions, including pay and food. After two days, the rebels were suppressed; dozens were dead. Posthumus argued that “the mutiny had re-ignited an absolute obsession with security,” and physical searches and checks of the population were instituted.21 Problems persisted as foreign investment lagged under the political circumstances. Conté’s relatives and friends—notably several wives, mistresses, and children—profited from his power; his eldest child headed a special army unit that was also involved in drug smuggling.22 Ultimately, “the definitive break with a state-run economy” in 1985 allowed Conté “to create an economy increasingly run by mafia-style clans, similar to the ones in the First Republic, less prone to violence but equally venal.”23 As for external issues, conflicts in neighboring Côte d’Ivoire, Liberia, and Sierra Leone during the 1990s posed threats to Guinea’s national security. Yet the Guinean youth did not engage in violence like those in neighboring countries due to a variety of local conditions and social reasons.24 One notable military action occurred in 1998, when Guinea’s military entered Yenga, a village in Sierra Leone, to support the government. Despite subsequent agreements to return the village, more than twenty years later Guinea still occupies the land, and in 2021 Sierra Leone accused Guinea of “increased” territorial incursions.25 Conté relied on the security sector for support. In January 1999 he was reelected president amid reports of election rigging and arrests of the opposition, including the main challenger, Alpha Condé, being “kidnapped, incarcerated and tortured by security forces.”26 Besides being president, Conté held other government posts, including chief of the armed forces and minister of defense.27 As his health declined, he became increasingly isolated and less visible while problems mounted while government officials spending their entire salaries on a single bag of rice.28 The country became dangerous due to the rise of crime and daily activities became a struggle, prompting union leaders to lead demonstrations against the government in defiance of the law.29 The military suffered as Conté grew distrustful of an institution that had not only brought him to power but now contained soldiers who threatened his



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power. Consequently, he created parallel structures that competed with the army, including establishing the Presidential Guard as well as groups like the Rangers and Red Berets with hundreds of personnel.30 Networks run by individuals were key to recruitment, and personnel supplemented their salaries by harassing and extorting citizens.31 Nonetheless, the military was “a massive and completely unsustainable drain on the state’s resources,” with personnel numbering “certainly more than” the official ten thuosand figure.32 In December 2008 Conté died, and Moussa Dadis Camara, an army captain, seized power in the name of the National Council for Democracy and Development (Conseil National de la Démocratie et du Développement, CNDD), which he held until January 2010, when he sought exile in Burkina Faso.33 In response, Guinea was isolated by the international community, with the exception of Iran and China.34 Despite international condemnation, the CNDD was welcomed by the populace at first because it gave hope to unemployed youth and prosecuted corrupt politicians of the former administration. Scholar Joschka Philipps argued that youth were a key component of earlier protests against the government, expressing frustration by “destroying state symbols and attacking soldiers and policemen.”35 Yet following bloody protests in September 2009 opposed to Camara’s plan to run for president, his support declined, and he was shot in December 2009 during a failed assassination attempt.36 Notably, the September 2009 violence and massacre by the security services, including mass rape and sexual assault, was documented in a report by Human Rights Watch.37 The political atmosphere began to shift, and presidential elections held in June 2010 were witnessed by international observers. Alpha Condé and the RPG won the election; he was sworn in as president in December 2010.38 This appeared to be a positive change, “bringing to a relatively peaceful end the dangerous crisis inherited from the Conté era and exacerbated under the CNDD junta.”39 Hopes that Guinea’s new government would be a significant departure from those of previous leaders were dashed. Scholar Mohamed Saliou Camara explained, “President Condé has been consistently criticized for having yet to depart from the adversarial campaign rhetoric of ‘us’ versus ‘them’ in favor of a truly presidential discourse to which the Guinean citizenry as a whole would relate.”40 Moreover, ethnic violence and clashes with the state continued under Condé’s administration; he retained power, being reelected in 2015 while repressing political opposition.41 In the 2020 presidential elections, when Condé was reelected for a third term, his main political rival was arrested without charge, and the security forces suppressed protests. The government “severely disrupted or shut down” the communication networks,

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and opposition activists were killed by security forces in what were described as “assassinations.”42 In September 2021, President Condé was arrested by military personnel, and Colonel Mamady Doumbouya announced that he was closing the country’s borders and “suspending” parliament and the constitution, with a National Committee of Reconciliation and Development (Comité national du rassemblement et du développement, CNRD) taking control.43 In the context of failed promises of democracy and ethnic reconciliation, the CNRD cited poverty and corruption as the reasons for the coup.44 Weeks later Doumbouya, at forty-one years old, became the country’s interim president and the second youngest head of an African country.45 A mid-ranking military officer in Guinea’s army and a former member of the French Foreign Legion, Doumbouya came from the security services. He led the elite Special Forces Group that was established in 2018; served in Afghanistan, Côte d’Ivoire, Djibouti, and Central African Republic peacekeeping missions; and worked under the country’s intelligence services in the Directorate of Territorial Surveillance (Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire, DST).46 One news report claimed that the DST was surveilling him prior to the coup, concerned about his activities.47 When Doumbouya was sworn in as president, his wife—a French national who served in the Republican Guard, part of the National Gendarmerie in Paris, France—was at his side.48 INTELLIGENCE CULTURE Prior to the 2021 coup, Guinea’s security sector consisted of services under the Ministry of Defense and Ministry of Security and Civil Protection; their functions included intelligence or intelligence-related tasks. Due to President Condé’s supermajority in parliament, there was no meaningful oversight or independence of ministries or the services. The US Department of State in 2021 concluded, “Impunity was a significant problem in the security forces, particularly in the gendarmes, police, and military forces. Factors contributing to impunity included corruption, lack of training, politicization of forces, and a lack of transparency in investigations.”49 Given the country’s autocratic political history and repression, it is challenging to find information about the intelligence services. Nonetheless, there is some information specific to intelligence. Guinea’s military has an internal and external security mission for the country and accordingly depends on intelligence. Overseen by the Ministry of Defence, the National Armed Forces have grown over the last few decades, but questions remain about their effectiveness. By 1975, the military



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consisted of fifty-five hundred personnel (the army five thousand, air force three hundred, and navy two hundred), the police had about thirty-five hundred personnel, a “Cuban-style militia” had between five and fifteen thousand personnel, and a paramilitary had eight thousand personnel.50 Scholar Mamadou Diouma Bah argued that from 1984 to 2010, Guinea’s “military establishment behaved as an ethnic-like group in relation to other segments of the Guinean state. Due to this ethnic-like behavior, the military was able to achieve the unity required to maintain a degree of cohesiveness and strength.”51 According to the International Institute for Strategic Studies in 2020, “Guinea’s armed forces remain limited in size and capacity, although reforms since 2010 have brought them back under political control and begun a process of professionalization.”52 The armed forces have a current strength of ninety-seven hundred personnel (the army has eighty-five hundred, the navy has four hundred, the air force has eight hundred, and the paramilitary has twenty-six hundred).53 Additionally, the ministry oversees the Republican Guard (Garde Républicaine), which provides state security and used to respond to civil unrest and had a personnel size of sixteen hundred in 1987.54 Moreover, “internal-security challenges reportedly led to the composition of mixed army–gendarmerie units.”55 Under the Ministry of Defence, the National Gendarmerie is also tasked with internal security and can arrest police and military personnel. It was led by General Ibrahima Baldé until the 2021 coup. Colonel Balla Samoura was appointed the high commander and director of military justice in October 2021, announcing plans to complete the establishment of a gendarmerie officer school and a science and technology laboratory.56 The gendarmerie is divided among branches that have military police responsibilities and a mobile unit for law and order.57 Legally, its members, who wear military camouflage, can act aggressively with little fear of punishment. In 2019, parliament passed a law laying out gendarmes’ justifications for using deadly force, which human rights groups said shields them from being prosecuted for unlawful killings.58 The Ministry of Security and Civil Protection oversees the National Police and other related internal security services. Under Conté’s administration, Minister Moussa Sampil was known for “serving the presidential cause” in his zeal to arrest government opponents without charge.59 In 2016, President Condé appointed Abdoul Kabèlè Camara as minister of security and civil protection, having previously served as minister of defense. The media reported that upon taking office, Camara toured police stations and civilian “protection units,” including the DST, the country’s main civilian intelligence body.60 During the minister’s tour, the security services highlighted the lack of adequate infrastructure, equipment, finances, and training for their staff.61

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Camara said there would be an effort “soon” to address the lack of infrastructure and equipment as well as to improve the officers’ living conditions.62 He also said it was not acceptable that of the country’s thirteen-thousand-strong police force, eleven thousand were in Conakry.63 As for the DST specifically, little information is available about its history or functions. Press reports have described plainclothes DST officers arresting journalists for apparently criticizing corruption.64 The service also focuses on monitoring transnational terrorism, with media claiming the DST has estimated that a dozen citizens have left the country to join the Islamic State.65 In 2013 a news report explained that the DST had worked with “Western” intelligence to prevent an alleged coup plot involving five police officers.66 The DST also reportedly collaborates with other institutions, such as the Office of the President’s security, to ensure the president’s orders are carried out.67 Finally, the Presidential Guard (Bataillon autonome de la sécurité présidentielle, BASP) under the Ministry of Presidential Security is responsible for safeguarding the president, his entourage, and the Office of the President’s facilities.68 It was estimated to have about eight hundred members in 2009 and likely has intelligence components to thwart threats.69 In 2007 Human Rights Watch reported an estimated personnel size of two hundred and accused the BASP of committing human rights abuses as well as lacking the proper training and equipment for crowd control.70 INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS Little is known about Guinea’s intelligence relations, but the government’s leadership has publicly acknowledged the importance of countries sharing intelligence. In 2016 President Condé was interviewed in Switzerland and said Western governments should share intelligence about Islamic terrorists crossing borders.71 He noted that West African countries were improving their collaboration in tracking violent extremists, but Guinea was concerned terrorism would damage the tourism sector.72 Publicly, Guinea’s government has been involved in multilateral security organizations that engage in information sharing. Guinea has been a member of the International Criminal Police Organization (INTERPOL) since 1961 and participates in international law enforcement, including information exchanges.73 Likewise, Guinea is also a member of Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS; its membership was suspended after the 2021 coup) and has pledged to enhance intelligence sharing with other members.74 The extent and implementation of sharing is unknown, but Guinea has



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relations with all of its bordering neighbors, including Guinea-Bissau, Cote d’Ivoire, Liberia, Mali, Senegal, and Sierra Leone.75 Guinea’s security forces have also received help from nongovernmental organizations. The National Gendarmerie obtained training from several groups, such as the International Committee of the Red Cross in 2015, on international law regarding arrests, detentions, and rights.76 From 2012 to 2014 the International Bureau for Children’s Rights provided training to Guinea’s security forces, including the gendarmerie and police cadets, to promote “child-friendly practices.”77 Historically, Guinea had defense and good foreign relations with communist countries during the Cold War, which likely impacts current international security collaborations. Guinea’s armed forces depended on China, Cuba, Czechoslovakia, and the Soviet Union for weapons.78 Currently Guinea has relations with Cuba, North Korea, and Vietnam, but China is by far the most important partner, as it has few alternatives for bauxite and is a significant customer for Guinea’s exports.79 Russia and Singapore are also major actors in Guinea’s mining, which likely impacts friendly relations and possibly common security issues.80 Other notable security relations include France, Israel, South Africa, Turkey, and the United States. During 2009 South African and Israeli trainers (from Global CST, a consulting firm) aided the military junta in creating a militia of ethnic Guerze instead of using army personnel.81 In 2020 Turkey announced military cooperation with Guinea for maritime security in response to Turkish sailors being kidnapped by pirates the previous year.82 Finally, foreign cooperation with France and the United States has included financial and training assistance as well as French aid in the establishment of a special forces unit.83 As for specific multilateral efforts, Guinea engages in annual US African Command–led exercises in the Gulf of Guinea, which include improving information-sharing practices.84 CONCLUSION Guinea’s political culture shaped and is shaped by its intelligence and security culture. Though the intelligence and security services institutionally exist to protect national security, the services have been tools for state repression. While it is arguable which head of state exercised the most violent repression, this relatively small country’s intelligence and security forces are a source of both government stability and instability. Its intelligence and security culture is marked by impunity with documented cases of violence and murder for political reasons. And yet the intelligence and security services

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are underresourced and personnel have, at best, limited training. Ultimately, Guinea’s intelligence and security services were unable to prevent the 2021 coup, demonstrating an intelligence and counterintelligence failure in thwarting a military officer from seizing control of the government. To what degree the coup was welcomed by the intelligence and security services is unknown, but it speaks to the larger culture of aiding the president only until personal interests override the head of state’s objectives. NOTES   1.  As scholar Penda Diallo has argued, “In Guinea, coercive and permissive social contracts explain the dynamics of state-society relations and the consolidation of political power by successive regimes.” Penda Diallo, Regime Stability, Social Insecurity and Bauxite Mining in Guinea: Developments since the Mid-Twentieth Century (New York: Routledge, 2020), 29.  2. “Guinea,” in The World Factbook (Central Intelligence Agency, 2021), https:// www.cia.gov/the-world-factbook/countries/guinea/.  3. “Guinea,” Freedom House, 2021, https://freedomhouse.org/country/guinea /freedom-world/2021.  4. “Factbox: Guinea’s Top Minerals at Risk after Coup,” Reuters, September 6, 2021, https://www.reuters.com/world/africa/guineas-top-minerals-risk-after-coup -2021-09-06/.  5. “Poverty & Equity Brief: Guinea,” World Bank, October 2020, https:// databank.worldbank.org/data/download/poverty/987B9C90-CB9F-4D93-AE8C -750588BF00QA/SM2020/Global_POVEQ_GIN.pdf.  6. For more on colonial-metropole relations and decolonization, see Elizabeth Schmidt, Cold War and Decolonization in Guinea, 1946–1958 (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2007), 8–44, 157–179.  7. Ladipo Adamolekun, Sékou Touré’s Guinea: An Experiment in Nation Building (London: Methuen, 1976), 1, 2.  8. Carole Ammann, Women, Agency, and the State in Guinea (New York: Routledge, 2020), 33.   9.  Ibid., 35, 36. 10. Bram Posthumus, Guinea: Masks, Music and Minerals (New York: Hurst, 2016), 120. 11. Ammann, Women, Agency, and the State in Guinea, 36. 12.  Frank Gerits, “The Postcolonial Cultural Transaction: Rethinking the Guinea Crisis within the French Cultural Strategy for Africa, 1958–60,” Cold War History 19, no. 4 (2019): 508. 13. Posthumus, Guinea, 121. 14.  Ibid., 121. 15.  Ibid., 124. 16.  Ibid., 125.



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17.  Ibid., 128. 18.  Ibid., 132. 19.  Ibid., 132. 20.  Ibid., 133. 21.  Ibid., 137. 22. “Guinea’s Former Military Heads Face Drugs Charges,” Reuters, June 13, 2009, https://www.reuters.com/article/idINIndia-40311420090613. 23. Posthumus, Guinea, 147. 24.  Ibrahim Bangura, “Resisting War: Guinean Youth and Civil Wars in the Mano River Basin,” Journal of Peacebuilding & Development 14, no. 1 (2019): 46. 25.  Kemo Cham, “West Africa: Sierra Leone Says Guinea Encroaching on Its. Territory,” Daily Nation, January 23, 2021, https://allafrica.com/stories/202101240 013.html. 26. Posthumus, Guinea, 148. 27.  Ibid., 150. 28.  Ibid., 151. 29. Nick Tattersall and Saliou Samb, “Fresh Protests Flare as Guinea Strike Widens,” Reuters, January 21, 2007, https://www.reuters.com/article/guinea-strike /update-1-fresh-protests-flare-as-guinea-strike-widens-idUSL1817381720070118. 30. Posthumus, Guinea, 159. 31.  Ibid., 160. 32.  Ibid., 160. 33. See Louis A. Picard and Ezzeddine Moudoud, “The 2008 Guinea Conakry Coup: Neither Inevitable nor Inexorable,” Journal of Contemporary African Studies 28, no. 1 (2010): 51–69; and Boubacar Diallog, “Guinea: Ex-leader Dadis Camara Comes for Burial,” Associated Press, April 13, 2013, https://apnews.com/article/9f44 2482739b4300b645231acc17f3e3. 34.  Mohamed Saliou Camara, Political History of Guinea since World War Two (New York: Peter Lang, 2014), 418. 35. Joschka Philipps, Ambivalent Rage: Youth Gangs and Urban Protest in Conakry, Guinea (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2013), 48. 36.  Sadiki Koko, “Challenges for a Return to Civilian Rule in Guinea,” African Security Review 19, no. 1 (2010): 103, 104. 37.  Bloody Monday: The September 28 Massacre and Rapes by Security Forces in Guinea (New York: Human Rights Watch, 2009), https://www.hrw.org/sites /default/files/reports/guinea1209webwcover_0.pdf; and “ICC Deputy Prosecutor in Guinea for September Killing Probe,” Voice of America, February 18, 2020, https://www.voanews.com/a/icc-deputy-prosecutor-in-guinea-for-september-killing -probe/161514.html. 38.  “Biography of the President,” Ministry of Justice, 2021, https://justiceguinee .gov.gn/president-of-guinea/. 39. Camara, Political History of Guinea, 438. 40. Ibid.

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41.  Saliou Samb, “Guinea Urges Calm after Anti-Government Protest Turns Violent,” Reuters, February 28, 2013, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-guinea-protest -idUSBRE91R0MS20130228. 42.  “Guinea: Post-Election Violence, Repression,” Human Rights Watch, November 19, 2020, https://www.hrw.org/news/2020/11/19/guinea-post-election-violence -repression; “Guinea: Defense and Security Forces Killed People in Pro-Opposition Neighbourhoods after Presidential Election,” Amnesty International, December 15, 2020, https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/press-release/2020/12/guinea-defense-and -security-forces-killed-people-in-proopposition-neighbourhoods/. 43.  Emmanuel Akinwotu, “Guinean Soldiers Claim to Have Seized Power in Coup Attempt,” Guardian, September 5, 2021, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2021 /sep/05/guinean-soldiers-claim-to-have-seized-power-in-coup-attempt. 44.  Aaron Ross, “Toppled Conde Failed to Live up to Pledges in Guinea,” Reuters, September 6, 2021, https://www.reuters.com/world/africa/toppled-conde-failed-live -up-pledges-guinea-2021-09-06/. 45.  “Mamady Doumbouya: Guinea Coup Leader Sworn in as President,” BBC, October 1, 2021, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-58761621. 46.  “Guinea Coup: Who Is Col Mamady Doumbouya?,” BBC, October 1, 2021, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-58461971. 47.  “Guinée: Coup d’État Surprise Mais pas ‘étonnant’” [Guinea: Surprise Coup d’etat but Not ‘Surprising’], France Culture, September 6, 2021, https://www.france culture.fr/emissions/la-revue-de-presse-internationale/la-revue-de-presse-internatio nale-emission-du-lundi-06-septembre-2021. 48.  Achraf Tijani, “Who Is Lauriane Doumbouya, the French Wife of Guinea’s Coup Leader?,” World Crunch, November 1, 2021, https://worldcrunch.com/world -affairs/guinea-news-lauriane-doumbouya. 49.  2020 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Guinea (US Department of State, March 30, 2021), https://www.state.gov/reports/2020-country-reports-on -human-rights-practices/guinea/. 50.  Harold Nelson, Margarita Dobert, James McLaughlin, Barbara Marvin, and Donald P. Whitaker, Area Handbook for Guinea (Washington, DC: American University, 1975), ix–x, https://www.marines.mil/portals/1/Publications/Guinea%20 Area%20Handbook.pdf. 51.  Mamadou Diouma Bah, “The Military and Politics in Guinea: An Instrumental Explanation of Political Stability,” Armed Forces & Society 41, no. 1 (2015): 85. 52.  International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Middle East and North Africa,” Military Balance 120, no. 1 (2020): 481. 53. Ibid. 54.  “Guinea’s Defense Minister Tries to Bring Soldiers in Line,” Voice of America, November 1, 2009, https://www.voanews.com/a/a-13-2007-06-06-voa33/332649 .html; “Guinea,” in The Statesman’s Year-Book Statistical and Historical Annual of the States of the World for the Year 1987–1988, ed. John Paxton (London: Macmillan, 1987), 580. 55.  International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Middle East and North Africa,” 481.



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56.  “Haut Commandement de la Gendarmerie: Le Général Baldé passe le témoin au Colonel Balla Samoura Par” [High Command of the Gendarmerie: General Baldé passes the baton to Colonel Balla Samoura], Guinee Time, October 13, 2021, https:// guineetime.info/2021/10/13/haut-commandement-de-la-gendarmerie-le-general -balde-passe-le-temoin-au-colonel-balla-samoura/. 57.  “Letter dated 18 December 2009 addressed to the President of the Security Council by the Secretary-General,” United Nations Security Council, December 18, 2009, https://www.securitycouncilreport.org/atf/cf/%7B65BFCF9B-6D27-4E9C -8CD3-CF6E4FF96FF9%7D/Guinea%20S%202009%20693.pdf. 58. “Guinea: New Law Could Shield Police from Prosecution,” Human Rights Watch, July 4, 2019, https://www.hrw.org/news/2019/07/04/guinea-new-law-could -shield-police-prosecution. 59.  Didier Samson, “Un remaniement en signe d’apaisement” [A reshuffle as a sign of appeasement], RFI, September 3, 2005, http://www1.rfi.fr/actufr/articles/063 /article_34651.asp. 60.  Dansa Camara, “Guinée: Sur 13 mille policiers pour tout le pays, 11 mille sont à Conakry” [Guinea: Out of 13,000 police officers for the whole country, 11,000 are in Conakry], Guinee360, February 24, 2016, https://www.guinee360.com/24/02/2016 /guinee-sur-13-mille-policiers-pour-tout-le-pays-11-mille-sont-a-conakry/. 61. Ibid. 62. Ibid. 63. Ibid. 64.  “Le directeur de publication de la ‘Vérité’ interpellé à Conakry par la DST” [The director of the publication of “Truth’ arrested in Conakry by the DST], APA News, December 18, 2008, https://www.jeuneafrique.com/147454/societe/le -directeur-de-publication-de-la-v-rit-interpell-conakry-par-la-dst/. 65. “Terrorisme: Etat Islamique, des combattants Guinéens dans leurs rangs?” [Terrorism: Islamic State, Guinean fighters in their ranks?], Guinee360, December 28, 2015, https://www.guinee360.com/28/12/2015/terrorisme-etat-islamique-des -combattants-guineens-dans-leurs-rangs/. 66.  “Rumeurs de coup d’etat : Déjà cinq militaires arrêtés dernière” [Rumors of a coup: Already five soldiers arrested], Aminata, September 27, 2013, https://aminata .com/rumeur-de-coup-detat-deja-cinq-militaires-arretes/. 67.  “Des préparatifs pour l’assassinat de Bah Oury depuis Conakry!” [Preparations for the assassination of Bah Oury from Conakry!], Aminata, November 8, 2013, https://aminata.com/des-preparatifs-pour-lassassinat-de-bah-oury-depuis-conakry/. 68.  “Letter dated 18 December 2009 addressed to the President of the Security Council.” 69. Ibid. 70.  Dying for Change: Brutality and Repression by Guinean Security Forces in Response to a Nationwide Strike (New York: Human Rights Watch, 2007), https:// www.hrw.org/reports/2007/guinea0407/9.htm. 71.  Gabriele Steinhauser, “Guinea’s President Urges West to Step Up Intelligence Sharing Call Comes after Attacks in Burkina Faso,” Wall Street Journal, January 20,

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2016, https://www.wsj.com/articles/guineas-president-urges-west-to-step-up-intelli gence-sharing-1453296551. 72. Ibid. 73.  “Guinea,” INTERPOL, 2021, https://www.interpol.int/Who-we-are/Membercountries/Africa/GUINEA. 74.  “Fifty-Third Ordinary Session of the ECOWAS Authority of Heads of State and Government,” ECOWAS, July 13, 2018, https://www.ecowas.int/wp-content /uploads/2018/08/Final-Communique-English.pdf, 6. See also the previous year: “Strengthening the Intelligence Gathering and Information Sharing Capacity of West African States Against Terrorism,” United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, October 10, 2017, https://www.unodc.org/westandcentralafrica/en/2017-10-10-workshop -intelligence-terrorism-dakar.html. 75.  “Ambassades et consulats étrangers en Guinée” [Foreign embassies and consulates in Guinea], Societe Generale Guinea, 2021, https://entreprises.guinee.societe generale.com/fr/informations-utiles/ambassades-consulats-etrangers-guinee/. 76.  “Guinea: Training Gendarmerie Nationale Instructors,” International Committee of the Red Cross, October 15, 2015, https://www.icrc.org/en/document/guinea -training-gendarmerie-nationale-instructors. 77.  “Security Forces Capacity Building Programme,” International Bureau for Children’s Rights, 2014, https://www.ibcr.org/en/projets/programme-de-renforcement -des-capacites-des-forces-de-securite-3/. 78.  Nelson et al., Area Handbook for Guinea. 79.  “Guinea Coup Poses Supply-Chain Risks for China’s Aluminum,” Bloomberg News, September 6, 2021, https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2021-09-06 /guinea-coup-poses-supply-chain-risks-for-china-s-aluminum-sector. 80.  “Factbox: Guinea’s Top Minerals at Risk after Coup.” 81.  Camara, “Guinée,” 427. See also Peroshni Govender, “S. Africa Investigating Guinea Mercenary Report,” Reuters, November 18, 2009, https://www.reuters.com /article/instant-article/idAFJOE5AH0H520091118. 82.  “Turkey Will Assist Guinea in Maritime Security, Share Military Intelligence,” Nordic Monitor, June 10, 2020, https://nordicmonitor.com/2020/06/turkey-will -assist-guinea-in-maritime-security-and-fighting-piracy/. 83.  International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Middle East and North Africa,” 481; “Bureau of International Narcotics and Law Enforcement Affairs: Guinea Summary,” US Department of State, 2021, https://www.state.gov/bureau-of-international -narcotics-and-law-enforcement-affairs-work-by-country/guinea-summary/. 84.  “Obangame Express,” US African Command, 2021, https://www.africom.mil /what-we-do/exercises/obangame-express.

24 Guinea-Bissau Intelligence Culture in a Narco-State Ryan Shaffer

Intelligence is a violent, zero-sum game in Guinea-Bissau. The country faced a bloody path to independence, and violence continued as the country evolved into a “narco-state.” The World Bank described Guinea-Bissau, considered to be one of the world’s poorest countries, as “one of the most coup-prone and politically unstable countries in the world.”1 Bordering Senegal and Guinea, it has a population of nearly two million people, one-fifth of whom live in the capital, Bissau.2 The country has porous borders, with nearly one hundred islands that drug traffickers have exploited, and one United Nations (UN) official estimated that “at least 30 tons of cocaine,” about a fifth of US consumption, enters the country each year.3 The United States called the country a “narco-trafficking hub” where “officials at all levels are complicit.”4 It is ranked 165 out of 179 on the Corruption Perception Index by Transparency International and rated “partly free” by Freedom House.5 This chapter examines Guinea-Bissau’s intelligence culture with attention to the role politics plays in the security services. In particular, it argues that the brutal birth of the country and subsequent violent clashes for control have shaped an intelligence culture that acts with impunity. With the domination of a single political party controlling the government for much of its history, as well as poverty, weak institutions, and political instability, intelligence in the country is a necessity, but the services have had clear limitations. There are few sources about Guinea-Bissau’s security services generally and intelligence specifically, but this chapter synthesizes what little material is available. The chapter explores the intelligence culture in three parts. The first examines the impact of the war of liberation against the Portuguese government on more recent political instability. In the second part, the intelligence community is examined by analyzing specific intelligence services. 305

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The third section examines international relations and security oversight to understand Guinea-Bissau’s intelligence framework. Last, the chapter provides concluding thoughts about the corrupt and politicized intelligence culture. BACKGROUND The area that is modern-day Guinea-Bissau was first explored by the Portuguese in the fifteenth century, but the Portuguese did not establish formal colonial institutions until the nineteenth century.6 Though the colonial structures shaped society, the “political structures” that existed before colonialism “remained intact.”7 The Portuguese colonial project was violent. Though “Portugal renounced slavery,” this was only “on paper” because the practice “simply took on the modern form of forced labour.”8 The indigenous population resisted colonialism, notably with the 1907 insurrection in the Cuor region that lasted until 1909. In response, a decree was issued that limited freedom and strengthened government control, and the Colonial Act of 1930 further centralized the colonial structures; indigenous people were integrated into the colonial system by coercive means.9 Meanwhile, the people remained poor because the “administration and its repressive apparatus prevented the population from being able to share in the benefits of economic growth.”10 Under the colonial government, “Africans had no political rights.”11 By the 1950s, resistance to colonialism was appearing across the continent. In 1956 the African Party for the Independence of Guinea and Cape Verde (Partido Africano para a Independência da Guiné e Cabo Verde, PAIGC) was founded as a tool for “national liberation” in ending Portuguese colonialism.12 The group carried out attacks and was met with violent repression from the police. However, Portugal neglected to provide adequate supplies for its soldiers while favoring the conflicts in Angola and Mozambique, and the insurgents had external support from the Soviet Union and Cuba as well as safe havens in French Guinea.13 Simultaneously, PAIGC engaged in diplomacy at the UN. The Portuguese government was dismissive of the group, arguing that it was merely “invading bands.”14 In 1972 official government statistics recorded that eight thousand people had died in the colonial army during attacks.15 In addition, Portuguese intelligence was behind the assassinations of key liberation figures, including PAIGC leader Amílcar Cabral.16 Scholar Carlos Lopes has argued that the resistance to the colonial administration gave birth to a national consciousness.17 He highlighted how the culture played an important role in shaping the consciousness of interethnic



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relations in the form of a collective cause.18 Solidarity formed in opposition to the colonial state, and Cabral, a founder of PAIGC, saw liberation as rooted in the “act of culture.”19 In September 1973 the secretary-general of the PAIGC declared GuineaBissau’s independence.20 In addition, the Carnation Revolution in April 1974 marked the end of dictatorship in Portugal, which in turn paved the way for negotiating Guinea-Bissau’s independence. In September 1974 Portugal formally accepted independence.21 Luis Cabral, Amílcar’s brother, became president of the new country. PAIGC’s leadership of the newly independent government was welcomed by the population.22 Lopes explained, “PAIGC officially rejected a party-state merger” and “charged the state with implementing its policy, while retaining for itself fundamental recognition as the leading force in society.”23 As a result, the party dominated “all affairs of the state.”24 Christoph Kohl described it as “a left-wing, autocratic, centralized one-party state” that was “was characterized by political surveillance and tight control over the domestic sphere.”25 It was also violent. Kohl explained that after independence there were “purges and executions, with the clear involvement of members of the security forces, targeting chieftains, former soldiers of the colonial army and opponents to the ruling regime were carried out.”26 Indeed, the PAIGC used repression against real and perceived critics. In 1981 the party publicly admitted that “the security service and police” had become a “power within the state.”27 The transition to self-governance was difficult and was poorly planned at best. Lopes argued that “many” problems after independence “might have been avoided if there had been the same careful preparation in relation to the setting up of the new state as there had been for launching the armed struggle.”28 Decisions about how to organize the ministries, for example, were still being debated at the dawn of independence.29 Basic issues, such as establishing a new currency, proved challenging. PAIGC sought a radical socialist transformation, such as having rural workers sell surplus agricultural production to the state, but this delivered “poor results.”30 The new leaders sought a planned economy and more state intervention but centralized the market, which led to “a confrontation of differing methods.”31 In just a few years, the politics of Guinea-Bissau marked the beginning of autocratic rule. In November 1980 Joao Bernardo Vieira led a successful military coup against President Cabral. The coup also led to the disintegration of the political union between Cape Verde and Guinea-Bissau, which PAIGC had governed since 1975.32 Vieira then served as president from 1980 until 1999 and then from 2005 until he was killed in 2009 by soldiers.33 In the interim, the government legalized other political parties in 1990, and in 1994 the country held its first free elections, which Vieira won.

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By the end of the century, Guinea-Bissau was experiencing instability, with a civil war and series of coups. In 1998 the army began rebelling after Vieira fired the army chief of staff, sparking a civil war with militias made up of youths.34 Ultimately, Vieira was overthrown in the May 1999 coup.35 That year, the country disbanded the security police force, which was “responsible for human rights violations, replacing it with a state information service.”36 In January 2000 elections were held, and Kumba Yala became president, followed by failed coups in November 2000 and December 2001 and then a successful coup in September 2003. Vieira won the election in July 2005, becoming president, and survived an attack by soldiers at his residence in November 2008. However, he was killed in a March 2009 coup. Political instability continued, with failed coups in December 2011 and October 2012, but a successful coup in April 2012.37 Coups aside, high-profile assassinations were frequent. Hours after the end of the March 2012 election, the former head of the country’s military intelligence, Colonel Samba Djalo, was assassinated; he was himself linked to previous political assassinations.38 The political setting changed in the February 2020 election; Umaro Sissoco Embaló, a former prime minister, became president and the first non-PAIGC or military member to lead the country.39 In the midst of the political instability, South American drug traffickers took advantage of the situation and around 2005 began using the country as a transit hub for cocaine destined for Europe.40 In 2008 the Guardian described Guinea-Bissau as the “fifth poorest country,” lacking a prison and with an unpatrolled airspace, where Colombian drugs traffickers operated openly.41 High-ranking military leaders were involved in drug trafficking, while police charged with investigating drug crimes were often underpaid—if they were paid at all— and lacked even basic law enforcement supplies, such as fuel.42 More pointedly, a UN report found: Many senior military officers also became deeply involved . . . cocaine was found at military installations; soldiers were arrested from vehicles transporting cocaine; military officers intervened in police drug investigations to release prisoners and confiscate cocaine; and in one well known incident in July 2008 troops cordoned off and unloaded 500–600 kilograms [about 1,100–1,300 pounds] of drugs from a private plane that landed at the country’s main airport from Venezuela.43

In April 2010, the United States named Ibraima Pap Camara, the Air Force chief of staff in Guinea-Bissau, a “drug kingpin.”44 He was sanctioned for his involvement in the shipment of 600 kilograms (about 1,300 pounds) of cocaine by an airplane from Venezuela. In 2013 former rear admiral Jose Americo Bubo Na Tchuto was arrested by undercover US Drug Enforcement



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Administration agents in international waters for conspiracy to traffic drugs and later pled guilty. According to prosecutors, “Na Tchuto said it was a good time for the drug transaction given the Guinea Bissau government’s weakness following a recent coup, and he sought a $1 million fee per 1,000 kilograms of cocaine.”45 Both Camara and Na Tchuto were previously accused of being behind a coup in 2008.46 The value of cocaine that transits through the country was double GuineaBissau’s national income.47 For such a poor country, whose civil servants go without pay and lack basic resources, the drug trafficking plays an important part in the country’s politics and security. With the country facing poverty, lack of a healthy economy, and a lack of resources, drug trafficking has proven lucrative for government officials. Combined with decades of oneparty rule and coups, corruption and drug trafficking also shape the country’s intelligence culture. INTELLIGENCE COMMUNITY Several agencies in Guinea-Bissau engage in intelligence activities. Among the security issues in the country, the Penal Code specifically outlaws acts of terrorism, participating in riots, collaborating with foreign governments during a conflict, sabotaging national security, and endangering state security.48 While the services engaged in intelligence-related duties ostensibly have a law enforcement or security aim to maintain peace and order, they are in actuality highly politicized and corrupt. According to the Geneva Centre for Security Sector Governance in 2019, 3 percent of the country’s gross domestic product “is spent on the security sector, which is very high for a country which faces no major external threat and has no internal conflict.”49 In 2008, security and intelligence were reformed into four services: the Public Order Police (Polícia de Ordem Pública) and National Guard (Guarda Nacional) in the Ministry of Interior; the Judiciary Police for major and transnational crimes in the Ministry of Justice; and the State Information Service (Serviço de Informação e Segurança, SIS), answering to the Office of the Prime Minister.50 In August 2020, Arsenio Lássana Baldé, a former soldier, was appointed SIS’s director general, leader of the intelligence service.51 The total personnel size is unknown, but in December 2020 all of these services were mobilized with four thousand personnel to ensure security during the Christmas and New Year’s holidays.52 In terms of expenses, the Ministry of Interior spent 3.553 million Central African CFA Franc (FCFA) (about US$6,500) in the first quarter of 2017, while the prime minister’s office was allocated 250 million FCFA (about US$457,000) for 2018.53

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There is little information about the recruitment, backgrounds, salaries, and education of Bissau-Guinean intelligence officers. In terms of recruiting for the security sector generally, it has been “arbitrary,” with a “disproportionate” number of officers and service members from disadvantaged backgrounds, mostly Balanta, joining for social acceptance and access to ways to earn illicit money.54 Announcements about security sector reform have usually been pursued only superficially to obtain foreign assistance.55 As for intelligence collection and operations, there is no published material about Bissau-Guinean intelligence tactics and strategies. One rare public statement from the SIS director general appeared in the international press in June 2009. The statement accused Hélder Proença—former minister of defense and then member of the National People’s Assembly running in the presidential election, who was killed by “unknown gunmen” just weeks before the election—of coordinating a coup.56 His death followed the assassination of President Vieira in March 2009, which led analysts to comment that “Latin American cocaine cartels” could exploit the “power vacuum.”57 The country’s security and intelligence services have clashed, both metaphorically and physically. In January 2018 the Rapid Intervention Police under the Ministry of Interior raided SIS’s headquarters.58 The armed police then occupied the headquarters. On the day of the raid, Interior Minister Botche Candé called the deputy director general of SIS asking about a document the intelligence agency had sent to the Ministry of Finance. The deputy declined to provide the information, on the grounds that SIS answers to the Office of the Prime Minister, not the Ministry of Interior. SIS subsequently filed a lawsuit about the raid, claiming it was illegal. In addition to civilian and law enforcement intelligence, Guinea-Bissau’s military has intelligence capabilities. Though there is little information about the armed forces, the International Institute for Strategic Studies in 2020 estimated that they consist of 4,000 army, 350 navy, and 100 air personnel with the navy having four boats and the air force having one airplane (a light aircraft).59 With no serious external military threat, the armed forces focus on internal security threats, and international defense cooperation has decreased since the 2012 coup. Military training is limited; a pension system was established in 2015 but was not fully funded.60 The security culture in the country has been characterized as politicized, lacking the will for reform, having an absence of accountability, and committing human rights abuses. The Geneva Centre for Security Sector Governance described the “intelligence and law enforcement agencies” as being “similar to those of the Armed Forces,” which consists of “poor capacity, many years of illegal recruitment into the police, and an inverted rank pyramid.”61 Additionally, the police have a militarized approach as well as “low operational



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effectiveness, over-concentration of structures and capabilities in the capital, and lack of infrastructure and equipment.”62 Indeed, like other public services, security services “have very limited presence outside the capital and a few and small urban hubs,” and police overall have a “poor understanding of mandates and roles, and the absence of other formal actors along the criminal justice chain means that often police end up making justice and performing duties outside their remit.”63 Moreover, the security sector—in particularly the military—has facilitated criminal networks and actively resists reform that could damage its financial interests.64 More pointedly, Simon Massey argues that the military leadership has “consistently stymied attempts to reform its dysfunctional structures and practices”65 OVERSIGHT AND INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS Intelligence oversight in the country appears to be limited at best. Joshua Forrest describes the state bureaucracy as “corrupt” and having a “winner takes all” political culture.66 The corruption, the lack of rule of law, pervasive corruption, and the zero-sum politics mean that any formal oversight of security and intelligence is ineffective and lacking in significant ways. The documented cases of drug traffickers acting with impunity in coordination with senior government officials are an indication that intelligence officers likewise act outside the bounds of formal law with the tacit or direct approval of their leaders. Moreover, large-scale embezzlement and civil servants going without pay is common, leading to oversight challenges.67 Security leaders’ rhetoric about human rights does not match reality, and actual oversight mechanisms appear sorely inadequate or entirely missing. In September 2020, Interior Minister Candé announced at a meeting with police commanders throughout the country that he would be taking serious action against any officer engaged in corruption.68 He told the audience that internal security is important for the president and prime minister in guaranteeing citizens’ security. Candé further explained that officers must comply with supervisors’ orders and project a good image to the public. Then in October two activists were arrested, but they were released without charge after spending a night in a jail next to the Ministry of Interior.69 The Guinean League of Human Rights reported that the men were beaten, handcuffed, and forced into a vehicle’s trunk. On a visit to SIS, Interior Minister Candé was asked about the arrests and only responded that the men were “well and slept well.”70 Meanwhile, the current ministers who oversee the intelligence services have themselves recently been accused of corruption. In December 2020, Prime Minister Nuno Gomes Nabiam was accused of illegal logging activities, and

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Interior Minister Candé was also named, but due to Nabiam’s position he is officially immune from prosecution.71 Guinea-Bissau is not a strategically important nation for most countries, which impacts bilateral relations and international interest in the country’s intelligence and security. A 2009 report from Observatoire de l’Afrique about disarmament, demobilization, and reintegration noted that Brazil, China, and the United Kingdom were present in helping with security reform.72 Though the United States has had diplomatic relations with Guinea-Bissau since 1975, it has not had an embassy in the country since 1998 and suspended aid after the 2012 coup.73 Nations that have a diplomatic presence in the country include Angola (also colonized by Portugal), China, Cuba (which aided the liberation struggle), Egypt, the Gambia, Portugal, and Russia (which aided the liberation struggle). There is no information about intelligence relations between these countries and Guinea-Bissau. Often the public statements about bilateral relations are vaguely positive press releases about foreign relations. For example, in February 2021 Egyptian president Abdel Fattah El Sisi and Guinea-Bissau president Umaro Sissoco Embaló discussed bilateral relations, and Sisi “reaffirm[ed] Cairo’s backing for the African country in all fields to realize its people’s development aspirations.”74 One notable exception was in October 2020, after President Embaló had high-level discussions with Portuguese diplomats and senior police officers in Lisbon. Upon his return, he told the press that because Guinea-Bissau lacked resources like oil it must invest in the police and the SIS to generate economic growth in the country by ending corruption.75 In contrast, there are public reports about defense relations. Guinea-Bissau’s military participates in the US Obangame Express, and China has donated nonlethal equipment, which is important because the country has no domestic military production capabilities.76 As for multilateral organizations, several international efforts have focused on improving the security situation in the country. In 2018 the UN Security Council passed a resolution for partners to help the UN Office on Drugs and Crime in Guinea-Bissau address drug trafficking, among other organized crimes.77 The effort called for “a comprehensive and integrated approach” to build upon the office’s six past and ongoing efforts, which began in 2011, to address criminal investigation and justice. The European Union previously had focused on military and security sector reform, seeking to restructure the services and “overhaul the legal framework.”78 The effort ended in September 2010 following the ouster of the supreme commander of the armed forces.79 Subsequently, the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) helped with security reform. That effort was led by Angola, which provided police training, but suspicions



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from Guinea-Bissau’s military led to Angolan trainers being replaced by ECOWAS troops.80 This transfer was due to “the perspective of large portions of the population, the Bissau-Guinean armed forces and the politicians that cooperate with them are, in fact, the security problem, and less so the populace itself.”81 Moreover, “ECOWAS is perceived to be a supporter, even an initiator, of the coup in April 2012.”82 While security assistance has been offered and utilized, it is unclear to what extent this happens with intelligence. However, one can extrapolate from the aid or capability to use the assistance based on the failure to prevent drug trafficking. The best example of this was when Fernando Jorge Barreto Costa, the deputy director of judicial police, explained in 2016: “Drugs are arriving more by sea than by plane and it’s very hard for us to investigate it. We don’t have the capability to intercept boats. If we receive news about drugs at sea, it takes two to three days to get an answer from authorities for action. This is too slow, and by then the drugs and people may have moved on.”83 International assistance is the only way the security services can address internal and external challenges, but it is unclear whether past and current aid had significant impacts. CONCLUSION Guinea-Bissau is plagued by political instability, poverty, and drug trafficking. With decades of coups, a mostly one-party government, and criminality intertwined with politics, the intelligence culture has undoubtedly been affected. Meanwhile, there has been little within the government to significantly alter the security sector. Most of the interest in reform has been from external forces. Simon Massey has argued that any security sector reform would have to overcome “entrenched” security “structures and practices” wherein change is viewed as “a threat to status and income.”84 Though there are judicial challenges, poor training, and low or “irregular” pay in the security and intelligence services, there has been no serious alternative to the outright criminality and patrimonialism. Consequently, Guinea-Bissau’s intelligence culture can be characterized as one that acts with impunity for politicized purposes in support of government heads and for corrupt purposes, while having little regard for human rights. Though the public understandably fears Guinea-Bissau’s intelligence and security services, the notable intelligence failures in the form of coups demonstrate its limitations in intelligence inside the country. The international community has been assisting the country against drug trafficking, but large drug seizures continue to implicate the military. In

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March 2019, British intelligence provided police in Guinea-Bissau with a tip that uncovered a drug shipment destined for Mali involving nearly one ton of cocaine valued at US$25 million, which was more than Guinea-Bissau’s entire budgets for education, health care, and defense combined.85 Among the six people arrested was a captain in the army and a member of Niger’s national assembly. Following the arrests, the confiscated drugs were placed in UN custody due to distrust of the local security forces. These issues shape how intelligence functions in the country, fostering a largely corrupt and politicized intelligence culture. Until the root problems of poverty and lack of resources are addressed, it is doubtful the intelligence culture in the country will change in any meaningful way. NOTES

 1. “Guinea Bissau Overview,” World Bank, 2021, https://www.worldbank.org /en/country/guineabissau/overview.  2. “Guinea-Bissau,” in The World Factbook (Central Intelligence Agency, 2021), https://www.cia.gov/the-world-factbook/countries/guinea-bissau/.   3.  Antony Loewenstein, “How the Drug Trade Transformed a Peaceful Tropical Country into a Narco State,” Vice, December 12, 2019, https://www.vice.com /en/article/gyzznx/how-the-drug-trade-transformed-a-peaceful-tropical-country-into -a-narco-state.  4. 2014 International Narcotics Control Strategy Report: Guinea-Bissau (US Department of State, 2014), https://2009-2017.state.gov/j/inl/rls/nrcrpt/2014 /vol1/222896.htm.   5.  “Guinea Bissau,” Transparency International, 2021, https://www.transparency .org/en/countries/guinea-bissau; and “Guinea Bissau,” Freedom House, 2021, https:// freedomhouse.org/country/guinea-bissau/freedom-world/2020.  6. Carlos Lopes, Guinea Bissau: From Liberation Struggle to Independent Statehood, trans Michael Wolfers (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1987), 9.  7. Ibid., 13.  8. Ibid., 19.   9.  Ibid., 20, 21, 22. 10.  Ibid., 24–35. 11.  Ibid., 27. 12.  Ibid., 29. 13.  Christopher Paul, Colin P. Clarke, Beth Grill, and Molly Dunigan, Paths to Victory: Lessons from Modern Insurgencies (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 2013), 36. 14. Lopes, Guinea Bissau, 33. 15.  Ibid., 35.



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16.  Ibid., 69. 17.  Ibid., 11. 18.  Ibid., 43. 19.  Ibid., 52. 20.  Ibid., 67. 21.  Ibid., 73. 22.  Ibid., 116. 23.  Ibid., 124. 24.  Ibid., 124. 25. Christoph Kohl, A Creole Nation: National Integration in Guinea-Bissau (New York: Berghahn Books, 2006), 23. 26.  Christoph Kohl, The Reform of Guinea Bissau’s Security Sector: Between Demand and Practice (Frankfurt, Germany: Peace Research Institute Frankfurt, 2014), 4, https://issat.dcaf.ch/download/73329/1247623/prif126%20The%20Reform%20 of%20GB%20Security%20Sector_Kohl.pdf. 27. Lopes, Guinea Bissau, 118. 28.  Ibid., 72. 29.  Ibid., 81. 30.  Ibid., 98, 101. 31.  Ibid., 111. 32.  Ibid., 137. 33. Alistair Thomson, “Bissau Swears in Speaker after President Killed,” New York Times, March 3, 2009. 34.  Henrik Vigh, Navigating Terrains of War: Youth and Soldiering in GuineaBissau (New York: Berghahn Books, 2006), 46. 35. “Guinea-Bissau Profile—Timeline,” BBC, February 19, 2018, https://www .bbc.com/news/world-africa-13579838. 36. “Guinea-Bissau,” Human Rights Law in Africa 5, no. 1 (2004): 1170. 37.  For security reform after the 2012 coup, see Beyond Turf Wars: Managing the Post-Coup Transition in Guinea-Bissau, Africa Report no. 190 (International Crisis Group, 2012). 38. Umaro Djau, “Ex-intelligence Chief Shot Dead Hours after Guinea Bissau Elections,” CNN, March 19, 2012, https://www.cnn.com/2012/03/19/world/africa /guinea-bissau-elections. 39. Antonio Cascais, “Guinea-Bissau: Coup or Legitimate Change of Power?,” Deutsche Welle, April 3, 2020, https://www.dw.com/en/guinea-bissau-coup-or -legitimate-change-of-power/a-52632844. 40.  Alex Perry, “Blood Lines: How Europe’s Cocaine Habit Funds Beheadings,” Newsweek, November 20, 2014, https://www.newsweek.com/2014/11/28/bloodlines-how-cocaine-nights-fund-beheadings-285545.html. 41.  Ed Vulliamy, “How a Tiny West African Country Became the World’s First Narco State,” Guardian, March 9, 2008, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2008 /mar/09/drugstrade. 42.  “Africa’s Drug Problem,” New York Times, April 11, 2010, https://www.ny times.com/2010/04/11/magazine/11Trade-t.html.

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43.  Davin O’Regan and Peter Thompson, Advancing Stability and Reconciliation in Guinea-Bissau: Lessons from Africa’s First Narco-State (Washington, DC: Africa Center for Strategic Studies, 2013), https://reliefweb.int/sites/reliefweb.int/files /resources/SpecialReport-Guinea-Bissau-JUN2013-EN.pdf. 44.  Matt Jaffe, Dana Hughes, and Kirit Radia, “U.S. Government Names African Military Official a Drug ‘Kingpin’ Drug Money in West Africa Has Been Used to Fund Al Qaeda Terror,” ABC News, April 12, 2010, https://abcnews.go.com/Blotter /us-government-names-african-military-official-drug-kingpin/story?id=10352760; and Richard Valdmanis, “U.S. Accuses Bissau Military Chief in Colombia Drugs, Weapons Plot,” Reuters, April 18, 2013, https://www.reuters.com/article/instant -article/idUSBRE93H10Z20130418. 45.  Brendan Pierson and Nate Raymond, “Guinea Bissau’s Ex-navy Chief Sentenced in Prison in U.S. Drug Case,” Reuters, October 4, 2016, https://www.reuters .com/article/us-usa-bissau-natchuto/guinea-bissaus-ex-navy-chief-sentenced-in -prison-in-u-s-drug-case-idUSKCN124298. 46.  Jaffe, Hughes, and Radia, “U.S. Government Names African Military Official.” 47.  “Africa’s Cocaine Coast,” Journeyman TV, 2021, https://www.journeyman.tv /film_documents/4244/transcript/. 48. “Código Penal, Guiné-Bissau” [Penal Code, Guinea Bissau], Derechos.org, 2021, http://www.derechos.org/intlaw/doc/gnb1.html. See articles 203, 211, 216, 217, 218, 219. 49.  “Guinea Bissau SSR Background Note,” Geneva Centre for Security Sector Governance, 2019, https://issat.dcaf.ch/Learn/Resource-Library2/Country-Profiles /Guinea-Bissau-SSR-Background-Note. 50.  Ibid. The original source describes the Ministry of Interior as the Ministry of Internal Administration, but the current government only lists a Ministry of Interior, and previous government documents list the Ministry of Internal Administration as being under the Ministry of Interior. See “Government,” Government of GuineaBissau, January 11, 2021, https://gov.gw/governo; Relatório de apresntação de OGE 2018 [2018 OGE presentation report] (Government of Guinea-Bissau, 2018 ), 49, https://www.gov.gw/publicacoes/10-oge2018/file; 2020 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Guinea-Bissau (US Department of State, March 30, 2021), https:// www.state.gov/reports/2020-country-reports-on-human-rights-practices/guinea -bissau/. 51.  “Arsénio Lássana Baldé nomeado director geral de Serviços de Informação e Segurança” [Arsenio Lássana Baldé appointed general manager of Information and Security Services], Radio Nossa, August 14, 2020, https://radionossabissau .com/2020/08/14/arsenio-lassana-balde-nomeado-director-geral-de-servicos-de -informacao-e-seguranca/; “Guiné-Bissau busca reconciliação para construir o future” [Guinea-Bissau seeks reconciliation to build the future], United Nations, April 24, 2019, https://news.un.org/pt/story/2019/04/1669401. “Reunião do Conselho Superior de Defesa Nacional: Presidente da República condenou o golpe militar no Mali” [Meeting of the Superior Council for National Defense: President of the Republic condemned the military coup in Mali], Jornal No Pintcha, August 20, 2020, http://www.jornalnopintcha.gw/2020/08/20/reuniao-do



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-conselho-superior-de-defesa-nacional-presidente-da-republica-condenou-o-golpe -militar-no-mali/. 52.  “Governo convocou mais de quatro mil agentes para garantir segurança das populações” [Government summoned more than four thousand agents to guarantee the safety of the populations], Jornal No Pintcha, December 24, 2020, http://www .jornalnopintcha.gw/2020/12/24/governo-convocou-mais-de-quatro-mil-agentes -para-garantir-seguranca-das-populacoes/. 53.  Relatório de apresntação de OGE 2018, 49, 87. 54. Kohl, Reform of Guinea Bissau’s Security Sector, 5. 55.  Ibid., 7. 56.  “Golpe de Estado ia ocorrer na ausência de PM e de PR,” Diário de Notícias (Portugal), June 5, 2009, https://www.dn.pt/globo/cplp/golpe-de-estado-ia-ocorrer-na -ausencia-de-pm-e-de-pr-1254841.html; and “Assassinado candidato presidencial na Guiné Bissau” [Killed presidential candidate in Guinea Bissau], BBC, June 5, 2009, www.bbc.co.uk/portugueseafrica/news/story/2009/06/090605_gbbacirodabotl.shtml. 57. Alberto Dabo, “Gunmen Kill Guinea-Bissau Presidential Candidate,” Reuters, June 5, 2009, https://www.reuters.com/article/worldNews/idINIndia-4010 7620090605. 58. “Guiné-Bissau: Serviço de Informação e Segurança apresenta queixa-crime contra Ministério do Interior” [Guinea-Bissau: Information and Security Service files criminal complaint against Ministry of Interior], E-Global, January 16, 2018, https://e-global.pt/noticias/lusofonia/guine-bissau/guine-bissau-servico-de-informa coes-e-seguranca-apresenta-queixa-crime-contra-ministerio-do-interior/. 59. International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Sub-Saharan Africa,” Military Balance 120, no. 1 (2020): 496. 60. Ibid. 61.  “Guinea Bissau SSR Background Note.” 62. Ibid. 63. Ibid. 64.  Guinea-Bissau: In Need of a State (International Crisis Group, 2008), 21, https://issat.dcaf.ch/download/2050/17607/Guinea%20Buissau%20in%20need%20 of%20a%20State-%20ICG%20(2008).pdf. 65. Simon Massey, “Global Geopolitics and the Failure of Securitization in Guinea-Bissau,” in Guinea-Bissau: Micro-State to “Narco-State,” ed. Patrick Chabal and Toby Green (New York: Hurst, 2016), 202. 66.  Joshua B. Forrest, “Guinea-Bissau’s Colonial and Post-Colonial Political Institutions,” in Guinea-Bissau: Micro-State to “Narco-State,” ed. Patrick Chabal and Toby Green (New York: Hurst, 2016), 40, 42. 67. “Guinea-Bissau, Africa’s Most Famous Narco-state, Goes to the Polls,” Economist, November 2, 2019, https://www.economist.com/middle-east-and -africa/2019/11/02/guinea-bissau-africas-most-famous-narco-state-goes-to-the-polls. 68. “Botche Candé intransigente com desacatos dos agentes policiais” [Botche Candé uncompromising with contempt of police officers],” Jornal No Pintcha, September 17, 2020, http://jornalnopintcha.gw/2020/09/17/botche-cande-intransigente -com-desacatos-dos-agentes-policiais/.

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69.  “Ativistas colocados em liberdade e Liga Guineense dos Direitos Humanos denuncia rapto” [Activists released and Guinean Human Rights League denounces kidnapping], Voice of America, October 6, 2020, https://www.voaportugues.com/a /ativistas-colocados-em-liberdade-e-liga-guineense-dos-direitos-humanos-denuncia -rapto/5611117.html. 70. Ibid. 71.  Lassana Cassamá, “Guiné-Bissau: Primeiro-ministro acusado de participar na exploração ilegal de madeira” [Guinea-Bissau: Prime minister accused of participating in illegal logging], Voice of America, December 29, 2020, https://www.voapor tugues.com/a/guiné-bissau-primeiro-ministro-acusado-de-participar-na-exploração -ilegal-de-madeira-/5717783.html. 72.  Security Sector Reform in Guinea Bissau: Africa Briefing Report (Brussels: Observatoire de l’Afrique, 2008), 6, https://issat.dcaf.ch/download/2051/17621 /Security%20Sector%20Reform%20(SSR)%20in%20guinea-Bissau%20-%20Obser vatoire%20de%20l’Afrique%20(2008).pdf. 73.  2014 International Narcotics Control Strategy Report: Guinea-Bissau. 74. “Sisi Reaffirms Egypt’s Support for Guinea-Bissau in All Domains,” State Information Service, February 20, 2021, https://www.sis.gov.eg/Story/154321/Sisi -reaffirms-Egypt%E2%80%99s-support-for-Guinea-Bissau-in-all-domains. 75.  “Portugal está determinado a cooperar com a Guiné-Bissau em todas as áreas” [Portugal is determined to cooperate with Guinea-Bissau in all areas], Jornal No Pintcha, October 14, 2020, http://www.jornalnopintcha.gw/2020/10/14/portugal -esta-determinado-a-cooperar-com-a-guine-bissau-em-todas-as-areas/. 76.  International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Sub-Saharan Africa,” 496; and Brett Walker, “Ten Years of History and Lessons in West African Navy Maneuvers,” Department of Defense, March 20, 2019, https://www.dvidshub.net/news/316587 /ten-years-history-and-lessons-west-african-navy-manuevers. 77.  “Guinea-Bissau,” United Nations, 2021, https://www.unodc.org/westandcentral africa/en/guinea-bissau.html. 78. Kohl, Reform of Guinea Bissau’s Security Sector, 8. 79. Ibid. 80.  Ibid., 10. 81. Ibid., 82. Ibid. 83. Antony Loewenstein, “Guinea-Bissau Struggles to End Its Role in Global Drugs Trade,” Guardian, January 7, 2016, https://www.theguardian.com/global -development/2016/jan/07/guinea-bissau-global-drugs-trade. 84. Massey, “Global Geopolitics and the Failure of Securitization in GuineaBissau,” 194. 85. Nicolas Haque, “Guinea-Bissau Drugs: Raid Intercepts 800kg of Cocaine,” Al Jazeera, March 13, 2019, https://www.aljazeera.com/videos/2019/3/13/guinea -bissau-drugs-raid-intercepts-800kg-of-cocaine.

25 Kenya An Evolved Intelligence Culture Ryan Shaffer

Kenya’s intelligence services have cast a long shadow in the country’s his-

tory by supporting an unpopular colonial government and protecting postcolonial single-party rule.1 The chapter argues that the institutions of Kenyan intelligence services have demonstrated change and continuity since the colonial era, building from some of the earlier tactics and strategies. Moreover, it describes how the preceding intelligence agencies employed the same personnel and institutional structure rather than the successor agencies being established without any institutional knowledge or leadership continuity. This should not imply there has been a lack of evolution or political progress. In fact, there have been many deviations from that continuity, notably caused by the end of the one-party system, in which political pluralism changed how intelligence agencies operate against government critics. This chapter examines the evolution of Kenya’s intelligence culture since colonialism. It is divided into five chronological sections that examine the colonial Special Branch, early independent Special Branch, torture and the Directorate of Security Intelligence, the National Security Intelligence Service and current civilian intelligence agency, and the National Intelligence Service. Each section highlights the main intelligence concerns and relations with the government and public. In doing so, the sections explore intelligence continuity and change in Kenyan, regional, and global politics. Ultimately, the chapter highlights the largely successful services, which had a culture that centered on single-party rule and later a multiparty state.

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THE COLONIAL SPECIAL BRANCH The postwar Kenya Special Branch’s origins lie in threats to the British colonial government. Though the Special Branch emerged as a key player in Kenyan security and evolved into today’s National Intelligence Service, its roots were in Kenya’s colonial Criminal Investigation Department (CID) and its Intelligence Branch, which provided civilian intelligence and was initially a whites-only organization.2 This was not Britain’s only intelligence service in Kenya, as the Intelligence Department was created during the First World War and collected information about threats to British interests throughout the Second World War.3 Moreover, there were many earlier proto-intelligence agencies, such as the British East African Police, founded in 1902 and that became the Kenya Police in 1920, which had officers who collected information.4 In 1945 the Special Branch became an independent organization with its own director, distinct from the CID.5 However, the increasing unrest and challenges to the British government after the Second World War prompted restructuring and professionalization of Kenyan intelligence.6 The original Special Branch was established during 1883 in London in response to Irish republican political violence that appeared in “mainland Britain in a brief but bloodthirsty campaign,” and it provided intelligence to the police, who were “totally unprepared.”7 The British police model, structures, and institutions spread throughout the empire, including Malaya and Kenya, to provide intelligence about threats to the government.8 In 1952 the modern Special Branch in Kenya was structured with a professional organization and standardized training for its officers under the authority of the commissioner of police to gather intelligence about the Mau Mau uprising, which the British defined as terrorism.9 According to the “authorized history” of the Security Service (MI5) by Christopher Andrew, the Mau Mau “was not a single movement born of primeval savagery,” but rather was “a diverse and fragmented collection of individuals, organizations and ideas.”10 Colonial Kenyan governor Sir Evelyn Baring publicly declared a state of emergency in October 1952, which lasted until 1959 and included “collective punishment” and detention of suspects in internment camps.11 MI5 was dispatched to “reorganize the Special Branch,” which was “overworked, bogged down in paper” and located in offices where it was “impossible from the standpoint of security or normal working conditions.”12 Moreover, MI5 found that the Special Branch “officers were largely untrained, equipment was lacking and intelligence funds were meagre.”13 By August 1953 the Special Branch had substantially improved in “strength,” with MI5 officer A. M. MacDonald in Kenya reporting back to London headquarters, “We now have some excellent sources operating” and “have no qualms at leaving this lusty



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infant to look after itself.”14 Caroline Elkins’s history of Mau Mau experiences described British detention camps and a campaign that left hundreds of thousands dead and included the indiscriminate murder of Kikuyu by white and African officers.15 The Special Branch provided the government with vital intelligence and law enforcement functions during the insurgency. EARLY INDEPENDENCE In December 1963 Kenya gained independence from Britain, which significantly impacted its society and politics and shifted the roles and loyalty of the intelligence services. Yet there was continuity, as President Jomo Kenyatta (ca. 1897–1978) opposed radical transformation and government restructuring that could dramatically reshape the country’s foreign support.16 Bernard Hinga was appointed the first African head of the Special Branch, serving for about a year.17 On December 31, 1964, Hinga became commissioner of police, replacing Richard Catling, who had served since 1954, and James Kanyotu (1936–2008), who started as a police officer in 1960, was appointed chief of the Special Branch, and served until 1991.18 Special Branch officer Bart Joseph Kibati explained that after independence, the Special Branch “became an important department of the Kenya Police, under the command of a Deputy Commissioner of Police,” but was severed from the police in 1969 by order of Kenyatta.19 That same year, the Special Branch was transferred “from the Office of the Vice-President and Ministry of Home Affairs to the Office of the President,” and intelligence operations were legalized.20 During the 1970s, the events in Uganda had ramifications for Kenya, which at first appeared positive and then became negative. In 1971 Major General Idi Amin overthrew Uganda’s president in a military coup, which brought “guarded relief” to Kenya, as President Kenyatta had become distrustful of Uganda’s previous leader.21 According to Kibati, Amin requested Kenya’s help to train Uganda’s Criminal Investigation Department (CID) as well as the intelligence services, and Kenya “sent Simon Wathome, a Special Branch officer, and John Bell, a CID officer, to Kampala for a year to restructure the Uganda Special Branch and CID organizations.”22 About sixty Uganda intelligence officers, including Luke Ofungi, who became Uganda’s director of intelligence, received training at the Kenya Special Branch Training School in Nairobi in courses that took as long as six months.23 A defining moment of the Uganda–Kenya relationship during Amin’s rule was Operation Thunderbolt. The July 1976 operation was a response to the hijacking of Air France Flight 139 from Tel Aviv by the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, who demanded Israel release Palestinian militants.

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After a stop in Libya, the airplane ultimately landed at Uganda’s airport in Entebbe, where “Amin reinforced the demand of the hijackers and gave Israel a 48-hour ultimatum to release the fundamentalists or one passenger would be killed per hour” after the deadline.24 The successful raid by Israel Defense Forces, which has been recounted in many books, freed all but four hostages, killed Ugandan soldiers, and damaged the Ugandan Air Force’s aircraft.25 Prior to the raid, Mossad agents met with senior figures in Kenyan national security, including Attorney-General Charles Njonjo, Commissioner of Police Bernard Hinga, and paramilitary General Service Unit head Ben Gethi to request permission for refueling military aircraft in Nairobi.26 President Kenyatta later agreed to permit the planes to refuel and allowed Israel to treat possible causalities in Kenya, but said he would deny any knowledge if the operation “goes wrong.”27 After completing the mission and leaving Ugandan airspace, the three aircraft in the raid refueled in Kenya under the supervision of Gethi, who kept in phone contact with President Kenyatta.28 Politics in Kenya appeared stable under the unchallenged authority of President Kenyatta and the instruments of power used to silence dissent. However, in August 1978 Kenyatta, Kenya’s first postcolonial head of state, died, and was succeeded by Vice President Daniel Arap Moi, who was vice president for twelve years and subsequently served as president until 2002.29 Special Branch director James Kanyotu “managed” the events following Kenyatta’s death and ensured Vice President Moi became acting president in accordance with the constitution by preventing three influential men from lobbying the cabinet to not support Moi as acting president.30 Moi was also minister for home affairs, supervising “the police and some of the security forces.”31 Having these key roles in the government, Moi knew and “made friends with” Kanyotu and Deputy Director Mwangi Stephen Muriithi.32 DIRECTORATE OF SECURITY INTELLIGENCE Kenyan intelligence underwent changes during the 1980s that reflected more authoritarian methods and human rights violations. Under Kenyatta there had been restrictions in the political space, but President Moi eliminated the remaining opposition by installing the leadership of the Kenya African National Union (KANU) party and using party members to spread “the views of the president to the grass roots and for controlling the expression of interests within the country.”33 Opposition to the party was made illegal, while President Moi’s office “controlled the election of candidates to high party office and converted KANU into a vehicle for monitoring opposition at the local level.”34 Security budgets were increased, and the Special Branch tracked



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foreign news organizations and aid agencies, even closing the Associated Press offices in reaction to a story about a food shortage.35 By the late 1980s KANU’s youth wing “were often present at police raids and in marketplaces,” engaging in “watchdog activities.”36 In December 1983 the construction of Nyayo House, a towering twentysix-story government building in Nairobi, was completed and became the Special Branch’s headquarters.37 Moi had adopted the term Nyayo, meaning “footsteps” in Swahili, as his motto in which he claimed to be following in Kenyatta’s footsteps, but it also came to be interpreted as “do what the Office of the President tells you to do.”38 The new headquarters was an upgrade from the previous building and was designed in consultation with the Special Branch’s leadership.39 The basement had specially built torture chambers, and additional torture chambers existed at another location, Nyati House.40 As stories leaked out over the years, Nyayo House became known for torture and political suppression, which included arresting students, professors, civil servants, and perceived political opponents. In particular, the government focused its resources on collecting and targeting members of Mwakenya, a banned movement that involved a cross section of society; the government’s suppression of the group peaked in 1986.41 In 1986 the Special Branch became the Directorate of Security Intelligence by a presidential charter from President Moi, but the “structures and organization” of “the Special Branch were retained,” and Kanyotu was appointed director.42 The new name for Kenya’s civilian intelligence agency did not mean much to the public, and it “continued to be popularly known as the Special Branch.”43 Meanwhile, the Kenyan government continued suppressing dissent by arresting and prosecuting real and perceived opponents, which not only imprisoned challengers but also discouraged others from becoming government critics. The Directorate of Security Intelligence was one tool for protecting the state and became a public face of government brutality. Decades later the issue of torture was the subject of a public inquiry ordered by the government. In October 2008 the National Assembly passed the Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Act, which created the Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Commission to investigate and record the history of human and economic rights violations from 1963 until 2008 to help promote peace and reconciliation.44 The commission’s lengthy final report was issued in 2013 and concluded, among many other issues, that “a special task force was established for the sole purpose of interrogating and torturing individuals who were suspected to be a threat to national security or were suspected members of Mwakenya and other such underground movements.”45 The Special Branch and subsequently the Directorate of Security Intelligence had foreign intelligence relationships. Kibati cited work with the

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British Secret Intelligence Service (MI6) and the Security Service (MI5), explaining that he had attended a MI5 course in London in 1974.46 Further, he noted that the Central Intelligence Agency and West Germany’s Federal Intelligence Service had provided training, such as Kibati attending a course in Munich in 1978, which he found was “too elementary,” and later a more advanced class about technical operations was developed.47 In an MI6 course in 1983, Kibati took part in surveillance practices, such as using a dead letter box.48 Beyond training, Kenya also exchanged intelligence with Western partners on issues of “terrorism, drugs trafficking and international crime.”49 POST–COLD WAR Kenyan intelligence underwent several significant shifts during the 1990s. Director James Kanyotu, who had served since 1964, retired in 1991 after twenty-seven years as the country’s intelligence chief.50 The reason for his retirement is controversial, with one version stating that it was a personal dispute over Kanyotu’s not warning President Moi that minister of health, and later president, Mwai Kibaki, was resigning from Moi’s cabinet.51 Longtime Special Branch officer William Kivuvani was appointed as the new intelligence chief in 1992 and served until 1995.52 According to journalist Kamau Ngotho, Kivuvani was friends with Philip Mbithi, head of the Civil Service, who wanted Moi to allow political pluralism, and when Moi’s relationship soured with Mbithi it “may have sowed the seeds of [Kivuvani’s] downfall.”53 In particular, a former senior civil servant said, “Moi felt that Mbithi had canvassed for Mr Kivuvani” who “could be in a position to filter information before it got to” Moi.54 President Moi appointed military adviser Brigadier Wilson Boinett to be the director, whose career included serving as director of Military Intelligence from 1988 to 1990 and military attaché to Mozambique between 1990 and 1995; he also belonged to Moi’s Kalenjin ethnic group.55 Larger geopolitical issues shifted after the Cold War ended, prompting Kenyan intelligence to focus on emerging threats such as transnational terrorists.56 In August 1998, al-Qaeda simultaneously attacked the US embassies in Kenya and Tanzania using bombs carried by trucks, which destroyed the building in Nairobi and killed 213 people, injuring more than 4,500, who lost limbs and eyes.57 US Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) agents were dispatched to the countries to investigate with their African counterparts and collaborated closely.58 Ultimately, Kenyan CID officers got the “first break” in locating and interviewing Mohamed Rashed Daoud al-Owhali, a terrorist tasked with forcing embassy security to open the gates so a truck could be driven close to the building.59



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THE NATIONAL SECURITY INTELLIGENCE SERVICE Kenya’s civilian intelligence service became more professionalized under Wilson Boinett’s leadership.60 In January 1999 the Directorate of Security Intelligence became the National Security Intelligence Service (NSIS), its police functions were eliminated, and it was given only advisory, not executive, power.61 In an effort to move beyond its reputation for silencing political opposition, the new Kenyan intelligence service was no longer a law enforcement agency for arresting and searching suspects, and its director general was appointed for five years with the possibility of reappointment.62 Additionally, a formal process was instituted that allowed citizens to file complaints about NSIS abuse.63 Boinett was appointed the first NSIS director general and was later reappointed for two more years.64 The workforce was reorganized, and the Kenyan intelligence agency was restructured. Boinett explained that all Directorate of Security Intelligence “officers had to resign in order to allow the new service to recruit from scratch. Some of these officers were later re-employed by NSIS; those who did not qualify for the new intelligence service were returned to the police force.”65 The new service sought “intellectual and material resource capacity,” recruiting university graduates who were then enrolled in a one-year training academy, taught by American and British instructors, on subjects like psychology and sociology.66 He described a further restructuring in 2003 that created an “analysis and production division” with three departments, including political, economic, and security/diplomacy, which were changed to democratic, economics, and foreign/diplomacy departments.67 When Boinett’s appointment ended and he retired in January 2006, MajorGeneral Michael Gichangi was appointed director general of the NSIS, and he was later reappointed in 2011.68 Gichangi joined the Kenyan Air Force as a pilot in 1977, was appointed founding director of the National Counter Terrorism Centre in 2003, and was promoted to major general in 2006.69 The NSIS encountered different internal security issues than the Special Branch. When the country was a one-party state and held nominal multiparty elections, intelligence collection and operations were aimed at perceived political opponents. This changed with free elections. There was a shift in focusing on the increasing ethnic hostilities that emerged in politics and manifested into violence following a close vote in 2007 in which President Mwai Kibaki was reelected and narrowly defeated Raila Odinga, who alleged “the vote was rigged.”70 In May 2010, press reports surfaced that the NSIS was strained, lacking the personnel to accomplish its mission. With at least one intelligence officer in each of Kenya’s 278 districts, the expansion of districts reportedly caused operations to be “overstretched.”71 The NSIS aimed to increase recruit-

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ment, with over three hundred new intelligence officers receiving training from the National Intelligence Academy, and the service reportedly offered among the best pay compared to other government sectors.72 The recruitment drive was aimed at having intelligence officers throughout the county-level government.73 Terrorism, namely al-Shabaab militants crossing into Kenya, was a matter of increasing concern. In October 2011 Kenya launched Operation Protect the Nation, sending more than two thousand troops into Somalia to fight alShabaab over concerns about the terrorist organization crossing the border and causing instability.74 NSIS director general Gichangi was one of several, including Kenyan Army chief of defense forces Julius Karangi, who made the case to President Kibaki for the operation.75 In reaction to Kenya’s involvement, al-Shabaab started launching reprisal terrorist attacks in Nairobi weeks later.76 THE NATIONAL INTELLIGENCE SERVICE In 2012 Kenya’s intelligence community was restructured under the National Intelligence Service Act.77 The legislation created the National Intelligence Service (NIS), led by a presidentially appointed director general. It consists of eight divisions: internal, external, administration, the National Intelligence Academy, analysis and production, counterterrorism coordination, counterintelligence, and operations and technical services; each division is led by a director chosen by the director general.78 The director general is appointed by the Kenyan president and approved by the National Assembly of the Parliament.79 In addition, there is an oversight board “appointed by the Cabinet Secretary on the recommendation of the Public Service Commission” that addresses complaints and has investigative powers.80 The intelligence service was mandated to provide intelligence to the government for national security and responsible for counterintelligence. Moreover, the new NIS was not the only intelligence agency, as both the Kenya Defence Forces and the National Police Service also had intelligence functions. Gichangi was appointed NIS director general, continuing in his role as head of Kenya’s civilian intelligence agency and concentrating resources on counterterrorism. In September 2013 four al-Shabaab militants armed with AK-47s and grenades attacked the Westgate mall in Nairobi, shooting at shoppers and leaving dozens dead and nearly two hundred injured.81 The worst terrorism since the 1998 embassy bombing, the attack lasted several days and ended with security forces storming the building in a rescue operation coordinated by Gichangi along with Kenya Defence Forces head Julius



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Karangi and Inspector General of Police David Kimaiyo.82 The international attention focused again on terrorism in Kenya, prompting criticism about Kenya’s national security, and initial inquiries pointed out coordination problems between police and the Kenya Defence Forces.83 Moreover, the National Intelligence Service was blamed “for failing to infiltrate the plotters and prevent the attack.”84 According to press reports, the NIS provided “advance warning of the attack to Inspector General of Police Service David Kimaiyo and Criminal Investigations Department director Ndegwa Muhoro.”85 Nearly one year later, in August 2014, President Kenyatta requested that Gichangi resign following internal conflicts with the chief of defense forces and inspector general of police.86 In September 2014, Major-General Philip Kameru was appointed NIS director general and reportedly was selected for “his success in intelligence-gathering in Somalia” when the Kenyan military had started offensives against “Somali Islamists in October 2011.”87 The change in leadership failed to solve intelligence failures over terrorist attacks. A particularly notable al-Shabaab attack in April 2015 at Garissa University left nearly 150 students dead when the four attackers randomly fired at some students and targeted non-Muslims, ultimately detonating their suicide vests when surrounded by Kenyan forces.88 Not surprisingly, the NIS concluded in 2017 that terrorism poses “the biggest threat to Kenya’s national security and development.”89 Though terrorism is a serious threat, political stability and corruption remain perennial intelligence concerns. In 2017 Kenya held two presidential elections, a rematch between President Kenyatta and Odinga. The first, held in August, was nullified by the Supreme Court over irregularities, and the second, in October, was won by Kenyatta after Odinga withdrew his candidacy weeks before.90 The elections proved divisive, with political violence claiming the lives of about fifty people.91 As he had done previously, Odinga accused the government of interfering in the election, but this time he claimed the NIS was engaging in voter fraud by helping foreign citizens vote in the election.92 In 2018 President Kenyatta ordered the NIS to investigate the lifestyles of public officials, including himself, and have them explain their assets.93 NIS documents were used to investigate corrupt officials and audit government departments, and NIS director general Kameru personally briefed President Kenyatta about the issue.94 CONCLUSION This chapter provided an overview of Kenya’s intelligence culture by explaining how Kenyan intelligence has evolved since the colonial era. At first

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the Special Branch was a tool of colonial repression and became a weapon to silence dissent in a single-party state, but it has largely professionalized. Yet much remains unknown to the public about Kenyan security services’ history and operations. Indeed, the National Intelligence Service’s 2018/2019 estimated budget from parliament is Ksh31 billion (about US$310 million), but the details of the expenditure are classified, leaving the public to wonder how the money is spent.95 Meanwhile, the victims who suffered at Nyayo House have told their stories in memoirs and news articles, and Odinga even discussed the effects of his torture during a 2017 Kenyan presidential debate.96 The Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Commission gathered stories from the victims, and its lengthy report described human rights violations by Kenyan intelligence services. However, it remains to be seen whether the Kenyan government will systematically and officially provide more information to its citizens about its intelligence community so citizens can separate reality from fiction and better understand their intelligence services. NOTES   1.  Another version of this chapter was published as Ryan Shaffer, “Following in Footsteps: The History of Kenya’s Post-Colonial Intelligence Services,” Studies in Intelligence 63, no. 1 (2019): 23–40. See also Ryan Shaffer, “The More Things Change: Kenya’s Special Branch During the Decade of Independence,” in African Intelligence Services: Early Post-Colonial and Contemporary Challenges, ed. Ryan Shaffer (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2021), 23–46.  2. Legislative Council Debates, Colony and Protectorate of Kenya, no. 8 (September 4, 1939, to January 5, 1940), 61; and Wilson Boinett, “The Origins of the Intelligence System of Kenya,” in Changing Intelligence Dynamics in Africa, ed. Sandy Africa and Johnny Kwadjo (Birmingham, UK: GFN-SSR and ASSN, 2009), 23.  3. Report of the Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Commission (Nairobi: Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Commission, 2013), 2A:61, https://www.kenya-today .com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/TJRC_report_Volume_2A.pdf.   4.  Boinett, “Origins of the Intelligence System of Kenya,” 21.   5.  Bart Joseph Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster (Nairobi: Nairobi Academic Press, 2016), 48; and Boinett, “Origins of the Intelligence System of Kenya,” 24.  6. Report of the Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Commission, 2A:62.   7.  Ray Wilson and Ian Adams, Special Branch: A History: 1883–2006 (London: Biteback Publishing, 2015), xvii, 20.  8. Christopher Andrew, The Defence of the Realm: The Authorized History of MI5 (New York: Allen Lane, 2009), 459.  9. Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster, 44, 49. 10. Andrew, Defence of the Realm, 457.



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11.  Nicholas van der Bijl, Mau Mau Rebellion: The Emergency in Kenya 1952– 1956 (Barnsley: Pen and Sword, 2017), 51. 12. Andrew, Defence of the Realm, 456. 13. Andrew, Defence of the Realm, 456. 14. Andrew, Defence of the Realm, 457. 15.  Caroline Elkins, Imperial Reckoning: The Untold Story of Britain’s Gulag in Kenya (New York: Henry Holt, 2005), xvi, 85. 16.  Daniel Branch, Kenya: Between Hope and Despair, 1963–2011 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2011), 36, 39. 17. Derek Kenneth Kwama, “Jomo Kenyatta Era Spy Chief, James Kanyotu, Was Secretive Even in Death,” Standard, November 27, 2013, https://www.stan dardmedia.co.ke/article/2000098794/jomo-kenyatta-era-spy-chief-james-kanyotu -was-secretive-even-in-death; and Nigel West, Historical Dictionary of International Intelligence (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015), 187. 18. “James Kanyotu: The Most Elusive Dreaded Spy Chief Who Warned Moi of 1982 Coup Plot” Standard, 2017, https://www.sde.co.ke/thenairobian/article /2001233700/james-kanyotu-the-most-elusive-dreaded-spy-chief-who-warned-moi -of-1982-coup-plot; Mugumo Munene, “Former Shadowy Spy,” Daily Nation, February 14, 2008, https://www.nation.co.ke/lifestyle/1190-228878-g0kgh9z/index.html; Francis K. Sang, A Noble but Onerous Duty: An Autobiography by Former Director of Criminal Investigation Department (CID) (Bloomington, IN: AuthorHouse, 2013), 29; and Charles Hornsby, Kenya: A History Since Independence (New York: I. B. Tauris, 2013), 100. 19. Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster, 44–45. 20. Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster, 49, 50. 21. Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster, 93. 22. Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster, 94. 23. Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster, 95. 24. Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster, 112. 25. The operation has been described in many books and documentaries. For example, Saul David, Operation Thunderbolt: Flight 139 and the Raid on Entebbe Airport, the Most Audacious Hostage Rescue Mission in History (New York: Little, Brown, 2015), 347. 26. David, Operation Thunderbolt, 203. 27. David, Operation Thunderbolt, 285, 286. 28. David, Operation Thunderbolt, 326. 29.  Jennifer A. Widner, The Rise of a Party-State in Kenya: From Harambee! to Nyayo! (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), 133. 30. Kamau Ngotho, “Tough Call for Kanyotu in the Kenyatta Succession Saga,” Daily Nation, May 29, 2008, https://www.nation.co.ke/lifestyle/1190-234408 -g01s6nz/index.html. 31. Widner, Rise of a Party-State in Kenya, 135. 32. Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster, 212. Muriithi later sued Moi over a land dispute. Joseph Openda, “Former Intelligence Officer Sues Daniel Moi over

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Land,” Daily Nation, March 7, 2017, https://www.nation.co.ke/news/Former-intelli gence-officer-sues-Moi-over-land/1056-3840056-lr03b9z/index.html. 33. Widner, Rise of a Party-State in Kenya, 158. 34. Widner, Rise of a Party-State in Kenya, 145, 160. 35. Widner, Rise of a Party-State in Kenya, 145, 146. 36. Widner, Rise of a Party-State in Kenya, 170. 37. Branch, Kenya: Between Hope and Despair, 161; and Daniel Wesangula, “Inside the Walls of the House That Kept Kenya’s Dark Secrets,” Daily Nation, May 5, 2012, https://www.nation.co.ke/news/1056-1400370-14c2rpoz/index.html. 38. Widner, Rise of a Party-State in Kenya, 130. 39.  Wesangula, “Inside the Walls of the House.” 40.  Wesangula, “Inside the Walls of the House.” 41.  Stephen Mburu, “Govt Reaction Was Very Harsh,” Daily Nation, March 12, 2000, https://www.nation.co.ke/news/1056-372744-l7yig3z/index.html. 42. “NIS: Historical Background,” National Intelligence Service, 2018, https:// www.nis.go.ke/history.html. 43. Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster, 45. 44.  “Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Act,” The Republic of Kenya, 2008, http:// www.kenyalaw.org/lex/actview.xql?actid=No.%206%20of%202008. 45.  Report of the Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Commission, 2A:597. 46. Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster, 205. 47. Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster, 206, 208. 48. Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster, 209. 49. Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster, 209. 50. Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster, 220. 51.  Kamau Ngotho, “The Life and Times of a Spymaster,” Daily Nation, July 16, 2001, https://www.nation.co.ke/news/1056-336120-lad1iaz/index.html. 52. Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster, 224; and Daniel Nzia, “Mutula: I Am Going to ‘Paradise,’” Standard, May 2, 2013, https://www.standardmedia.co.ke /article/2000082759/mutula-i-am-going-to-paradise. 53.  Kamau Ngotho, “Arrival of Powerful PS Signalled Spy’s Downfall,” Daily Nation, July 16, 2001, https://www.nation.co.ke/news/1056-336122-lad1i8z/index .html. 54.  Ngotho, “Arrival of Powerful PS.” 55.  Odindo Ayieko, “Long Line of Soldiers on Presidential Duty,” Daily Nation, April 25, 2005, https://www.nation.co.ke/lifestyle/1190-56120-dmrs58z/index.html. 56.  Terrorism was a concern prior to 1998, but the US embassy bombing marked the start of terrorism becoming a “scholarly and policy focus.” Edward Mogire and Kennedy Mkutu Agade, “Counter-Terrorism in Kenya,” Journal of Contemporary African Studies 29, no. 4 (2011): 485. 57.  Tod Hoffman, Al Qaeda Declares War: The African Embassy Bombings and America’s Search for Justice (Lebanon, NH: ForeEdge, 2014), 7. 58. Hoffman, Al Qaeda Declares War, 51. 59. Hoffman, Al Qaeda Declares War, 52.



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60.  Muchemi Wachira, “Wilson Boinett: Military Man Who Turned around NIS,” Daily Nation, September 11, 2014, https://www.nation.co.ke/news/Military-man -who-turned-around-NIS/1056-2449782-letkpnz/index.html. 61. Kibati, Memoirs of a Kenyan Spymaster, 50; and “The National Security Intelligence Service Act,” The Republic of Kenya, 1998, https://www.nis.go.ke/down loads/National%20Security%20Intelligence%20Service%20Act,%2011%20of%20 1998_.pdf. 62.  “National Security Intelligence Service Act,” 63.  Boinett, “Origins of the Intelligence System of Kenya,” 30. 64.  Muchemi Wachira, “Wilson Boinett: Military Man Who Turned around NIS,” Daily Nation, September 11, 2014, https://www.nation.co.ke/news/Military-man -who-turned-around-NIS/1056-2449782-letkpnz/index.html. 65.  Boinett, “Origins of the Intelligence System of Kenya,” 31. 66.  Boinett, “Origins of the Intelligence System of Kenya,” 31, 32. 67.  Boinett, “Origins of the Intelligence System of Kenya,” 31. 68.  “National Intelligence Service Director Michael Gichangi Resigns,” Standard, August 15, 2014, https://www.standardmedia.co.ke/article/2000131469/national -intelligence-service-director-michael-gichangi-resigns. 69. W TV Kenya, “Who Is This Man Michael Gichangi?,” YouTube, August 21, 2014, video, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EIl3dDGfJpE; Lucas Barasa, “Kenya: NSIS Boss Has His Work Cut Out,” Daily Nation, January 18, 2006, http:// allafrica.com/stories/200601171219.html; and “Kenya: Gichangi Replaces Boinett as NSIS Boss,” East African Standard, January 17, 2006, http://allafrica.com/stories /200601160660.html. 70. “Kenya since 2007–2008 Post-Election Violence,” Daily Nation, August 6, 2017, https://www.nation.co.ke/news/politics/Kenya-since-post-election-violence -/1064-4046876-12j38pyz/index.html. 71.  Cyrus Ombati, “300 New Spies Will Soon Be in Your Midst,” Standard, September 8, 2010, https://www.standardmedia.co.ke/business/article/2000017897/300 -new-spies-will-soon-be-in-your-midst; and Mugumo Munene, “Kenya: Ex-Spy Chief Stood Out for His Dedication to Service,” Daily Nation, January 18, 2006, http://allafrica.com/stories/200601171206.html. 72.  Ombati, “300 New Spies Will Soon Be in Your Midst.” 73.  Ombati, “300 New Spies Will Soon Be in Your Midst.” 74.  Gorm Rye Olsen, “The October 2011 Kenyan Invasion of Somalia: Fighting al-Shabaab or Defending Institutional Interests?,” Journal of Contemporary African Studies 36, no. 1 (2018): 39, 44. 75.  Olsen, “October 2011 Kenyan Invasion of Somalia,” 49. 76.  Aislinn Laing, “Nairobi Assault: Kenyan Terrorist Attacks since 1980,” Telegraph, September 21, 2013, https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/africaand indianocean/kenya/10325230/Nairobi-assault-Kenyan-terrorist-attacks-since-1980 .html. 77. “The National Intelligence Service Act,” The Republic of Kenya, August 27, 2012, https://www.nis.go.ke/downloads/THE%20NATIONAL%20INTELLI GENCE%20SERVICE%20ACT,%202012.pdf.

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78.  “Organizational Structure,” National Intelligence Service, 2018, https://www .nis.go.ke/ourdivisions.html; “National Intelligence Service Act,” August 27, 2012. 79.  “National Intelligence Service Act,” August 27, 2012. 80.  “Organizational Structure.” 81.  Lucas Barasa, “39 Killed in Worst Attack since 1998,” Daily Nation, September 21, 2013,; and “Troops Fighting ‘One or Two’ Gunmen in Westgate Mall: Security Sources,” Daily Nation, September 24, 2013, https://www.nation.co.ke/news/Troops -fighting-one-two-gunmen-in-Westgate-Mall-Security-/1056-2004880-e3ymdo /index.html. 82.  Barasa, “39 Killed in Worst Attack since 1998.” 83. “Blame Game over Westgate Attack,” Daily Nation, September 26, 2013, https://www.nation.co.ke/news/Blame-game-over-Westgate-attack/1056 -2009266-yoxwxfz/index.html. 84. Mutuma Mathiu, “Security Agencies Failed in the Face of Westgate Mall Attack,” Daily Nation, September 18, 2014, https://www.nation.co.ke/news /Security-agencies-failed-in-the-face-of-Westgate-Mall-attack-/1056-2457454-ft d41w/index.html; and “Mall Attack Blamed on Weak Intelligence,” Daily Nation, November 14, 2013, https://www.nation.co.ke/news/Mall-attack-blamed-on-weak -intelligence/1056-2073758-6cek3kz/index.html. 85. David Mwere and Dominic Wabala, “Kenya: ‘NIS Gave Advance Westgate Warning,’” Star, September 26, 2013, http://www.allafrica.com/stories /201309271168.html; see also David McKenzie and Antonia Mortensen, “Kenyan Intelligence Warned of Al-Shabaab Threat before Mall Attack,” CNN, September 30, 2013, https://www.cnn.com/2013/09/28/world/africa/kenya-mall-attack/index.html. 86.  Isaac Ongiri, “This Is Why Michael Gichangi Had to Go,” Daily Nation, August 15, 2014, https://www.nation.co.ke/news/This-is-why-Michael-Gichangi-had-to -go/1056-2420600-ok5k2k/index.html. 87. “Kenya Appoints New Intelligence Chief amid Rising Shabaab Threat,” Reuters, September 11, 2014, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-kenya-security /kenya-appoints-new-intelligence-chief-amid-rising-shabaab-threat-idUSKBN 0H61T620140911. 88.  “Kenya Attack: 147 Dead in Garissa University Assault,” BBC, April 3, 2015, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-32169080. 89. David Mwere, “Kenya: Terror Groups Pose Biggest Threat to Kenya’s Security—NIS,” Daily Nation, September 20, 2017, http://allafrica.com/stories /201709200081.html. 90.  Jina Moore, “Uhuru Kenyatta Is Declared Winner of Kenya’s Repeat Election,” New York Times, October 30, 2017, https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/30 /world/africa/kenya-election-kenyatta-odinga.html. 91.  “Kenya Election: Kenyatta Vows to Overcome Divisions,” BBC, November 28, 2017, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-42146754. 92.  Rawlings Otieno, “Raila: National Intelligence Service Interfering with Voter Registration to Influence Election Results,” Standard, January 25, 2017, https://www .standardmedia.co.ke/article/2000231133/raila-national-intelligence-service-interfer ing-with-voter-registration-to-influence-election-results.



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93.  Nancy Agutu, Ernest Cornel, and Melanie Mwangi, “I’m Ready for Lifestyle Audit, No Crisis in ODM—Raila,” Star, June 18, 2018, https://www.the-star.co.ke /news/2018/06/18/im-ready-for-lifestyle-audit-no-crisis-in-odm-raila_c1774308. 94.  Felix Olick, “NIS Dossiers Drive Uhuru’s War on Graft,” Star, June 4, 2018, https://www.the-star.co.ke/news/2018/06/04/nis-dossiers-drive-uhurus-war-on-graft _c1767489. 95.  James Anyanzwa, “Kenya Releases 2018/19 Budget Estimates of Eye-Popping $31b,” East African, June 11, 2018, http://www.theeastafrican.co.ke/business/Kenya -releases-eye-popping-USD31-billion-budget/2560-4605770-g83ou1z/index.html. 96.  KTN News Kenya, “Raila Odinga: My Eyes Are Tearing Because of the Torture I got at Nyayo House Chambers,” July 24, 2017, video, https://www.youtube .com/watch?v=rD-OVSiC1pc.

26 Lesotho The National Security Service’s Organizational Culture, Oversight, and Politics Mopeli Moshoeshoe and Christopher Williams

Lesotho’s

twenty-nine years of democracy have been plagued by intense political contestation that periodically bursts into violent conflict.1 Volatile civil-military relations have been a major source of this chronic instability. Politicians regularly attempt to bolster their position by recruiting support from the security sector, while soldiers and police intervene in the political process to protect their institutions’ prerogatives and privileges, to advance their personal positions, or because they are ordered to do so. Many scholars have investigated how Lesotho’s security sector influences the country’s political scene.2 Most of this research has focused on the Lesotho Defense Force (LDF) and Lesotho Mounted Police Service (LMPS). Little has been said about the role of Lesotho’s National Security Service (NSS), the country’s primary intelligence-gathering body.3 This chapter explores the history of the NSS and its current operations. It is divided into two sections. The first section investigates the NSS’s evolution from its colonial origins as a Special Branch of the Basutoland Mounted Police into its current form. The second section examines the NSS’s culture with particular focus on three issues: oversight of the NSS, its relationship with Lesotho’s other security institutions, and its interactions with other national intelligence agencies and international bodies. The chapter highlights how Lesotho’s unique geographic position as an enclave entirely within South Africa and the volatility of its politics have shaped the priorities of, and caused problems for, the NSS. Mohlakana Lerotholi, who served as director of the NSS from 2004 to 2006 and again from 2013 to 2016 stated, “Unlike [Lesotho’s] other security agencies . . . which have been associated with politics, the NSS have been apolitical.”4 This chapter finds that though the laws governing the NSS explicitly forbid its employees 335

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from entering the political fray, NSS officials have at times been involved in Lesotho’s chronic power struggles. FROM POLICE SPECIAL UNIT TO SPY SERVICE The NSS’s origins lie in the Basutoland Mounted Police (BMP), set up by the British in 1872. In 1954 a special branch (SB) of the BMP was designated for intelligence operations. As in the rest of British-controlled Africa, the SB’s primary responsibility was collecting intelligence to thwart insurgents and preserve the colonial order.5 As Lauren Hutton notes, this focus on “maintain[ing] domestic political power” left an imprint on postcolonial intelligence services across Africa, including on Lesotho’s nascent intelligence agency.6 From independence in 1966 until 1986 Lesotho was ruled by Chief Leabua Jonathan of the Basotho National Party (BNP). Khabele Matlosa describes the police during this period as a “highly politicised force primarily used as an instrument of coercion . . . to control or eliminate its political opponents.7 Although Lesotho had become independent, the colonial objective of safeguarding the ruling regime remained. When Lesotho gained independence, the SB was expanded and a leadership team was appointed. According to one of the former director generals of the NSS, the SB was considered a specialized unit within the police service along with other such units, like the Diamond Branch, Criminal Investigation Department, and Stock Theft Unit.8 All of these units were housed within a single command and governed by police laws and regulations.9 Over the next twenty-five years, the SB gradually gained independence from the police force. In 1970 it was renamed the Intelligence Branch (IB), and the head of this division was given the title of director. The IB, however, remained one of the units within the BMP. Consequently, its members received police training and shared facilities and resources with the police force. During the 1970s Jonathan’s government came under threat from two outside sources. First, relations with South Africa soured, and the once friendly apartheid government became a threat.10 Second, after its victory in the 1970 election was nullified and in the face of growing repression, the Basutoland Congress Party (BCP) leadership fled into exile and formed a military wing, the Lesotho Liberation Army (LLA). By the early 1980s, the LLA and apartheid state had joined together in an effort to unseat Jonathan’s regime.11 To contend with these external threats, in 1978 the BMP was reorganized into three separate commands: the Lesotho Paramilitary Force (LPF), the Lesotho Mounted Police Service (LMPS), and the Intelligence Branch, which was renamed the National Security Service (NSS). The new NSS was “semi-



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autonomous” from the police, and the position of NSS director was elevated so that it was commensurate with that of commissioner of police.12 During this period the NSS’s dominant focus was countering the LLA and its South African ally. As one veteran of the NSS told the authors, “We became a fighting force.”13 In the 1980s a split developed between Jonathan and senior military leaders. In 1986 these leaders ousted Jonathan and replaced him with a ruling Military Council. After the military took power, the NSS was renamed the Royal Lesotho Intelligence Service. In 1992, the National Security Service Order was approved by the Military Council, which changed the name of the Royal Lesotho Intelligence Service back to the NSS and gave the NSS “full autonomy” from the police force.14 The National Security Service Order also provided official guidance regarding the NSS’s operations and mandate: to protect Lesotho’s national security, the NSS was tasked with dealing with a variety of threats including espionage, terrorism, sabotage, corruption, and efforts to overthrow or undermine democracy.15 During the early 1990s, Lesotho’s military rulers came under increasing international pressure to relinquish power to a democratically elected government. In 1993 the BCP, which had recently been “unbanned,” won a crushing electoral victory over its rival, the BNP, and took power. The return to civilian rule did not mean civilian supremacy over the security forces. Before it departed, the military junta created a Defense Commission to oversee security matters. The commission was composed of leaders from the security sector. The prime minister, though part of the Defense Commission, did not have veto power over the other members. As Richard Weisfelder notes, the military regime had “left a time bomb in the new constitution which effectively denied control of the LDF, RLMP, and the National Security Service to the civilian rulers.”16 THE DEMOCRATIC TRANSITION AND DIFFICULT TIMES The period after Lesotho’s 1993 democratic elections was tumultuous and violent. A key reason for this instability was distrust between the security sector, which was dominated by personnel loyal to the BNP, and the incoming BCP government.17 On the one hand, Kelebone Maope, a minister in the BCP government at the time, believed that the “majority” of those in the security establishment “never supported the democratization” process.18 Furthermore, the BCP was wary of institutions that, due to the Defense Commission setup, it had only a limited ability to control. On the other hand, some security officials felt that the incoming BCP government’s approach to the LDF, LMPS,

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and NSS was combative and clumsy.19 One NSS official recalled, “We expected to work with the government of the day, but the treatment we received [from the BCP] . . . was extremely negative.”20 He recalls that BCP leader and prime minister of Lesotho during this period, Ntsu Mokhehle, used to say of the NSS, “We are working with someone else’s oxen.”21 Tension between the BCP government and the NSS was understandable. Since the 1970s the two had been on opposite sides in the fight to control Lesotho.22 The transition from foe to friend was not easy. On March 6, 1995, the simmering conflict between the government and NSS ignited when junior NSS officers ambushed the director general of the NSS, Major General Leaooa Seoane, as he drove to work and locked him in a police cell.23 The mutiny demonstrated that a sizable number of the NSS’s members were disaffected: of the roughly three hundred officers that made up the NSS at that time, about thirty were involved in or supported taking Seoane captive.24 It was only on March 25, three weeks after the hostage drama began, that the secretary-general of the commonwealth successfully negotiated the release of Seoane. Not long afterward, the junior officers published a lengthy explanation of their actions in a local newspaper. Among their grievances was that Seoane “was at the helm of a clique within the service whose secret mandate (seemingly) was to divert the activities of the service towards furthering the aims of certain political concerns.”25 According to the junior officers, Seoane had been passing information to “some leaders of political parties contrary to normal procedures of dissemination.” One former NSS official corroborated part of the junior officers’ account when he told the authors that Seoane, rather than remaining apolitical, was openly supportive of the BCP.26 The junior officers’ account, however, is not definitive. In his Summary of Events in Lesotho, David Ambrose wrote that the “general rumor was” the charges made by the junior officers “were quite preposterous.”27 The Irish Times reported that the mutiny was caused by Seoane’s attempt to “restructure the force and transfer a number of his junior officers to rural areas.” It added that “pay and conditions turned out to be the major issue.”28 Whatever the causes of the 1995 mutiny, the intensely politicized nature of the NSS in the early days of Lesotho’s democracy is clear. If Seoane was passing on classified material to BCP party members (rather than government officials), then an inappropriate relationship between the director general of the NSS and the ruling party existed. But, if Seoane’s attempt to reform and restructure the NSS (a project the BCP government was entitled to undertake) was the cause of the mutiny, that indicates the partisanship and paranoia that were pervasive in the NSS.



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Even before the hostage crisis was resolved, the same group of junior NSS officials, dubbed “Ninjas” by a local newspaper, made more headlines when they detained and roughly dealt with several prominent BCP officials.29 In May 1995 the NSS continued to pursue BCP politicians. What they found was concerning: arms caches at a number of locations including BCP headquarters. After further investigations, the NSS alleged that some BCP parliamentarians were working with members of the African People’s Liberation Army (APLA) of South Africa to import arms and train BCP youth to be “used against the Lesotho armed forces because these were not loyal to the government.”30 In an open letter to Lesotho’s king, Mokhehle implicitly substantiated some of the NSS’s allegations when he wrote that those undergoing training were being “dealt with by the police.” The prime minister’s main concern, however, was the NSS. He accused the NSS of picking up parliamentarians who were “blameless” and described the “continued insubordination of elements of the National Security Service who continue to act outside the command structures and to kidnap people for ‘questioning’” as a “frightening feature” of Basotho politics.31 South African officials seemingly agreed with at least part of Mokhehle’s complaint against the NSS. A South African High Commission report described the NSS as “prone to undisciplined behavior,” which gave the impression of the service “being out of control.”32 The relationship between the NSS and the BCP government was beset by fear and suspicion. Reform was needed. THE NATIONAL SECURITY SERVICES ACT AND A NATION ON THE BRINK OF CONFLICT The National Security Service Act (NSSA) of 1998 laid out the NSS’s organization, expected conduct, and functions. It also significantly altered how the NSS operated. Before the 1998 law, NSS officials enjoyed the authority to arrest and detain suspects, but after 1998 they did not.33 As the official NSS history states, the NSSA stripped the NSS of “police/military nomenclature” and made it a “totally civilian entity.”34 Under the NSSA, the NSS’s focus was collecting and analyzing intelligence. Because NSS officials had been embroiled in Lesotho’s political conflicts during the 1990s, the NSSA sought to ensure that NSS officials were servants of the state rather than a political party. The NSSA includes a section titled “Participation in Politics,” which stipulates that an NSS official could not “be an active member of a political party” or “do anything by word or deed which is calculated to further the political interests of a political party.” A senior

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NSS official who was working when the new Act was passed said, “I made sure that my people . . . remain[ed] out of politics.”35 The professionalism that the NSSA hoped to inculcate in the NSS was immediately tested. Directly after the legislation was announced, Lesotho’s young democracy was rocked by a major crisis precipitated by disputed elections in May 1998. Officials from the Southern African Development Community (SADC) were unable to resolve the standoff, and protests in Maseru brought the city to a halt. The LDF, which was divided on how to deal with the protestors, mounted a mutiny against its senior officers, prompting a military intervention by SADC in September 1998. Approximately seventy Basotho and eight South African soldiers lost their lives in the ensuing conflict.36 The NSS’s role in this crisis is contested. A senior NSS official maintains the NSS provided intelligence to government officials about the activities of some opposition groups that, if acted upon, would have helped contain the crisis.37 Other NSS officials testifying before the Leon Commission that investigated the instability in 1998 echoed that claim.38 The prime minister at the time, Pakalitha Mosisili of the Lesotho Congress for Democracy (LCD), disagreed. In a March 1999 speech, he complained that despite employing more than four hundred NSS officials, “those outside the government seem to know more about the government than government knows about them.”39 Mosisili’s critique was likely motivated by the generally frosty relationship between his government and the NSS. After the 1998 crisis, allegations swirled that some NSS officials had supported the opposition in 1998. During the same period, NSS officials complained that the government relied on Military Intelligence (MI) to gather information on issues that NSS officials believed were in their remit.40 In 1999 Mosisili promised a “complete overhaul” of the NSS, prompting Ramaloti Fobo, the director general of the service, to resign in protest.41 In contrast to the Mosisili government, the Leon Commission published its findings in 2001 and stated that it was “unable to make any adverse findings against the National Security Services.”42 The death and destruction during the 1998 crisis exerted a temporary calming effect on Lesotho’s usually combative politics. Elections in 2002, 2007, and 2012 proceeded relatively smoothly and with minimal involvement from the security sector. This calm extended to the NSS, which assumed a low profile after the 1998 crisis. The NSS’s relative obscurity during this period can be attributed partly to its changed mandate after 1998. In particular, without the powers of arrest and detention NSS activities were no longer as visible as they had been in the early 1990s. A commitment to a professional rather than partisan service also seems to have played a role, as well as the apparent decision by political leaders to respect the NSS’s autonomy. As Mohlakana Lerotholi pointed out, the fact that he was appointed director general of the



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NSS by two rival politicians indicates that, at least for a time, politicians generally respected the autonomy of the NSS.43 This situation would not last. POLITICIZATION CREEPS BACK INTO THE NSS After nearly twenty years during which the NSS rarely made headlines, the service burst back into the news in September 2016 when Colonel Tumo Lekhooa, the head of MI for the LDF, was appointed to lead the NSS. The BNP, which was not part of the governing coalition at that time, said that the appointment “comes across as a militarisation of important institutions.”44 Since Lekhooa was only on secondment from the military, the BNP worried there was “no guarantee that he will not continue to serve the mandate of the army.”45 There was good reason to worry that Lekhooa was more than an apolitical military officer. In 2015, when he was the head of MI, Lekhooa was deeply involved in a conflict between two factions of the LDF. At that time, the Defense Force was divided between soldiers loyal to the force’s previous commander, Maaparankoe Mahao, and the commander at that time, Tlali Kamoli.46 In May of that year, MI officials led by Lekhooa began to investigate an alleged mutiny plot. As part of this investigation, LDF soldiers were sent to arrest General Mahao. Instead of being arrested, Mahao was fatally shot in an operation that is widely viewed as an assassination.47 Other LDF soldiers under investigation by Lekhooa’s MI for involvement in the suspected mutiny described how they were subjected to days of torture and asked to implicate the late General Mahao in plans to overthrow the LDF leadership.48 The SADCsponsored Phumaphi Commission that investigated Mahao’s death stated, “It could be concluded that the alleged mutiny [that Lekhooa was investigating] might be a fabrication just to punish those officers who celebrated the appointment of Brigadier Mahao as Commander of the LDF.”49 The commission also noted that Mahao’s involvement in a mutiny plot (if such a plot even existed) was “doubtful.”50 It described the conduct of the LDF under Kamoli as “disconcerting” and “strongly recommended” that the controversial commander “be relieved of his duties.”51 Lekhooa’s previous position as head of MI, his close connection with Kamoli, and involvement in the events surrounding Mahao’s murder were worrying indicators that the independence and integrity of the NSS had been compromised by his appointment.52 In July 2017 Lesotho’s newly (re)installed prime minister, Tom Thabane, fired Lekhooa less than a year into his three-year contract as head of NSS. This addressed one problem, but the man Thabane chose to replace Lekhooa presented another. Pheello Ralenkoane,

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Lekhooa’s replacement, had served the NSS for thirty-three years. He possessed expertise in the intelligence field and a deep familiarity with the NSS. Nonetheless, accusations that Ralenkoane was a “political” appointee began to dog him even before he took office. After he retired from the NSS in 2015, Ralenkoane participated in the 2017 elections as a member of parliament candidate for the BNP. Even though he lost that election, rival parties claimed that his subsequent appointment as head of the NSS was inappropriate since the NSSA states: “A member shall not . . . be an active member of a political party.”53 Ralenkoane countered by saying that he is “not a member of the NSS as many think [but rather its head],” and that “what matters is what one does once they are in public office and I am smart enough to know that the minute I hold a public office that requires discipline, I leave the party line behind and serve this country as entrusted by His Majesty the King.”54 One former director general of the NSS the authors spoke with did not deny the political motivation for Ralenkoane’s appointment but was also unconcerned by it. He described the head of the NSS as a “position of trust” to which the prime minister could appoint anyone he was comfortable working with.55 Opposition parties, however, were uncomfortable with Ralenkoane’s selection. Only a month after taking over, Ralenkoane indicated he would dismiss dozens of NSS officers employed by Lekhooa because their hiring had been “irregular.”56 A spokesperson for an opposition party commented, “They are now employing their own people and doing away with the current bunch because they support the Congress movement.”57 When seventy-seven NSS officers were indeed dismissed in January 2018, those officers responded by challenging their dismissal in Lesotho’s High Court.58 As details emerged, it was not clear whether it was Ralenkoane or his predecessor Lekhooa (or both) who had political motives. Ralenkoane explained that most of those he had fired were trained by the military rather than the NSS, a revelation that deepened the concern of those who believed Lekhooa had attempted to militarize the NSS.59 Other concerns about the seventy-seven applicants were that they were hired by a selection panel that did not consist of the correct officials, and that those hired were older and possessed extra qualifications and would thus stretch the NSS budget.60 A senior NSS official told the authors Lekhooa had “simply bypassed” the regular hiring procedures.61 During the ensuing court battle, Ralenkoane’s commitment to the state (rather than a political party) was questioned. Former prime minister Mosisili commented, “How then, can we depoliticize the security agencies when this government is making such appointments. Ralenkoane is a politician, otherwise he wouldn’t have contested in the past elections.”62 After an extended legal battle, the court ruled in May 2019 that the agents had been fired il-



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legally and needed to be reinstated.63 The government appealed this ruling successfully, and the case was sent back to the High Court to be heard by a different judge.64 Whatever the final High Court judgment, the saga of the seventy-seven NSS personnel indicates that the politicization of Lesotho’s public service (a well-documented phenomenon) had crept into the National Security Service.65 Several senior NSS officials we spoke with bemoaned the practice of politicians submitting lists of acceptable candidates for government positions.66 While such partisan considerations have apparently played a role in the NSS for some time, they became a dominant factor during Lekhooa’s tenure.67 OPERATIONAL ISSUES This section addresses the NSS’s culture by examining how it has operated since Lesotho’s democratic dispensation. First, it assesses oversight of the NSS to better understand how the relationship between government and the NSS has evolved and how the NSS strikes a balance between the necessity of secrecy in intelligence operations and the importance of accountability in a democracy. Second, it explores the relationship between the NSS and Lesotho’s other security institutions to assess whether the work of the NSS, LDF, and LMPS is complementary or they are redundant rivals. Finally, the section highlights the NSS’s relationship with the intelligence agencies of other states. Who Watches Lesotho’s Watchers?

Oversight of the NSS lies with the Parliamentary Portfolio Committee on Prime Minister’s Ministries and Departments, Governance, Foreign Relations and Information Cluster.68 This committee deals with a collection of ministries including Defense and National Security, Foreign Affairs, and Public Service, among others. The committee exercises oversight and control over matters pertaining to day-to-day conduct, budgets, and other administrative matters. Subsequently, the committee submits reports to Parliament with recommendations. Once these recommendations are endorsed by Parliament, they become law and therefore legally binding on the affected Department. However, as one member of parliament who is also part of the Portfolio Committee told the authors, “Parliament’s ability to exercise civilian oversight on the NSS is extremely weak.”69

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Though the NSS falls under the Ministry of Defence and National Security, it deals directly with the prime minister “on all matters operational,”70 such as search warrant requests and petitions to monitor telecommunications.71 The member of parliament the authors spoke with stated, “How the NSS works, [and] how it operates, is all vested in the Prime Minister alone, not even [in] the rest of the executive.”72 In practice, the NSS approaches Parliament only on administrative matters such as budgets. The close relationship between the NSS and the prime minister, combined with the lack of any other oversight mechanism for the service, raises major concerns. Nthati Masupha of Lesotho’s National Reforms Authority points out that there is little to stop the prime minister from utilizing intelligence reports produced by the NSS to serve their personal political interests.73 Recent events indicate that such fears are not misplaced. In 2019, the Lesotho Times reported that NSS director Ralenkoane was advising Prime Minister Tom Thabane about how to respond to divisions within his All Basotho Convention party.74 In 2021, the leader of a new political party and the former minister of defense, Tefo Mapesela, gave a fiery speech in which he told NSS officers that he knew were in the crowd to give Lesotho’s current prime minister this message: “He is the worst ever prime minister I have seen in this country.” Mapesela continued, “I am sending you NSS agents since you are the government’s lapdogs.”75 While Mapesela was clearly posturing for political purposes, his characterization of the NSS is concerning. In executing its legal mandate, the NSS walks a tightrope between being nonpartisan while simultaneously reporting exclusively to the prime minister, who is a politician and head of the ruling party. With only weak oversight mechanisms in place, maintaining this balance has often proved challenging. Competition or Collaboration

The NSSA states: “The [National Security] Service, Lesotho Defence Force and Lesotho Police Force shall at all times, maintain an effective liaison with the objective of fostering, preserving and strengthening national security.”76 In reality, this cooperation does not always occur. In 1999, Mopheme/The Survivor reported the NSS “felt betrayed by the government” because it was using MI “in all the crucial security matters which they [NSS] felt were in their field.”77 This led to a deterioration in relations between MI and the NSS and “the two groups to start watching over each other.”78 The competition is partly due to the lack of clarity over the roles of intelligence departments within the military and police. Basotho politicians, who at times use the security sector to fight their own political battles, have exploited this ambiguity by favoring one intelligence-gathering body over another.



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Officially, the distinction between the roles of the NSS, MI, and the Police’s Criminal Intelligence Department (CID) is clear. MI and CID deal with tactical and operational concerns, while NSS’s remit encompasses all threats (both internal and external) to Lesotho’s national security and thus includes broader strategic issues.79 In practice, the line between tactical and strategic intelligence is blurry. A former NSS senior official noted the existence of “terrain competition” between the NSS and other security agencies.80 An MI official admitted that there were “overlaps” between the issues his unit covered and those dealt with by the NSS. He also pointed out that siloed reporting channels sometimes delay information from getting to authorities who can take action.81 The Multi-Stakeholder National Dialogue Lesotho in 2019 acknowledged the problem of the overlapping mandates of security institutions and recommended a reform effort that would “differentiate the Defence Force from National Security Service Institutions to reflect their primary roles and political accountability.”82 Competition between the NSS and other security institutions exists alongside cooperation on a range of issues. In 2002, the NSS worked with the LDF and LMPS as well as Lesotho’s Independent Electoral Commission as part of a National Joint Operational Centre to provide security for the country’s 2002 elections.83 More recently, in April 2021, a “crack team” of NSS officers, soldiers, and police was set up to investigate a series of violent robberies in which members of the police were suspected. While encouraging, these episodes of cooperation illustrate that the mandates of the security institutions intersect. There is an appreciation that better coordination across Lesotho’s intelligence-gathering agencies would improve state security. At a high level, the Cabinet Subcommittee on Security and Intelligence meets periodically to harmonize the work of the ministries involved on security issues. At the working level, the Joint Operations and Intelligence Liaison Committee (JOILC) based at the Ministry of Defense and National Security was an effort to create a forum in which LDF, LMPS, and NSS could exchange information and coordinate intelligence-gathering activities on security and criminal matters.84 However, the JOILC is now moribund. Members of the NSS and MI describe the current state of cooperation between the NSS and other security agencies as “ad hoc.”85 NSS Cooperation beyond Lesotho

Lesotho’s geographic location entirely within South Africa makes intelligence cooperation between the two states natural and necessary to ensure the security of both. There is evidence dating as far back as the 1970s that Lesotho’s Intelligence Branch cooperated with its counterpart in South Africa.86 While

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this cooperation halted during the period in which Jonathan and the apartheid state were at odds, it resumed when both states were transitioning toward democracy in the early 1990s. South African and Basotho intelligence officials were so close in 1995 that South Africa’s High Commissioner complained that the South African Secret Service had a “base of information” on Lesotho that was “confined to NSS officials.”87 More recently, the NSS has worked with its South African counterparts to investigate political violence directed at Basotho officials, stock theft, and a cross-border scam in which school textbooks meant for Basotho students were stolen and then shuttled across the border to be resold in South Africa.88 Aside from a wide-ranging relationship with South Africa, NSS officials also actively engage with SADC’s Organ on Politics, Defence and Security at a regional level and the African Union’s Committee of Intelligence and Security Services at a continental level. Additionally, the United States appears to have good relations with the NSS. In 2019, officials from the Federal Bureau of Investigation traveled to Lesotho to conduct training with the NSS on a range of issues, including social media exploitation, financial intelligence, and information sharing between different security agencies.89 CONCLUSION The NSS’s culture has been shaped by three dominant factors. First, Lesotho’s position entirely within South Africa means that relations with South Africa exert a profound influence on all facets of Basotho life, including the country’s security situation.90 When relations between the Jonathan government and apartheid South Africa deteriorated in the late 1970s, Lesotho responded by reorganizing and revamping its security institutions to counter the South African threat. This included a militarization of Lesotho’s intelligence sector. This martial mentality endured in many quarters of the NSS even after Lesotho and South Africa underwent democratic transitions and enjoyed friendly relations. Though most of the literature on Lesotho’s transformed security situation focuses on whether Lesotho still needs an army, there are also questions about whether the current shape and scope of the NSS allows it to deal with the range of nontraditional but serious security issues.91 Second, Lesotho’s intelligence apparatus was initially created by British colonial authorities to maintain order. Since then, Lesotho’s intelligence officials and their political bosses have at times struggled to differentiate between preserving the political power of a given government and actual national security issues.



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Third, and related, is Lesotho’s ructious political culture. There are two mechanisms through which this impacts the NSS. First, especially in the early days of Lesotho’s democracy, NSS officials with particular political beliefs opposed (sometimes forcefully) government officials whom they viewed as misguided. Because of an effort to depoliticize the NSS as well as changes in its operational mandate (such as the elimination of its powers of arrest and detention), this challenge has not occurred in many years. Second, political leaders in Lesotho spend an inordinate amount of time and energy fighting intra and interparty battles. It is unsurprising, therefore, that when they ascend to government office they attempt to use state institutions, such as the NSS, to give them an advantage in these battles. This places NSS officials in a difficult position. While the NSS serves the government, not all actions the government requests NSS officials to undertake fit with the NSS’s mandate to protect national security. NOTES 1.  The authors would like to thank the current and former employees of Lesotho’s National Security Service who shared their time and insights with us. We are grateful that the NSS saw fit to make available to us some of the unclassified material it has produced, such as a history of the service. We also appreciate the reflections of the Basotho politicians who spoke with us. The considered comments of these officials and the material they provided were valuable additions to our research. 2. For example, Hoolo ‘Nyane, “The Place of the Army in the Constitutional Democracy in Lesotho,” Lesotho Law Journal 22, nos. 1–2 (2015); T. H. Mothibe, “The Military and Democratization in Lesotho,” Lesotho Social Science Review 5, no. 1 (1999); Tlohang W. Letsie, “The Case for Demilitarising Lesotho,” African Security Review 27, nos. 3–4 (2018); Khabele Matlosa and Neville W. Pule, “CivilMilitary Relations in Lesotho,1966–1998: Problems and Prospects,” in Ourselves to Know: Civil-Military Relations and Defence Transformation in Southern Africa, ed. Rocky Williams, Gavin Cawthra, and Diane Abrahams (Pretoria: Institute for Security Studies, 2002); and Francis Makoa, “Explaining Government/Police Relations in Postmilitary Lesotho: The February 1997 Police Mutiny,” African Security Review 7, no. 1 (1998). 3. Some scholars include Lesotho Correctional Services as a fourth security agency. 4.  Keiso Mohloboli, “Secret Service Boss Quits,” Sunday Express, April 12, 2016, https://sundayexpress.co.ls/secret-service-boss-quits/. 5.  Scott Rosenberg and Richard Weisfelder, Historical Dictionary of Lesotho, 2nd ed. (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2013), 359–360. 6.  Lauren Hutton, “Intelligence and Accountability in Africa,” ISS Policy Brief, no. 2 (June 2009).

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  7.  Khabele Matlosa, “Lesotho,” in Security and Democracy in Southern Africa, ed. Gavin Cawthra, Andre du Pisani, and Abillah Omari (Johannesburg: Wits University Press IDRC, 2007), 88. This is the consensus view of the police force during this period. See also Rosenberg and Weisfelder, Historical Dictionary of Lesotho, 360–361; and John Bardill and James Cobbe, Lesotho: Dilemmas of Dependence in Southern Africa (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1985), 131.   8.  Peter E. Garner, “Policing in Lesotho,” Police Journal (January 1971).   9.  Interview with retired NSS senior official, Maseru, September 2, 2021. 10.  For the many reasons that relations between Pretoria and Maseru deteriorated, see Henry Mothibe and Munyaradzi Mushonga, “Lesotho and the Struggle for Liberation in South Africa,” in The Road to Democracy in South Africa (Pretoria: UNISA Press, 2013), 5:485–487. 11.  Mokete Lawrence Pherudi, “The Lesotho Liberation Army (LLA): Formation, Missions and Schisms,” South African Historical Journal 45, no. 1 (2001). 12.  NSS Headquarters, “Historical Background,” March 28, 2008. 13. Ibid. 14.  M. Mothabeng, “Lesotho Security Policy” (prepared for Executive Course on Defence and Security Management, July 21–24, 2008). 15.  Lesotho Military Council, National Security Service Order No. 25 of 1992. 16.  Richard Weisfelder, “Why Lesotho Needs a Distinctive Diplomatic Strategy, but Hasn’t Found an Appropriate Format,” Africa Insight, July 1997. For a similar point see T. Mothibe, “The Military and the 1994 Constitutional Crisis: A Question of Trust?,” Review of Southern African Studies 2, no. 1 (1998). 17.  Matlosa and Pule, “Civil-Military Relations in Lesotho,” 39–40. 18.  Interview with Kelebone Maope, September 3, 2021. See also Ntsukunyane Mphanya, My Life in the Basutoland Congress Party (Maseru: Motjoli Publishers, 2010), 215, for more on the hostile relationship between the BCP and the security institutions. 19.  Interview with retired NSS senior official, Maseru, September 2, 2021. 20. Ibid. 21.  Ibid. There are many reports of Mokhehle making similar claims. A South African Secret Service Report, for example, stated that in March 1995 Mokhehle described the security forces as one of the “archenemies of democracy in Lesotho.” “Perspective on the Problems in Lesotho,” South African Secret Service, May 1995, DIRCO Archives. 22.  Interview with NSS senior official, Maseru, September 2, 2021. 23. Khutliso Sekoati, “NSS Chief Sues for M300,000 in Compensation,” Mopheme/The Survivor, August 15, 2000; and “Statement Made by the National Security Service of Lesotho (N.S.S.),” Mirror, April 5, 1995. 24. Philip ‘Neko, “Lesotho-Politics: The Cauldron Just Keeps Boiling,” Inter Press Service, March 23, 1995. 25.  “Statement Made by the National Security Service of Lesotho.” 26.  Interview with retired NSS senior official, Maseru, September 2, 2021.



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27.  “Rebellion in National Security Service,” Summary of Events in Lesotho (1st quarter 1995). For example, that Seoane and other NSS officials were involved in a plan to assassinate the king of Lesotho. 28. Edward O’ Loughlin, “Watching the Watchmen,” Irish Times, March 27, 1995. 29.  “Lesotho: On the Ropes (Again),” Friends of Lesotho (Fall 1995); “National Security Service ‘Ninjas’ Act with Impunity,” Summary of Events in Lesotho (1st quarter 1995); National Security Service Press Release, undated, Department of International Relations and Cooperation of South Africa Archives [hereafter DIRCO], folder 1/159/3; and “Lesotho: Former Minister Released after Questioning by Security Service,” BBC Summary of World Broadcasts, April 1, 1995. 30.  “MPs Implicated in Illegal Arms Imports,” Summary of Events in Lesotho (2nd quarter 1995). 31.  Ntsu Mokhehle to King Letsie III, June 5, 1995, DIRCO, folder 1/159/3. 32.  “Lesotho: Troika Involvement in Internal Affairs Reaps Success,” September 13, 1995, DIRCO, folder 1/159/3. 33.  NSS Headquarters, “Historical Background,” March 28, 2008. 34. Ibid. 35.  Interview with retired NSS senior official, Maseru, September 2, 2021. 36.  Christopher Williams, “Political Imperatives and Military Preparations: New Insights into Why South Africa’s 1998 Intervention in Lesotho Went Awry,” South African Journal of International Affairs 26, no. 1 (2019). 37.  Interview with retired NSS senior official, Maseru, September 2, 2021. 38.  R.N. Leon, Report of the Commission of Inquiry into the Events Leading to Political Disturbances Which Occurred in Lesotho during the Period between 1st July to 30th November 1998, October 12, 2001, 30. 39.  Staff Reporters, “Lesotho Forces Face Mosisili’s Whip,” Mopheme/Survivor, March 2, 1999. 40.  Staff Reporters, “Police, Army & NSS Forge a Working Relationship to Restore Law & Order,” Mopheme/Survivor, July 7, 1999. 41.  “New Head of Security Service,” Summary of Events in Lesotho (3rd quarter 1999). 42. Leon, Report of the Commission of Inquiry, 30. 43.  Mohloboli, “Secret Service Boss Quits.” 44.  Staff Reporter, “Top Army Officer to Lead Spies,” Post, September 26, 2016, https://www.thepost.co.ls/local-news/top-army-officer-to-lead-spies/. 45. Staff Reporter, “Top Army Officer to Lead Spies”; and Mafa Sejanamane, “Dismantling Mosisili’s Militia,” Lesotho Times, July 28, 2017, https://lestimes.com /dismantling-mosisilis-militia/. 46.  Mpaphi Passevil Phumaphi, “SADC Commission of Inquiry into the Circumstances Surrounding the Death of Brigadier Maaparankoe Mahao,” November 5, 2015, 49. Kamoli was not the active commander during this period because he had agreed to take a leave of absence as stipulated in the Maseru Security Accord. 47.  Roger Southall, “Events in Lesotho Point to Poor Prospects for Political Stability,” Conversation, January 27, 2020; and Mokete Pherudi, “The Assassination of

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Military Commanders in Lesotho: Triggers and Reactions,” Journal for Contemporary History 43, no. 2 (2018). 48.  Tefo Tefo, “Setback for Detained Soldier,” Lesotho Times, August 6, 2015, https://lestimes.com/setback-for-detained-soldier/; and Phumaphi “SADC Commission of Inquiry,” 25. 49.  Phumaphi, “SADC Commission of Inquiry,” 25. 50.  Ibid., 28. 51.  Ibid., 60. 52.  In January 2019, Kamoli and Lekhooa were added to the list of LDF soldiers accused of murdering General Mahao. That trial is ongoing. 53.  Msindisi Fengu, “Former Lesotho PM on the Run as SADC Fails to Intervene,” City Press, September 3, 2017; Majara Molupe, “New Boss for NSS,” Post, July 28, 2017, https://www.thepost.co.ls/local-news/new-boss-for-nss/; and Lesotho Government, National Security Services Act 1998, Act No. 11 of 1998, May 15, 2012. 54.  Pheello Ralenkoane, “I Am Smart Enough to Draw the Line between Politics and My Job: NSS Boss,” interview by ’Marafaele Mohloboli, Lesotho Times, July 15, 2020, https://lestimes.com/i-am-smart-enough-to-draw-the-line-between-politics -and-my-job-nss-boss/. 55.  Interview with retired NSS senior official, Maseru, September 2, 2021. 56.  Tefo Tefo, “NSS Officers Back in Court Next Week,” Lesotho Times, April 13, 2018, https://lestimes.com/nss-officers-back-in-court-next-week/. 57. ’Marafaele Mohloboli, “Axe Looms over NSS Agents,” Lesotho Times, August 23, 2017, https://lestimes.com/axe-looms-over-nss-agents/. 58.  Tefo Tefo, “NSS Officers’ Challenge Their ‘Unlawful’ Dismissals,” Lesotho Times, March 9, 2018, https://lestimes.com/nss-officers-challenge-their-unlawful -dismissals/. 59. Nkheli Liphoto, “NSS Agents Fired,” Post, January 12, 2018, https://www .thepost.co.ls/news/nss-agents-fired/. 60. Ibid. 61.  Interview with retired NSS senior official, Maseru, September 2, 2021. 62.  ’Marafaele Mohloboli, “Mosisili Blasts Coalition Govt,” Lesotho Times, May 5, 2018, https://lestimes.com/mosisili-blasts-coalition-govt/; and ’Marafaele Mohloboli, “Brace for Fresh Elections—Mosisili,” Lesotho Times, August 3, 2018, https:// lestimes.com/brace-for-fresh-elections-mosisili/. 63.  Nkheli Lipho, “Storm over Spy Boss’ New Contract,” MENAFN, January 19, 2021, https://menafn.com/1101458059/Lesotho-Storm-over-spy-boss-new-contract; and Mohalenyane Phakela, “Victory at Last for Fired NSS Officers,” Lesotho Times, May 15, 2019, https://lestimes.com/victory-at-last-for-fired-nss-officers/. 64.  Court of Appeal of Lesotho, C OF A (CIV) NO. 31/2019. 65.  Christopher Williams, “Lesotho in 2019: Looking Back to Find a Way Forward,” SAIA Policy Insights 68 (January 2019); and Mamello Rakolobe, “Politicised Public Service and Corruption in Lesotho,” Strategic Review for Southern Africa 41, no. 1 (May 2019). 66.  Interview with retired NSS senior official, Maseru, September 2, 2021. 67. Ibid.



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68.  This Portfolio Committee is constituted by ordinary members of parliament, and none of them can be part of the executive. 69.  Telephone interview with a member of Portfolio Committee on Prime Minister’s Ministries and Departments, Governance, Foreign Relations and Information Cluster, September 30, 2021. 70.  NSS Headquarters, “Historical Background,” March 28, 2008. 71.  Lesotho Government, National Security Services Act 1998. 72.  Telephone interview with a member of Portfolio Committee on Prime Minister’s Ministries and Departments. 73.  Interview with Nthati Masupha, Maseru, September 3, 2021. 74.  Pascalinah Kabi, “Spy Boss Warns Thabane,” Lesotho Times, April 2, 2019, https://lestimes.com/spy-boss-warns-thabane/. 75.  Pascalinah Kabi, “Majoro Must Go: Mapesela,” Lesotho Times, August 17, 2021, https://lestimes.com/majoro-must-go-mapesela/. 76.  Lesotho Government, National Security Services Act 1998. The original text says “festering” rather than “fostering.” We correct that error for readability. 77.  Staff Reporters, “Police, Army & NSS Forge a Working Relationship to Restore Law & Order,” Mopheme/Survivor, July 7, 1999. 78. Ibid. 79.  Interview with retired NSS senior official, Maseru, September 2, 2021. 80. Ibid. 81.  Interview with senior military intelligence official, Maseru, August 6, 2021 82.  Multi-Stakeholder National Dialogue, Plenary II Report, Manthabiseng Convention Centre, November 25–27, 2019. 83.  Roger Southall, “An Unlikely Success: South Africa and Lesotho’s Election of 2002,” Journal of Modern African Studies 41, no. 2 (2003): 285. 84.  NSS Headquarters, “Historical Background,” March 28, 2008. 85.  Interview with senior military intelligence official, Maseru, August 6, 2021; and interview with NSS senior official, Maseru, September 2, 2021. 86.  Bardill and Cobbe, Lesotho: Dilemmas of Dependence, 168, 185. 87. “Internal Political Situation: SASS,” August 17, 1995, DIRCO Archives, folder 1/159/3. 88.  Pascalinah Kabi, “Govt, SA Police Investigate Books Scam,” Lesotho Times, January 29, 2019, https://lestimes.com/govt-sa-police-investigate-books-scam/. 89.  “FBI Trains Basotho Law Enforcement Investigators,” United States Embassy, October 30, 2019, https://ls.usembassy.gov/fbi-trains-basotho-law-enforcement -investigators/; see also Mothabeng, “Lesotho Security Policy.” 90.  Bardill and Cobbe, Lesotho: Dilemmas of Dependence, 166. 91.  “Does Lesotho Really Need an Army?,” Lesotho Times, September 4, 2014, https://lestimes.com/lesotho-really-need-army/; Geoffrey Thomas Harris, “How Lesotho Could Abandon Its Army and Put the Money to Better Use,” Lesotho Times, November 16, 2018, https://lestimes.com/how-lesotho-could-abandon-its-army-and -put-the-money-to-better-use/; and Letsie, “Case for Demilitarising Lesotho.”

27 Liberia Security Sector Reform after War in a Weak State Morten Bøås

Emerging from decades of mismanagement and civil war with almost every

state institution broken or bent, the Liberian state had to be built anew with assistance from the international community. Since the end of the Liberian civil war in 2003, the international community has been involved in numerous attempts to rebuild the Liberian state. This process has regularly been presented as a success and a showcase for what the United Nations (UN) can achieve if the international community acts coherently and constructively.1 It is argued that the United Nations Mission in Liberia (UNMIL)’s approach to security sector reform (SSR) is a success, as not only have the technical benchmarks defined been met, but the country has remained peaceful since the war ended in 2003. This proves, according to key UNMIL officials, that there has been local political will for reform, ownership, and building technical expert capacity.2 However, there is also an alternative view articulated by independent third-party research that shows there has been little if any local ownership in this process.3 To take stock of the outcome of the SSR process and the quality of contemporary security and surveillance capacity in Liberia, one must understand how SSR came about in Liberia and how the process was driven forward. It is also important to gain an understanding of what kind of state Liberia was prior to the civil war. Indeed, any assessment of the Liberian SSR must take into consideration this history and the contradictions that it created for postwar rebuilding and reorganization of the state. National security institutions and an organizational security culture are not created in a social and political vacuum; the past will always have an impact on the present. In the case of Liberia, the massive challenge was not only how to organize a new security sector in a broken state, but also to create a new organizational culture that 353

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could give these institutions a legitimacy they never had before the civil war and that vanished completely during the war. In this chapter, the review of the Liberian state is followed by an analysis of the SSR and what kind of police, army, and other security-related institutions were established, what type of organizational culture they embody, and the role of external stakeholders in this process. This development has led to a state whose surveillance capacity is weak and whose legitimacy is low due to corruption and other malpractices by state security and intelligence officers. However, the current organizational culture that key security institutions of the state and their respective personnel displays is still of a better quality than at any time in the history of Liberia. There is evidence of a positive trend, but when the point of departure is as low as it was in 2003, when the civil war ended, and there is high donor involvement, the result seen on the ground is not necessarily convincing. POST–CIVIL WAR LIBERIA: A QUICK GUIDE TO THE HISTORY OF VIOLENCE Liberia and Ethiopia are considered the only African countries never colonized. However, due to Liberia’s strange history, this is not entirely correct. The country was first established as a settlement of the American Colonizing Society (ACS) to serve as a safe haven for freed slaves from the United States (US).4 Proclaiming independence on July 26, 1847, the Liberian constitution established Liberia as a unitary representative democratic republic, based on the principles of the separation of powers and checks and balances. However, the 1847 Constitution also precluded the indigenous population from fully participating in political rule of the country, leaving political power basically in the hands of the freed slaves from the United States. The exclusion of indigenous representation in government and the privileged economic position of the Americans’ descendants—not more than about 5 percent of the population—increased social tensions leading to the Liberian civil war. During the rule of the True Whig Party (TWP), who governed the country exclusively as a one-party state for all but six years between 1870 and 1980, ethnicity was polarized and politicized, resulting in ethnic cleavages that further widened during the struggle for power in the civil war.5 Even prior to the war, Liberia was a country characterized by corruption, political and economic violence, identity crises, generational and other group clashes, and widespread poverty. Local chiefs were incorporated into the structure of the ruling TWP through a combination of brute force and neopatrimonial indirect rule through district commissioners. This created a rural elite that cemented



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ethnic differences, which through fosterage and intermarriage previously had a relatively flexible nature.6 The result was a highly competitive neopatrimonial environment in which various local elites were locked into struggles over state resources, often but not exclusively built on ethnic affiliation and exclusionary practices that formed the politics surrounding control of state institutions as a zero-sum game.7 Liberia’s system of rule was remarkably stable as long as the resources necessary to maintain the system remained available. Until the 1970s, this was the case in Liberia. When President William Tubman died in office in 1971 and Vice President William Tolbert succeeded him, it became obvious that TWP’s hegemony was increasingly insecure. Tolbert was just as corrupt as his predecessors but lacked the strength and resources to combine patronage politics with blunt coercion. Thus, when rice riots broke out in 1979, the stage was set for regime change through violent means. This occurred in the form of a military coup led by Samuel Doe, a young officer of Krahn origin. Initially the coup was well received by ordinary Liberian citizens, but it soon became apparent that the young soldiers had no intention of initiating any kind of reform. Rather, they became the rulers of the same neopatrimonial state that they had rebelled against and basically destroyed what little was left of state capacity. Ethnicity was even more politicized and a polarizing force in society, and the history of Doe’s rule is best summed up as petty corruption by lower bureaucrats and grand theft of state resources by those in power, as well as murder, rape, torture, and other human rights abuses committed by Doe’s security apparatus and those connected to it. The stage was set for the civil war that started on Christmas Eve in 1989 and lasted until a peace initiative and a peacekeeping force from the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) managed to restore stability in late November 1996. In 1997 Charles Taylor was elected president. The peace, however, would not last, as Taylor’s enemies from the civil war utilized his “divide and rule” approach to the presidency to regroup and organize new insurgencies. The second part of the Liberian civil war started in 1999 and continued until Taylor left Liberia for exile in Nigeria in May 2003 and the Accra Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA) was signed in August the same year. Upon the request of the UN Security Council, UNMIL was established to preserve peace in the country, but also to support the SSR called for by the CPA. While Liberia is a small country, with a population back then of about 2.5 million people, this was not going to be an easy task, as the country to which UNMIL came to support the implementation of the SSR was one in which all state institutions were broken and fleeced of any resources.8 Not surprisingly, the UNMIL mandate was extended a number of times, eventually coming to an end on March 30, 2018.9

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THE LONG ROAD TO SECURITY SECTOR REFORM The framework for the Liberian SSR is in articles VII and VIII in part four of the CPA and in UN resolution 1509 of September 19, 2003. As Liberia’s two main security institutions, the Liberian National Police (LNP) and the Armed Forces of Liberia (AFL), were generally seen as sources of insecurity due to decades of mismanagement, corruption, and general misconduct, they were targeted as primary objects of reform and restructuring. In addition, the CPA also called for the immediate need to disarm and restructure the special security units that had been established during Taylor’s rule. This included the Special Operations Division and the LNP’s Anti-Terrorist Unit. Formally, the SSR process started in 2004 to demobilize 103,019 exfighters.10 Yet the Liberian National Security Strategy was only adopted in 2008 (then revised in 2014 and 2017); it outlines the government’s long-term objectives for the security sector, especially describing the process of reforming the country’s army and police force.11 National ownership of a reform process is of course a prerequisite for success, but as this strategy was only first formulated in 2008 and finally revised in 2017, it means that a lot happened in the meantime as external actors tried to push these processes through. In the CPA and UN resolution 1509, it was requested that UN Police (UNPOL) should undertake the training of the new LNP and that ECOWAS, the UN, the African Union (AU), the International Crisis Group (ICG), and the United States should be the lead external actors in the process of reconstructing the army.12 The Liberian disarmament, demobilization, and reintegration (DDR) process ended poorly because while the initial UN estimate of ex-combatants to undergo DDR was 38,000, the final figure disarmed was 103,019, of whom only just below 14,000 participated in the reintegration and rehabilitation program of the process.13 The many ex-combatants who just slipped through the DDR net after disarmament were perceived as a potential security threat, creating a sense of urgency with regard to restarting the reconstruction and reform of the army and the police. THE REFORM OF AFL AND LNP Due to the sense of urgency just discussed, the United States was asked to play a leading role in the reform and reconstruction of the AFL.14 The UN, AU, and ECOWAS, however, were also supposed to be on board, but as the United States quickly outsourced the reform and reconstruction of the AFL to DynCorp, a private security company, this process became a closed circuit between a select few in the US government and DynCorp.15



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While there may have been reasons of cost-efficiency for doing this, the decision also created problems along the long road to SSR in Liberia. Handing over the responsibility for the reform and reconstruction of the AFL to a private security company to a large degree undermined much-needed democratic control of the process, excluding not only civil society and the legislature, but also the new Liberian government of Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf that came to power in 2005.16 The DynCorp contract was only accountable to the US government and not to the Liberian state, whose military forces it was reforming. This raised serious questions concerning both a democratic deficit and a lack of transparency, as even Liberian Ministry of Defense officials claimed to the author that they had not seen the contract. DynCorp also tried to reach out and create some transparency by inviting the Ministry of Defense as well as the legislature and civil society groups to take part in some portions of the process. Notably, these groups were invited to joint DynCorp personnel at recruitment sites and recruitment tours around Liberia. Very little came of this, and the Ministry of Defense only participated in the last recruitment tour in 2008, which is quite noteworthy as the recruitment to the new army organized by DynCorp had already started in 2006. There are several reasons for this. The most significant is that while DynCorp sent invitations to participate, the private security company did little to organize the Liberian officials, who were mostly from fund-deprived institutions with few resources for participating in country-wide recruitment tours. We also have to acknowledge the historical relationship between Liberia and the United States. Compared to other countries where US private security companies were involved, for most Liberian actors, the involvement of DynCorp was not seen as a democratic deficiency. From the Liberian government’s point of view, the choice of the United States to outsource to a private company should not be questioned, as it represented an opportunity to strengthen ties to the United States so Liberia could profit from US support (military and economic) in the future.17 While a few intellectuals in Liberian civil society may have had more skeptical views, they clearly constituted a small minority, as the general population at that time still believed in the Lone Star mythology whereby Liberia stands in a special relationship to the United States, and a strengthening of those ties, no matter how that came about, was seen as positive and not something that one would need to question. The initial plan called for a new AFL of six thousand soldiers, but this figure was later adjusted to four thousand before eventually being reduced even further, to two thousand. The recruitment and training of the new AFL was finalized in December 2009. While initially there was a string of reports of misconduct, human rights abuses, and desertions due to lack of proper housing and salaries, as well as an unclear incentive structure for promotion

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based on excellence and good behavior, not everything has gone wrong in this process. Though still weak and with an ingrained client-patron structure, there are no real ethnic imbalances in the new AFL. No ethnic group is allowed to exceed a threshold of 15 percent of the total population, and the deliberate effort to recruit from all fifteen counties in Liberia seems to have played a crucial role in restoring some credibility to the AFL as a national force.18 While it should not be seen as a stamp of guaranteed quality and professionalism, the fact that the AFL was allowed to send a contribution to the UN peacekeeping force in Mali in 2013 suggests that the current AFL is a clear improvement on what it had been. While the AFL’s reform was steered by one actor alone, the process of the LNP’s reconstruction was more comprehensive, as UNPOL did the recruitment and training together with the Liberian government. In the end it became a split mandate, with UNPOL responsible for recruitment and training while the Liberian government appointed the new LNP leadership. Numerically speaking, the UNPOL reconstruction of LNP has been a success. With a technical benchmark of 3,500 in August 2011 when the process officially ended, there were 4,153 newly trained police officers in Liberia. This is obviously not bad, but the problem has been one of national outreach. While UNPOL has been quite successful in giving the capital area of larger Monrovia a more effective police force, in the hinterland counties the situation is quite different. Here, several areas are still without an operational police force, and this includes important border hub cities such as Ganta in Nimba County and Voinjama in Lofa County. For example, in Ganta, an important hub for traffic to and from Guinea and a town with more than sixty-two thousand inhabitants, there is only one police station with about forty unarmed officers that usually has little means of transportation, as the few cars and motorbikes that the station has available are usually without petrol due to budget limitations.19 In Voinjama, which is even more of a hinterland border hub than Ganta, the security situation has at times been so precarious that local traders and businesses have paid for a night watch brigade of former war combatants.20 This means that the state’s ability to survey and secure important parts of the borderland regions is minimal, if not nonexistent. Furthermore, Liberians living outside of the capital area believe the new LNP is not much of an improvement, and their confidence in the new force is quite low. At least one important part of the problem lies with the LNP. The focus in the process of reconstructing the LNP has been on the technical challenges of training a new force within a certain timeframe. This represents a general tendency in international peacebuilding operations to prioritize the efficiency of outputs over effectiveness.21



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SECURITY AND SURVEILLANCE CAPACITY IN A WEAK STATE The state in which the international community initiated a huge reform process that was supposed to include almost all public sectors was not just an ordinary state ruined by civil war, but a country whose institutions for more than a century had been used as cash cows for the political elite. What this means is that people for generations had come to see access to state power, no matter how small, as a source of capital, as a place to “eat.” Fighting the systemic corruption present in all public sector institutions, including the LNP and the AFL, has been one of the gravest challenges in postwar Liberia. Some progress has been made. The establishment of the General Auditing Commission (GAC) in 2007 and the Liberian Anti-Corruption Commission (LACC) in 2008 brought some transparency, including a few high-profile cases of theft of state resources. However, regarding the nation’s security services an additional challenge is their hugely fragmented institutional structure. It includes too many actors for coherence, oversight, transparency, and democratic control to take hold. In addition to the AFL and the LNP, there are the National Bureau of Investigation, the National Security Agency, the Drug Enforcement Agency, the Forestry Development Authority, and the Liberian Maritime Authority, all of which have their separate chains of command and their own institutional as well as commercial interests. While these various state agencies have separate mandates and partly answer to separate ministries of the state, formally speaking the main agency is the National Security Agency (NSA). The NSA is an intelligence service established by the National Security Reform Act of 2011 and is led by a director appointed by the president.22 According to the NSA, it is a politically neutral government intelligence agency tasked with the gathering, analyzing, and disseminating security information for the government of Liberia.23 The United States contributes funds and other support to the NSA, among which is co-funding the NSA’s new headquarters that opened in April 2021.24 Though the work of the NSA follows the same weak but still positive changes as the AFL and the LNP, there are signs that the NSA has not completely broken with the malpractice of similar institutions in Liberia’s past. For example, in early 2021 it was reported by Frontpage Africa that the NSA was surveilling the movements of a prominent Liberian humanitarian activist, Dr. Daniel Cassell. According to Frontpage Africa, the reasons for this were Cassell’s attempts to raise awareness of the murder of four Liberian auditors and the suspicion in the ruling party—the Coalition for Democratic Change—that Cassell plans to contest the 2023 presidential election against its candidate, current President George Weah.25 While it is not possible to

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verify if this suspicion is correct, it at least suggests that security agencies like the NSA may be less politically neutral than their mandates and home pages suggest. Indeed, it would certainly not be the first time in Liberian history that those in power have used such institutions to surveil both real and perceived opponents. What this demonstrates is that even when a positive trend is observable, it is still weak, and the security sector in Liberia continues to be very fragmented; various institutions can be directed by those with political power and economic might. In Liberia, these are intertwined. Adding to security sector fragmentation, some state-owned companies like Liberia’s Petroleum Refining Corporation, Liberia’s Telecommunications Corporation Plant, and Roberts International Airport (the only international airport in the country) are also operating their own security services. Several attempts have been made by the UN and the international community to streamline the whole sector, but in vain, as Liberian politicians are keen to protect the vested interests that these institutions represent. The fragmentation of the Liberian security sector is not just an institutional flaw, but rather the outcome of a political tradition that dates back to the foundation of the Liberian state by an elite who see state institutions as a source of both selfenrichment and an integral part of building patron-client relationships to protect their privilege.26 The result is that while some important steps of improvement have been taken compared to the situation both during the war and prior to the start of the civil war, the mechanisms introduced to eradicate corruption have produced limited results. With poor logistical infrastructures and insufficient transportation, police officers are often accused by ordinary Liberians of not only requesting direct payments to come to crime scenes, but also to release culprits from custody or prison if they or friends and relatives pay the police to do so. The consequence is obviously that law enforcement and other parts of the intelligence and security services do not gain much public confidence, especially in hinterland areas where people both construct their own justice systems and establish local vigilante groups.27 CONCLUSION International intervention in Liberia can be observed and has been sold as a success story, as the country has remained peaceful during the UNMIL mandate period and since the UN mission left in 2018. However, the reasons for this are more likely that Liberians in general have no appetite for another war and that the surrounding region also has been relatively peaceful. There has not been any spillover from conflict in neighboring countries. This is



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something to be grateful for, as the capacity of the state’s security sector for intelligence monitoring remains limited. Public trust is also subsequently low due to corruption and other malpractice by state security and intelligence officers. Nonetheless, the organizational cultures that these offices display are still of a better quality than they ever have been in Liberian history. There is evidence of a positive trend, but when the point of departure is as low as it was in 2003, the result is not what was originally hoped for. There are several reasons for this, but the international actors who intervened must acknowledge that some of the blame rests on their shoulders. The Liberian SSR reached its technical benchmarks, but the political aspects of the reform were neglected, and a people-centered approach to the reforms was by and large missing. Plans were made for Liberia without a proper understanding of the situation on the ground and the historical context. The efficiency of output was prioritized, while the effectiveness and legitimacy of output was neglected. The result was a reform process that succeeded numerically but failed to lay the foundation for much deeper change that could have given Liberia a more effective security apparatus with an appropriate organizational culture of government service. This could have enabled a new and more legitimate social contract between the state’s security institutions and the population. If Liberia should once more find itself in dire straits, the lack of such a contract could come back to haunt both the country and the international community. NOTES 1.  See Lisa Stadelmayer, SSR Resource Centre Interviews Rory Keane, UNMIL Advisor on Security Sector Reform (New York: CIGI, 2011). 2.  See Morten Bøås and Samantha Gowran Farrier, “Liberia: Security Sector Reform,” in The Routledge Handbook of International Statebuilding, ed. David Chandler and Timothy D. Sisk (London: Routledge, 2013), 185–195. 3.  See Adedeji Ebo, The Challenges and Opportunities of Security Sector Reform in Post-Conflict Liberia, Occasional Paper, no. 9 (Geneva: Geneva Centre for Democratic Control of Armed Forces, 2005); Adedeji Ebo, “Liberia Case Study: Outsourcing SSR to Foreign Companies,” in Local Ownership of Security Sector Reform: A Guide for Donors, ed. Laurie Nathan (London: Commissioned by the Security Sector Reform Strategy of the UK’s Global Conflict Prevention Pool, 2007); Alexander Loden, “Civil Society and Security Sector Reform in Post-conflict Liberia: Painting a Moving Train without Brushes,” International Journal of Transitional Justice 1 (2007): 297–307; Karianne Quist Stig, “Promoting Self-Governance without Local Ownership” (MA thesis, University of Oslo, 2009); Morten Bøås and Karianne Stig, “Security Sector Reform in Liberia: An Uneven Partnership without Local Ownership,” Journal of Intervention and Statebuilding 4, no. 3 (2010): 285–303; and Louise

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Andersen, “Outsiders inside the State: Post-conflict Liberia between Trusteeship and Partnership,” Journal of Intervention and Statebuilding 4, no. 2 (2010): 129–152.   4.  Morten Bøås, “The Liberian Civil War: New War/Old War?,” Global Society 19, no. 1 (2005): 73–88.  5. Mark Huband, The Liberian Civil War (London: Frank Cass, 1998); and Stephen Ellis, The Mask of Anarchy (London: Hurst, 1999); and Bøås, “Liberian Civil War.”   6.  See Warren d’Azevedo, “Tribe and Chiefdom on the Windward Coast,” Liberian Studies Journal 14, no. 2 (1989): 90–116.   7.  Morten Bøås, “Making Plans for Liberia—a Trusteeship Approach to Good Governance,” Third World Quarterly 30, no. 7 (2009): 1329–1341.   8.  See UN Security Council, Resolution 1509, (2003).   9.  See UN Security Council, Resolution 2333, The Situation in Liberia (2016). 10.  This figure is staggeringly high and does not reflect realities on the ground, but just that the bar for qualifying as an ex-combatant was set very low. All it took to qualify for the Liberian DDR program was to hand over five bullets at a DDR site. As the DDR program promised food, some basic medical services, training for work, and not the least around US$150 in cash payment at the end of the program, a hefty trade developed in ammunition as commanders and real former fighters sold bullets to poor young men who just wanted the $150. See Morten Bøås and Anne Hatløy, “Getting In, Getting Out: Militia Membership and Prospects for Re-integration in Post-war Liberia,” Journal of Modern African Studies 46, no. 1 (2008): 33–53. Why the program was designed the way it was is still somewhat of a mystery, but most likely it was due to the fact that figures both of casualties and the number of insurgents were exaggerated throughout the Liberian civil war. 11. “Liberia SSR Snapshot,” Geneva Centre for Security Sector Governance, 2018, https://issat.dcaf.ch/Learn/Resource-Library/Country-Profiles/Liberia-SSR -Snapshot. 12.  Nobody seems to recall why an international nongovernmental think tank like ICG was even mentioned here. However, most likely the ICG was involved due its reports and analysis from the civil war that were used both as evidence and for planning. Thus, the ICG was seen as a credible and well informed actor by the UN and the United States. 13.  Kathleen M. Jennings, “The Struggle to Satisfy: DDR through the Eyes of the Ex-combatants in Liberia,” International Peacekeeping 14, no. 2 (2007): 204–228. 14.  There are several reasons why the United States was asked to do this, but the special relationship between the United States and Liberia also includes a history of military collaboration as an important background for this. See Niels Hahn, “US Covert and Overt Operations in Liberia, 1970s to 2003,” ASPJ Africa & Francophonie (3rd quarter 2014): 19–47; and Niels Hahn, Two Centuries of US Military Operations in Liberia: Challenges of Resistance and Compliance (Maxwell Air Force Base, AL: Air University Press, 2019). 15. See Deborah Avant, “Opportunistic Peacebuilders? International Organizations, Private Military Training and State-Building after War” (discussion draft for Research Partnership on Post-War State-Building).



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16.  See Stig, “Promoting Self-Governance without Local Ownership”; and Bøås and Stig, “Security Sector Reform in Liberia.” 17.  Stig, “Promoting Self-Governance without Local Ownership.” 18.  Debey Sayndee, Security Sector Reform (Monrovia: Kofi Annan Centre for Conflict Transformation, 2015). 19.  See Shai André Divon and Morten Bøås, “Negotiating Justice: Legal Pluralism and Gender-Based Violence in Liberia,” Third World Quarterly 38, no. 6 (2017): 1387–1398. 20. Morten Bøås, The Political Economy of Conflict Economies: Miners, Merchants and Warriors in the African Borderland (London: Routledge, 2015). 21.  See David Chandler, Empire in Denial: The Politics of Statebuilding (London: Pluto Press, 2006); and Laurie Nathan, ed., Local Ownership of Security Sector Reform: A Guide for Donors (London: Commissioned by the Security Sector Reform Strategy of the UK’s Global Conflict Prevention Pool, 2007). 22. Republic of Liberia—The Honorable House of Representatives, National Security Reform and Intelligence Act, 2011 (Monrovia: Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 2011). 23.  See “About the National Security Agency,” National Security Agency, 2021, https://nsa.gov.lr/web/web/general/about-national-security-agency-nsa. 24.  See “The Liberian National Security Agency Opens New U.S. GovernmentFunded HQ,” US Embassy in Liberia, April 2, 2021, https://lr.usembassy.gov/the -liberian-national-security-agency-opens-new-u-s-government-funded-hq/. 25. Obediah Johnson, “Liberia: National Security Agency Reportedly Tailing Dr. Daniel Cassell,” Front Page Africa, January 29, 2021, https://frontpageafrica online.com/front-slider/liberia-national-security-agency-reportedly-tailing-dr-daniel -cassell/. 26.  See Bøås, Political Economy of Conflict Economies. 27.  See Divon and Bøås, “Negotiating Justice.”

28 Libya From Authoritarianism to Fragmentation and Possible New Beginnings Réjeanne Lacroix

The state of Libya is located in the dynamic expanses of northeastern Africa, particularly the Maghreb and Sahel regions. Historically, Libya has been divided into the three specific constituencies of Tripolitania, Cyrenaica, and Fezzan, with each of these regions’ strategic locations factoring into contemporary dynamics. Tribal and ethic relationships, the influence of Islam, and colonialism have all contributed to the development of the Libyan state since the nineteenth century and have affected the maturation of the intelligence culture. Italian colonization commenced in 1911 and lasted well into the North African Campaign of World War II. The United Kingdom, as part of the Allied forces, captured Tripolitania in 1942, and its military governors and those from France administrated local affairs until 1951. From this point, the United Nations (UN) intervened to facilitate the creation of a constitutional monarchy—the United Kingdom of Libya—ruled by King Idris I. The monarch developed relationships with Western powers that remained an important influence in future developments and Libyan involvement on the international stage. Nonetheless, a dire socioeconomic situation, stifled by royal corruption, occurred just as Arab nationalism was on the rise. On September 1, 1969, military officers staged a coup d’état against the sovereign, and Colonel Muammar al-Gaddafi was named chief of staff of the new Libyan Arab Republic. His installation as leader ushered in a period in which al-Gaddafi implemented his new political theory, known as the Third International or Jamahiriya. This philosophy was reflected in the name Great Socialist People’s Libyan Arab Jamahiriya, conferred on the Libyan state in 1977. Modern analysis of contemporary Libya affiliates the al-Gaddafi regime with its intelligence services and intelligence culture. Al-Gaddafi created a modern intelligence service that coalesced under the objective to defend his 365

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ultimate power and to further destabilization through revolutions abroad. It was also during the al-Gaddafi era that Libya became internationally recognized as a nefarious actor and pariah state for its support of terrorist organizations. After forty-two years, al-Gaddafi was removed from power in 2011 during the Libyan Civil War. This rebel-led movement, a later North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) intervention, and the Second Libyan Civil War (2014–2020) have had dire consequences for the organizational structure of Libyan intelligence services, as they have been fragmented along tribal lines. Many experienced officers were purged due to their ties with the prior regime. Militias were often courted to fulfill responsibilities through the UNbacked Government of National Accord (GNA), until a permanent ceasefire was reached in October 2020. It is a complex and unstable network, and these developments highlight the influence of tribalism and secrecy as intrinsic elements of Libyan intelligence culture. This chapter argues that there are two notable periods of Libyan intelligence history: one that represents the hold of the al-Gaddafi regime over the entirety of Libyan activities and the current period, in which a fragmented Libya is engaging in a prolonged process of state unification. Despite these disparate situations, matters of tribalism and ethnicity remain linked to the development of Libyan intelligence operations. These must be incorporated into analysis and be considered a vital element of Libyan intelligence culture. Issues related to oversight and reform are pertinent to contemporary political events in Libya; however, many matters remain unresolved and open to later interpretation. As a result of the current stalemate within the country, the once active international espionage links enjoyed by Libyan intelligence are not a significant aspect of study today. HISTORY OF INTELLIGENCE USE IN LIBYA Under the al-Gaddafi regime, the political theory of Jamahiriya became the law of the land. Installation of such a national policy dismantled the traditional legal-bureaucratic government structure set in place by outside powers and replaced it with revolutionary direct democracy manifested through people’s congresses and committees.1 These meetings tied into the foundational role of tribal influences of Libyan culture. And while it was based on regional principles of Islamist socialism, Arab nationalism, and African nationalism, al-Gaddafi ultimately viewed Jamahiriya as an international political system as well.2 The Green Book espoused the personal views of governance by the revolutionary leader and became compulsory reading in the Libyan education system. All means available to those in governance and civil society had to be applied to protect the Popular Revolution.



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As a result of al-Gaddafi’s condensing power, Libyan intelligence forces were steadily militarized. Special units were created with specific responsibilities that were often opaque and clandestine. The Military Intelligence Force was an important agency tasked with intelligence gathering of all information related to domestic and foreign matters, under the guidance of the military.3 Further, the wider objectives of Libyan intelligence focused not only on the securitization of the state but also on engagement of nefarious actors outside its borders. For example, the Jamahiriya Security Organization (JSO; later the External Security Organization in 1994 and then Libyan Intelligence Services) had two branches: internal security and foreign security. While internal security is self-explanatory, the JSO was the Libyan arm that maintained connections with known terrorist organizations, such as the Irish Republican Army (IRA) of Northern Ireland in the 1970s–1980s.4 Besides direct connections with related organizations, intelligence services under alGaddafi also abused diplomatic connections for disreputable purposes and garnered recognition for the country as a state sponsor of terrorism.5 Foreign liaison offices were established for this purpose.6 In line with Third International theory, Libyan intelligence services had a wing known as the Anti-Imperialism Center (AIC). It was established in 1982 with the objective to support revolutionary movements around the world, primarily guerrilla groups, as well as to disseminate anti-imperialist propaganda.7 Akin to foreign liaison offices, the AIC worked out of Libyan embassies that dotted the globe so that they could arrange payments and channel funds to extremists. Further, it is alleged that in 2004 the AIC was tasked with the recruitment of those sympathetic to Third International theory for ideological indoctrination as well as more specialized training in Libya.8 The reach and abilities of Libyan intelligence agents gained international attention due to their role in the tragic downing of Pam Am Flight 103 on December 21, 1988. More commonly known as the Lockerbie bombing due to where much of the debris of the Boeing 747 landed, it is claimed that the aviation disaster was a retaliatory act by Libyan intelligence for actions taken against the al-Gaddafi regime by the United States (US).9 Evidence gathered by US and Scottish law enforcement led to the indictment and later extradition of two alleged Libyan agents to stand trial at Camp Zeist in the Netherlands. Abdel Basset Ali Al-Megrahi, one of the apparent intelligence assets, was convicted of 270 counts of murder in 2001, while al-Gaddafi himself accepted his regime’s responsibility for the international terrorist attack. In another act of terrorism, Libyan agents bombed the La Belle discotheque on April 5, 1986, in what was then West Berlin, killing two US soldiers and a Turkish woman. It is understood that this tragic event was the result of ongoing maritime disputes (and the sinking of Libyan vessels) between Libya

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and the US Navy in the Gulf of Sirte in March 1986. Furthermore, it must be noted that Libya had ballistic, biological, and chemical weapons programs, which hints at wider schemes. The situation for Libyan citizens was just as troublesome, as al-Gaddafi created an all-encompassing surveillance state that on paper was meant to protect the Jamahiriya revolution, but in fact was designed to protect his own regime security. Numerous and serious claims of torture, kidnapping, killing, and detention of civilians were commonplace.10 In 1977 Revolutionary Committees were established, and it was under this framework that large swaths of Libyan society were tasked with surveillance and supervision against any hints of opposition. Secret policing was managed by the Guide’s Intelligence Bureau (GIB). This internal unit affiliated with law enforcement was mandated to seek out and punish all political dissidents.11 At the same time, internal security was propped up by the Green Brigades or security battalions present in major cities across the country. These militarized units were set apart from others because they were outfitted with the best military and police equipment.12 Despite this entrenched security system, the colonel faced a coup attempt by the National Front for the Salvation of Libya on May 8, 1984. Members attempted to storm the al-Gaddafi compound Bab al-Aziza in Tripoli to assassinate the leader. Further, in the 1990s, al-Gaddafi’s rule and state security were threatened by the rise of militant Islamism, resulting in yet another assassination attempt in October 1993. As a result of these failed armed operations, the Revolutionary Guards, in accord with the Revolutionary Committees, gained more influence within the state as they acted as a paramilitary unit intent on protection of the regime by way of further indoctrination of Jamahiriya ideology as well as constant observation of any suspicious behaviors exhibited by the wider society. It is evident that the majority of intelligence culture during the al-Gaddafi era was rooted in its ideological framework, insofar as it engaged in asymmetrical attacks against major world powers viewed as imperialists just as it applied all invasive means possible to subdue Libyan citizens. Al-Gaddafi sought a rapprochement with the West in 2003 after the world witnessed the toppling of Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein through a US military intervention. He disbanded chemical weapons programs and paid compensation to victim families of Libyan-linked airline disasters, specifically Pan Am Flight 103 and Union de Transports Aériens Flight 772, which had been brought down on September 19, 1989, in the Sahara Desert. Many diplomatic missions with representatives from the European Union and the United States brought al-Gaddafi’s Libya back into the international community, Tripoli was subsequently removed from the US designation as a state



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sponsor of terrorism in 2006, and its decades-long reputation as the “world’s strongest supporter of terrorism” was ended.13 The Libya Model (as it became known) represented a possible avenue for rogue states to come in from the cold and be accepted by the international order. Such relations extended into intelligence cooperation as well. Normalization of relations between Libya and the West resulted in collaboration between Libyan intelligence, the UK Secret Intelligence Service (MI6), and the US Central Intelligence Agency (CIA).14 Libya was viewed as an important partner in the strategic regions often at the center of terrorism investigations (the Maghreb and the Sahel), and al-Gaddafi had undoubtedly created professional agencies with extensive, valuable contacts. The toppling of al-Gaddafi in 2011 also dismantled established state institutions, including the intelligence infrastructure, though the Libyan Intelligence Service remains active. However, Libya was fragmented into its three historical regions under the UN-sponsored Skhirat agreement of 2015 that established the GNA, only to be followed by an equally problematic Government of National Unity (GNU) in March 2021.15 Tripoli is the official location for the Interior Ministry and intelligence services, but militias with tribal roots within the regions they control are only loosely affiliated with the workings of the GNU. For instance, according to experts in 2020, the Al-Nawasi militia controlled Tripoli alongside other armed factions, such as the Tripoli Revolutionary Brigades and the Abu Slim Unit of the Central Security Apparatus.16 Concurrently, the Second Civil War has resulted in prolonged instability. A contentious election with low voter turnout led the House of Representatives (HoR) to dispute the official results announced by the seemingly victorious GNA. Thereafter, the HoR selected Field Marshal Khalifa Belqasim Haftar, leader of the Libyan National Army (LNA) based out of Tobruk in Cyrenaica, as its leader, and he consequently began a failed campaign to capture Tripoli. This was obviously problematic, as he commanded the workings of the military intelligence services.17 The fragmented, tribal-centric, and shadowy characteristics of Libyan intelligence culture are more obvious when a concrete unifying force is absent. INTELLIGENCE ISSUES SPECIFIC TO LIBYA Libyan intelligence is often associated with activities of the past, chiefly engagement in major terrorist attacks and relations with troublesome nonstate actors. Its security apparatus was highly developed, militarized, and professional, with acknowledged abilities to engage in foreign states. Colonel al-Gaddafi was the identifiable face of the regime, and the international community understood that his intelligence services actively engaged in harsh

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repression at home and troublesome actions abroad. However, those former arrangements are no longer relevant to Libyan intelligence, as its domestic networks have been mostly dismantled and al-Gaddafi loyalists removed from political life. The abridged history of Libyan intelligence demonstrates that the country is currently in a transitional period from four decades of a militaristic regime with disreputable objectives to a loose system of fragmented tribal relations. Nonetheless, certain issues are specific to the Libyan experience and the development of intelligence culture in the African nation, though many events are yet to unfold. First and foremost, Libyan intelligence operations—in the al-Gaddafi era and the period since his demise—are cloaked in mystery and suspicion. Secrecy is not novel in discussions of intelligence services; however, the Libyan context must be examined because its shadowy nature is intrinsic to numerous allegations of human rights abuses and its ability to engage in statesponsored terrorism for decades. It is for these reasons that Libyan intelligence culture reflective of the past regime is often viewed as a saboteur set out to undermine international systems abroad and a surveillance state domestically. Agencies and mandates may be open source information or general knowledge, but their activities are highly guarded. For instance, former Libyan intelligence chief Abdullah al-Senussi is often described as “mysterious.”18 He often left matters such as the execution of prisoners unannounced even to the families of those killed.19 This remains an issue in the contemporary arrangement of security services and intelligence units under GNU-affiliated militia control. The Libyan intelligence services are generally viewed as secretive and often act separately from the Interior Ministry.20 Further, the head of Libyan intelligence, General Abdelkader Touhami, was killed under mysterious circumstances in May 2020, and his death was marked by disparate stories. GNA authorities stated that he died at home due to a cardiovascular event, but other sources allege he was abducted by a militia as a form of retribution for his targeted operations against pro-Haftar officials.21 Libya may be in a new area of (barely there) governance, but aspects of its intelligence agencies remain systemically entrenched. Ethnicity and culture are extremely important factors in the comprehension of Libyan intelligence culture. In regard to the influence of Islam, Libya has traditionally followed the Sunni variant, particularly one that later transitioned into the still influential movement Sanusiyah, which retains a strong adherence in Cyrenaica.22 This austere sect focused on simplicity, and fundamentalist interpretations of Islamic teachings strongly resisted foreign colonialism as well as the Jamahiriya regime ushered in by al-Gaddafi’s toppling of Idris I. Al-Gaddafi consequently banned Sanusiyah and prosecuted its followers, especially those connected with the 1993 coup attempt. Although it is



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a separate matter, Libya’s location in an area rife with Islamist insurgencies and groups affiliated with transnational terrorist organizations means that this security issue must remain high on its agenda. Ethnic grievances, especially with the advanced firepower of some of the militias, can be easily usurped by groups with extremist objectives. This is more of a risk in fragile states, such as the current political arrangements in Libya. Tribal relations have historically shaped Libyan society and governance prior to any contemporary understanding of the Libyan political sphere, especially predating colonialism and al-Gaddafi. Libya has a diverse population of Arabs and Berbers, with over one hundred tribes; thirty of them are markedly more powerful than the others.23 For context, it is wise to assess the role played by the Warfalla tribe—the largest tribe in the country, estimated to have a one-million-strong population, inhabiting the areas around Bani Walid, Sirte, Sabha, and Benghazi.24 Its membership had typically been recruited into the al-Gaddafi security apparatus and intelligence services, including leadership positions within the Revolutionary Committees.25 As a result, their support alongside al-Gaddafi’s own tribe, the Qadhafa, and the Magarha located in Fezzan province (the second largest tribe in the country) created a bloc of power loyal to the regime. An amalgamation of tribal support was needed to ensure regime survival, and the ability to coalesce it through a mutually beneficial network, such as ethnic staffing of important positions, was a significant factor. On the other hand, a tribe as large as the Warfalla includes many individual clans or bayts that differed in their perceptions of political affairs. Many may have supported the disposed authoritarian, but there were obvious occasions when other dynamics caused sects to act in a dissimilar manner. For instance, members of the tribe were central to the 1993 coup attempt, which was rooted in wider disputes with the Magarha over the acquisition of top government positions.26 This example is representative of the difficulties inherent in basing state security, and thus intelligence services, on tribal foundations that can be contentious at times. It requires a system of continued benefits to ensure loyalty, and if this balance is upset, fragmentation is often a result. Libya has been described as problematic to govern because it has “always struggled to put its three territorial parts of Tripolitania, Cyrenaica, and the Fezzan together to fabricate a unitary state whether under its own authority, local ethnic or clan leaders, or foreign occupation.”27 The same assessment can be extended to typical state institutions, such as the intelligence apparatus, in the currently fragmented GNU arrangement. Many state institutions are staffed and controlled by local militia groups, with formal intelligence units only loosely aligned with authorities in Tripoli.28 Due to delineations based on tribal militias, the security sector in modern Libya is in disarray,

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with many units operating with a high degree of autonomy and others pursuing political gain. In the current situation, the issue of governance must be addressed. It is obviously a perplexing situation to unify intelligence services in the current state of Libya, as the UC Government of National Unity faces many challenges, including continued hostilities with the LNA, historical difficulties in uniting provinces, and activities of foreign actors. The capabilities of the Libyan Intelligence Service and the Ministry of the Interior will undoubtedly diminish until some form of state unity is achieved and militias cooperate with the broader objective of state building, rather than remaining divided and sometimes unaware of what the left and right hands are doing. It is unquestionable that the al-Gaddafi period shaped elements of intelligence culture visible in Libya today, primarily secrecy and a reliance on tribal links for cooperation. The key difference is that he condensed power around him in an authoritarian regime, whereas the state is currently experiencing fragmentation. However, between the two periods, the commonalities of mystery, extrajudicial activities, and cooperation based on ethnic or tribal links are recognized aspects of Libyan intelligence culture. OVERSIGHT, REFORM, AND INTERNATIONAL CONNECTIONS Intelligence oversight in al-Gaddafi’s Libya was akin to that in any other authoritarian state, insofar as any inkling of responsibility to government or citizens was a moot point. Intelligence services remained an effective tool in controlling domestic affairs and instigating foreign disruptions for the objectives held by the dictator and his inner circle. Agencies and their subunits were obliged to conduct operations and engage in espionage under the watchful eye of intelligence chiefs who were extremely close to al-Gaddafi. Libyan intelligence services worked directly for the colonel and his visions of international political affairs. Libyan intelligence in the al-Gaddafi period lacked any sort of transparency or accountability for its activities. This element was consequently extended to the roles of its past chiefs, as in the previously mentioned mysteriousness of al-Senussi. Though linked to experience, roles of intelligence bosses were more reliant on being in al-Gaddafi’s inner circle rather than on any penchant for or track record of the lawful use of intelligence resources, as typical in any liberal democratic states. As an additional example, the former head of the Anti-Imperialism Center between 1984 and 1992 and later intelligence head at the External Security Organization from 1994 to 2009, Moussa Muhammad Koussa, is often referred to as the “torturer in chief” due



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to numerous allegations of barbaric actions against Libyan political detainees, which he has often dismissed.29 For the most part, there were minimal attempts in the way of intelligence sector reform during the al-Gaddafi regime, but some change was notable. The system was created and instituted in a way that the key objective was protecting the leadership’s personal power and engagement through disruptive practices abroad, and its services and units served those purposes well. On the other hand, at times when attempted coup d’état arose and were subsequently quashed, al-Gaddafi strengthened the roles of those bodies already in place, such as the Revolutionary Guards. Institutional restructuring at the top intelligence agency was evident in 1994, as the colonel reorganized units and renamed it the External Security Organization. It was only years later, in 2002, that analysts suggested that the Libyan state was engaged in even further restructuring of its intelligence services, leading to the view that the agency was more focused on targeting specific opposition groups, rather than having a generalized contempt for all relevant movements.30 This move was considered to be an attempt by the al-Gaddafi regime to appear less repressive as well as a projection that its ruling elite felt less threatened by political activity within the country than in the past.31 Upon reflection, it is evident that this move toward a less severe intelligence arrangement coincided with Tripoli’s rapprochement with the West, which led to greater intelligence sharing as well as economic connections. Libyan government institutions are currently in transition, and the intelligence services are in a period of reformation. A new manifestation of the Libyan intelligence services was established by the National Transitional Council’s passage of Law No. 7 of 2012, but although this was an opportunity for change, some of its tenets remained in line with the past system. In regard to institutional structure and oversight, departments, and networks, it is alleged by analysts that the Libyan intelligence services remains tightly controlled by the organization’s chief.32 As is typical in the hierarchal arrangements of other countries, the chief reports directly to the head of state.33 This is usually an unproblematic arrangement; however, in a fractured and politically unstable Libya, it may be difficult to ensure unhampered transmission of information to the current leadership as well as other ministries. For example, there was an intragovernmental spat in December 2019 when the Interior Ministry denied involvement in the arrest of a journalist and placed blame on the Libyan Intelligence Services, which later acknowledged that they did indeed have the captive.34 Further, Article 80 of the law states that intelligence officers employed by the Libyan intelligence services cannot face investigation for felonies or misdemeanors unless caught in the act of wrongdoing, and punishment must

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be approved by the chief.35 Such protections pose obstacles for justice and accountability for human rights abuses, especially in an intelligence culture already plagued by similar complaints.36 Nonetheless, the state of Libyan intelligence reform and oversight will likely manifest as the state achieves a unified functioning government that dictates its own future and aligns with its overall intelligence culture. Intelligence agencies of important international powers overlooked the issues associated with Libya’s lack of oversight and major reforms, and its human rights abuses. The al-Gaddafi period witnessed Libyan intelligence officers employed by relevant subunits working out of international offices and embassies to ensure they continued close relations with friendly states and nonstate actors. However, rapprochement with Western political powers led to cooperation with Tripoli, mainly involvement with the CIA and MI6, that consequently legitimized the activities of Libyan intelligence services. The depth of these relationships came to light after the al-Gaddafi era due to the release of documents that demonstrated firsthand knowledge of the matter. Notably, hundreds of letters addressed to former intelligence chief Koussa wove a tale that both Western intelligence agencies had aided the regime in rounding up dissidents in various spots around the world and organized their transfer for rendition processes.37 Libya held a treasure trove of information about transnational terrorist organizations, their inner workings, and their activities, and thus it was considered to be a beneficial partner. On the other hand, the current state of Libyan intelligence has not extended these powerful network links. Fragmentation and the bias of militias make Libya a difficult partner in this regard, especially when the original intelligence structure has been dismantled. Nonetheless, Libya continues to be a strategic point politically as regional powers—as well as major geopolitical actors—support key government officials and militias on the difficult roadmap to unified statehood. It was contended by US officials in the spring of 2020 that Egypt and the United Arab Emirates armed the LNA, while Turkey has aligned with the GNA by way of security and maritime agreements.38 These regional partners are likely privy to actionable intelligence relevant to their militia and governmental partners locked in a stalemate over control of Tripoli. CONCLUSION An objective assessment asserts that over forty years of the al-Gaddafi regime shaped the contemporary understanding of intelligence in Libya as well as its intelligence culture. Through his personalized objectives to thwart domestic



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opposition and engage as a subversive actor on the international stage, his intelligence services were cloaked in secrecy as they engaged in nefarious activities, had associations with transnational terrorist organizations and guerrilla groups, and engaged in severe repression at home. Al-Gaddafi’s fear of being toppled like other regional strongmen compelled him to turn away from questionable pet projects, such as chemical weapons, and make amends with Western powers. This tactical move on his part ushered in a short period in which powerful British and American intelligence agencies embraced Libya as a valuable partner in regional affairs and the global war on terror. Concurrently, the country’s unique ethnotribal composition influenced its presentation of governance, both in the al-Gaddafi era as well as in the contemporary context. The fall of the al-Gaddafi regime in 2011 resulted in the drastic fragmentation of the Libyan state along the lines of tribal and militia alliances. The UN-sponsored GNA arrangement (and now GNU) struggled to maintain jurisdiction over the entirety of the state, and this subsequently affected the performance and organization of the security sector as well as the Libyan Intelligence Service. Libya remains in transition in the fragile post– civil war period, affecting the maturation of its intelligence services. The services need a stable and cohesive government, created on its own accord without the intervention of regional actors with political objectives. Only then can a modern intelligence service characterized by distinctive Libyan social arrangements and professionalism engage in reliable intelligence gathering, sharing, and analysis. NOTES 1.  Sami G. Hajjar, “The Jamahiriya Experiment in Libya: Qadhafi and Rousseau,” Journal of Modern African Studies 18, no. 2 (1980): 181. 2.  Hajjar, “Jamahiriya Experiment in Libya,” 183. 3. Ephraim Kahana and Muhammad Suwaed, Historical Dictionary of Middle Eastern Intelligence (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2009), 194. 4.  “The 38-Year Connection between Irish Republicans and Gaddafi,” BBC News, February 23, 2011, https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-northern-ireland-12539372. 5.  Jane Chance Sweeney, “State-Sponsored Terrorism: Libya’s Abuse of Diplomatic Privileges and Immunities,” Dickinson Journal of International Law 5, no. 1 (1986): 133. 6.  Kahana and Suwaed, Historical Dictionary of Middle Eastern Intelligence, 194. 7.  Kahana and Suwaed, Historical Dictionary of Middle Eastern Intelligence, 195. 8.  Kahana and Suwaed, Historical Dictionary of Middle Eastern Intelligence, 195. 9.  “The Bombing of Pan Am Flight 103: 30 Years Later, Still Actively Seeking Justice,” FBI, December 14, 2018, https://www.fbi.gov/news/stories/remembering -pan-am-flight-103-30-years-later-121418.

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10. “Factbox: Gaddafi Rule Marked by Abuses, Rights Groups Say,” Reuters, February 22, 2011, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-libya-protest-abuses/factbox -gaddafi-rule-marked-by-abuses-rights-groups-say. 11. Kahana and Suwaed, Historical Dictionary of Middle Eastern Intelligence, 194. 12. Kahana and Suwaed, Historical Dictionary of Middle Eastern Intelligence, 194. 13.  Jonathan B. Schwartz, “Dealing with a Rogue State: The Libya Precedent,” American Journal of International Law 101, no. 3 (2007): 553. 14. Yvonne Bell, “CIA, MI6 Helped Gaddafi on Dissidents: Rights Group,” Reuters, September 3, 2011, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-libya-usa-cia /cia-mi6-helped-gaddafi-on-dissidents-rights-group-idUSTRE78213Y20110903. 15.  Giancarlo Elia Valori, “The Outstanding Issue of the Libyan Intelligence Service,” Modern Diplomacy, July 14, 2020, https://moderndiplomacy.eu/2020/07/14 /the-outstanding-issue-of-the-libyan-intelligence-services/. 16.  Valori, “Outstanding Issue of the Libyan Intelligence Service.” 17.  Valori, “Outstanding Issue of the Libyan Intelligence Service.” 18.  Mark Kersten, “ICC Hands Off to Libya,” Foreign Policy, October 14, 2013, https://foreignpolicy.com/2013/10/14/icc-hands-off-to-libya/. 19.  Karin Wester, Intervention in Libya: The Responsibility to Protect in North Africa (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020), 77. 20.  “Libyan Intelligence Acknowledges It Arrested Journalist,” AP News, December 19, 2019, https://apnews.com/article/ae8c04523afe0a8f3d2209a9c745a8ec. 21. “Death of Head of Libyan Intelligence Agency,” North Africa Post, May 12, 2020, https://northafricapost.com/40837-death-of-head-of-libyan-intelligence -agency.html. 22.  Azeem Ibrahim, Rise and Fall? The Rise and Fall of ISIS in Libya (Carlisle, PA: Strategic Studies Institute, 2020), 10–11, https://press.armywarcollege.edu/cgi /viewcontent.cgi?article=1912&context=monographs. 23.  Carmen Geha, Civil Society and Political Reform in Lebanon and Libya: Transition and Constraint (London, Routledge, 2016), 7. 24.  “Factbox: Libya’s Warfalla Tribe,” Reuters, September 1, 2011, https://www .reuters.com/article/us-libya-warfalla-profile/factbox-libyas-warfalla-tribe. 25. Hassan Abbas, “Libya’s Warfalla Tribe Switching Loyalties?,” Terrorism Monitor 9, no. 22 (June 2, 2011), https://jamestown.org/brief/briefs-104/. 26.  Abbas, “Libya’s Warfalla Tribe Switching Loyalties?” 27.  Richard A. Lobbin Jr. and Chris H. Dalton, Libya: History and Revolution (Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger), 21. 28.  “Libyan Intelligence Acknowledges.” 29.  “U.K. to Question Ex-Libyan Spy Chief,” CBC News, April 3, 2011, https:// www.cbc.ca/news/world/u-k-to-question-ex-libyan-spy-chief-1.997514. 30.  “Internal Security,” GlobalSecurity.org, https://www.globalsecurity.org/intell /world/libya/intro.htm. 31.  “Internal Security.” 32.  Valori, “Outstanding Issue of the Libyan Intelligence Service.”



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33.  National Transitional Council, “Article 11 of Law No. 7 of 2012: On the Establishment of the Libyan Intelligence Service,” Geneva Centre for Security Sector Governance, https://security-legislation.ly/node/31763. 34.  “Libyan Intelligence Acknowledges.” 35.  National Transitional Council, “Article 80 of Law No.7 of 2012.” 36.  International Commission of Jurists, The Draft Libyan Constitution: Procedural Deficiencies, Substantive Flaws (Geneva: International Commission of Jurists, 2015), 28. 37.  Bell, “CIA, MI6 Helped Gaddafi.” 38.  Christopher M. Blanchard, “Libya: Conflict, Transition and U.S. Policy,” Congressional Research Service, June 26, 2020, 4.

29 Madagascar An Utterly Weak and Inefficient Intelligence Community Adrien M. Ratsimbaharison and Juvence F. Ramasy

Global Initiative recently described Madagascar as a hub (or plaque tour-

nante) of “regional illicit markets and wider illicit flows.”1 In 2008, US Department of State analysts had already warned that international terrorism could spring out of the island because of its “inadequately monitored 3,000mile coastline.”2 These characterizations of Madagascar’s role in international security are testimony to the weakness and inefficiency of the country’s intelligence community and law enforcement in general. Nevertheless, despite the current state of affairs, one must recognize that the country has a long tradition of intelligence, which has taken different forms dating back to the nineteenth-century Kingdom of Madagascar (1810–1896), just before the French colonization (1896–1960). Assuming that the conduct of Central Intelligence Agency (CIA)-type undercover operations in foreign countries is usually out of the reach of developing countries like Madagascar, intelligence is broadly understood in this chapter as “the collecting and processing of that information about foreign countries and their agents which is needed by a government for its foreign policy and for national security.”3 Furthermore, as in the United States, an intelligence community is defined as “a federation of executive branch agencies and organizations that work separately and together to conduct intelligence activities necessary for the conduct of foreign relations and the protection of the national security.”4 Madagascar’s intelligence tradition and its intelligence community remain understudied, as there have been very few systematic attempts to study their development and roles. This chapter aims to fill this gap in the literature by exploring the intelligence culture and explaining the weakness and inefficiency of the current intelligence community. Thus, after reviewing the 379

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relatively long history of intelligence in the country, this chapter explains the national and international context of the creation and development of the current intelligence community’s culture. Next, it analyzes the community’s structure as well as its successes and failures. Finally, the chapter addresses the issue of oversight, which constitutes a serious problem for a country striving to be democratic. INTELLIGENCE HISTORY With the help of England, the Merina kingdom, based in the central highlands of Madagascar, attempted to unify and modernize the country during the nineteenth century, before the French colonization (1896–1960).5 In addition to England, other European powers (particularly France and Germany) and the United States also recognized the Merina kingdom as the “Kingdom of Madagascar” and maintained loose diplomatic relations.6 Among many other modernizing efforts, the Kingdom of Madagascar attempted to establish a “modern state,” equipped with law enforcement and intelligence agencies, in the second half of the nineteenth century.7 Concerning its foreign policy, the kingdom’s main objective under the leadership of Prime Minister Rainilaiarivony (in office from 1864 to 1895) was to preserve its independence against the increasing French drive to colonize the island.8 To this end, Rainilaiarivony developed different surveillance and intelligence schemes. In 1878 he instituted the corps of “friends of the villages” (sakaizam-bohitra), who were in charge of surveilling everything that was going on in the kingdom and reporting directly to him. He also used the “friends of the villages” to transmit his directives to the people.9 This system allowed Rainilaiarivony to obtain information about the activities of the few Europeans and those who worked for them in the kingdom and, at the same time, to consolidate his autocratic power, as he could also spy on and eliminate his political rivals. The “friends of the villages” were later replaced by the “scouts” (antily) in 1881, by the “village community” (fokon’olona) with the support of “official assistants” (mpiadidy) in 1884, and finally by the “governors” in 1889. The latter were assisted by three officials, including an intelligence agent known as “spouse of the land” (vadintany).10 Beyond the island, Rainilaiarivony was also in contact with some informants in various European countries, who kept him abreast of the politics of these countries toward Madagascar. Thus, on the eve of the war between the Kingdom of Madagascar and France (also known as the “Franco-Hova” war; 1883–1885), he was consulting with “Mr. Rabaud in Marseilles, Mr. Hilarion Roux in Paris, and Mr. Samuel Procter in London.”11 The irony of



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Rainilaiarivony’s intelligence schemes was that while he was not always able to get reliable information about the real intentions of the French concerning Madagascar, the latter knew everything about him and the kingdom, as they had many people (including government officials) in the country working for them.12 This situation helped the French easily conquer the country in 1895. During the colonial era (1895–1960) in Madagascar, the French applied a similar intelligence system as in France and other French colonies, particularly in Indochina and North Africa. Indeed, after a brief use of the “partisan guards,” the French instituted in 1903 the first genuine central intelligence service of the country, known as the Security (Sûreté), which was, in fact, the detective branch of the regular police force, known as the Indigenous Guards (Gardes Indigènes). The Security literally functioned as secret police, centralizing information about any opponents of the French colonization. In addition to this civilian intelligence service, the French also used military intelligence by setting up the so-called Military Bureau or Second Bureau (Deuxième Bureau) within the colonial administration. As in France, the Second Bureau was mainly in charge of counterintelligence.13 As the French-handpicked first president of Madagascar, Philibert Tsiranana maintained in place most of the French colonial law enforcement and intelligence system at independence in 1960 and throughout the First Republic (1960–1972). He even kept a French military officer to head the Second Bureau.14 Describing the scene at the port of entry of Toamasina when he came back home after his studies abroad in the early 1960s, Rémy Ralibera wrote: “French gendarmes, French police officers, and customs officers: all French, no Malagasy authority on the horizon of the boat. I could not hide my disappointment. I said in Malagasy to my travel companions: Is that independence?”15 The only innovation under President Tsiranana was the creation in 1966 of the paramilitary forces known as the Republican Forces of Security (Forces Républicaines de Securité, FRS), which were in charge of the security of the president and the regime. French and Israeli intelligence officers trained the FRS agents. Over the following years, the FRS developed into a multifunctional policing unit tasked with suppressing political dissenters and public unrest. During the Second Republic (1975–1992), President Didier Ratsiraka created the first truly national and independent intelligence agency. This agency was known as the General Directorate of Internal and External Information and Documentation (Direction Générale de l’Information et de la Documentation, Intérieure et Exterieure, DGIDIE).16 It was mainly in charge of protecting the socialist regime instituted by Ratsiraka in 1975 from its foreign and domestic enemies. This intelligence agency was highly politicized and militarized as well as given unlimited powers of arrest and detention. It worked primarily

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for the security of the regime alongside various law enforcement and military services of the country. This situation resulted from the emergence of praetorianism among the Malagasy ruling elites following the crisis of 1972.17 The DGIDIE modeled itself after the socialist countries’ secret police, particularly the Soviet Union’s Committee for State Security (Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti, KGB). Its agents were trained not only by intelligence officers from East Germany, but also by North Korean and French agents. Above all, the DGIDIE was known for the “torture and other cruel, inhuman, or degrading treatment or punishment” of the people in its custody.18 Following the fall of the socialist regime in 1992, the DGIDIE attempted to adjust to the new democratic regime of the Third Republic, but its bad reputation resurfaced again with the return of Ratsiraka to power in 1997. Under the Third Republic (1992–2010), the DGIDIE was replaced in 2004 by the Central Intelligence Service (CIS) by President Marc Ravalomanana. In addition to the CIS, Ravalomanana also created the Malagasy Service for Fighting Money Laundering and Financing of Terrorism (Sampandraharaha Malagasy Iadiana amin’ny Famotsiambola sy famatsiam-bola ny fampihorohoroana, SAMIFIN) in 2007 and the Central Counterterrorism Service (CCS) within the Ministry of Interior in 2009.19 During the protracted transitional period of 2009–2013, President Andry Rajoelina sidelined the CIS and SAMIFIN and created in March 2009 the Mixed National Commission of Investigation (Commission Nationale Mixte d’Enquête, CNME), which was quickly replaced in June 2009 by the Special Forces of Intervention (Forces d’Intervention Spéciale, FIS).20 The FIS reported directly to the presidency and was headed by two military leaders who had helped Rajoelina get into power: Colonel Noel Rakotonandrasana and Colonel Charles Andrianasoavina. To support the FIS, the Ministry of Interior set up the Internal Brigade of Security (Brigade Intérieure de Sécurité, BIS). The FIS and BIS primarily acted as paramilitary forces to defend the transitional regime, and they eventually merged into the Directorate of the Territorial Surveillance (Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire, DST), which also directly reported to the presidency.21 The DST’s mission was to investigate activities that were likely to threaten the internal and external security of the state and the “vital interests of the Republic.” In addition, it was also responsible for counterintelligence activities. Since the presidency of Hery Rajaonarimampianina (2013–2018), the first president of the current Fourth Republic, the CIS and SAMIFIN have been reinstated and remain the two leading civilian intelligence agencies in the country.



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THE CONTEXT AND DEVELOPMENT OF THE CURRENT INTELLIGENCE COMMUNITY Due to the weakness and inefficiency of the country’s intelligence community and law enforcement in general, Madagascar has been “playing a growing and pivotal role in the dynamics of regional illicit markets and wider illicit flows” since the early 1990s.22 To explain this situation, one must understand the political and economic context of the creation and development of intelligence services since independence. Under the First Republic (1960–1972), President Tsiranana was chosen by the French to preserve their influence on the island after independence. Given this particular role that the French assigned to him and as a result of the cooperation accords he signed with France, Tsiranana maintained many French expatriates from the colonial administration in their positions after independence, particularly in the area of national security and intelligence. Not much was known about the intelligence community during the First Republic. However, it was an open secret that French military officer colonel Jean Bocchino was the head of the military intelligence (Second Bureau), which reported directly to the president. This demonstrates that Tsiranana did not have the political will to create and develop Madagascar’s own intelligence service, but only established the paramilitary Republican Forces of Security for his own security. The need to create national intelligence services independent from the French influence did not emerge until the foundation of the Second Republic by President Didier Ratsiraka. By this time, the task of creating independent and efficient intelligence services appeared to be daunting, given the size of the country and the limited human and financial resources at its disposal. Indeed, concerning its size, the country is a large island of 228,900 square miles (592,800 square kilometers), almost the size of France, with about 3,000 miles of coastline to secure. As for its economy, Madagascar, which is sparsely populated (only twenty-seven million inhabitants in 2020), is one of the poorest countries in the world, with a gross domestic product (GDP) per capita of only US$522 (in 2020), which is comparable to the GDPs of Afghanistan, Mozambique, and Sierra Leone. Consequently, Madagascar could not possibly afford thousands of intelligence agents disseminated around the world, like France and other developed countries. It could only hire a few hundred of them (about three hundred under the Second Republic, and maybe a few more under the Third and the Fourth Republic), who were mostly confined within the capital city, Antananarivo. As a result, the country ended up with what is now described as an “inadequately monitored 3,000mile coastline” and a hub of “regional illicit markets and wider illicit flows.”

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In addition to the lack of human and financial resources, Madagascar’s intelligence services have also been handicapped by political leaders’ abuses. Indeed, they became an apparatus of repression at the disposal of the incumbent presidents to ensure their political survival and protect their personal interests and those of their allies at the expense of national interests. Furthermore, allegations of corruption, human rights abuses, illegal detention, and torture have commonly tarnished the reputation of Madagascar’s intelligence services for many years. INTELLIGENCE COMMUNITY STRUCTURE Madagascar’s intelligence community currently consists of several agencies: the Central Intelligence Service (CIS), the Malagasy Service for Fighting Money Laundering and Financing of Terrorism (Sampandraharaha Malagasy Iadiana amin’ny Famotsiambola sy famatsiam-bola ny fampihorohoroana, SAMIFIN), the National Structure for the Orientation of the Fight against Terrorism and Organized Crime (SNOLT), and the Gendarmerie’s intelligence service. The CIS was created by Executive Order (Décret) No. 2003-728 of July 3, 2003, and charged with the mission “to research, collect and use all information and documentation that are likely to inform the President of the Republic when making decisions to protect the higher interests of the Nation.”23 While most observers understood the CIS was modeled after the US’ CIA, one should not miss the limitation on its mission to informing the president. The agency was mandated to report directly to the latter and not the other branches or agencies of the government, unlike the CIA. Regarding its size and prominence, the CIS overtook the DGIDIE as the most important intelligence service of the country and had a staff of a few hundred agents. Its primary method of collecting information consists of being the “recipient in priority of all information received by other services of the state.”24 Additionally, it may also conduct its own investigations. Concerning its structure, the CIS has a department of internal affairs, in charge of illegal commercial transactions; a department of external affairs; “liaison with the secret services in the region”; and a special counterterrorism branch.25 The SAMIFIN was initially created by Executive Order (Décret) No. 2007-510 of June 4, 2007, which was later replaced or supplemented by other executive orders. It was created as a small autonomous agency led by nine directors, each specializing in a specific domain (law, finance, information technology, etc.). The nine directors were supported by fifty-nine staff members and tasked with the missions to:



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“—receive the [financial] declarations to which individuals and organizations are required to make under [Article 3 of Public Law No. 2004-020 of August 19, 2004, on money laundering], —analyze and process the said declarations, —receive all other useful information, particularly that communicated by the judicial authorities, —carry out research and collect additional information, —refer the facts likely to constitute offenses to the public prosecutor money laundering.”26

The SAMIFIN’s primary method of collecting information is similar to that of the CIS. It consists of being the recipient of financial declarations made by individuals and organizations required by Public Law No. 2004-020 of August 19, 2004. However, contrary to the CIS, which is mandated to report directly to the president, the SAMIFIN is autonomous and has the power to refer any criminal activities to a prosecutor. According to the US Department of State, “Madagascar volunteered to be chosen by the [United Nations] as a pilot country for counterterrorism efforts and received a UN evaluation mission.”27 As a result, the Central Counterterrorism Service (CCS) was created in 2004, which was renamed Central Service for Combating Terrorism-Related Offenses in 2014, within the Ministry of Public Security, to work with INTERPOL and “provide information within the framework of regional and international cooperation.”28 The National Structure for the Orientation of the Fight against Terrorism and Organized Crime (SNOLT), attached to the Prime Minister’s Office and established by Public Law No. 2014-005 of July 17, 2014, and Executive Order (Décret) No. 2015-050, is the institutional framework for guiding and coordinating the actions for fighting against terrorism and organized crime. It provides a liaison body with the international entities working in the field of fighting against terrorism and transnational organized crime. Finally, the Gendarmerie’s intelligence service focuses mainly on the enforcement of laws and regulations directly or indirectly affecting public order and general safety. As such, it produces reports intended for administrative, judicial, and military authorities.29 NOTABLE EXPERIENCES OF THE INTELLIGENCE COMMUNITY In the last few years, Madagascar’s intelligence community has had more failures than successes on its record. The failures include undetected smuggling and trafficking as well as counterintelligence failures.

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In August 2018, a Russian ship, The Lada, was detained in Port Elizabeth, South Africa, for carrying a cargo of illicit arms. The Lada had left the port of Tulear, Madagascar, on its way to Lagos, Nigeria, with fourteen containers of legitimate cargo and twenty containers of improperly documented weaponry on board.30 This type of arms trafficking, going undetected in and out of the island, is a common occurrence and constitutes a significant threat to the country’s national security and that of the other countries in the region. During the presidential election of 2018, a group of Russian agents infiltrated various presidential campaigns and attempted to influence the presidential election results. It was only in 2019 (a year after the presidential election) that some journalists revealed their presence and activities on the island. One may ask whether the Malagasy intelligence community knew about these Russian agents, and, if it did, why it did not do anything to stop them.31 In 2018 and 2019 the CIS, in collaboration with the Intervention Forces of the Police (Forces d’Intervention de la Police, FIP), the navy, the Gendarmerie, the Mauritian authorities, and the Fusion of Maritime Information Center (Centre de Fusion d’Informations Maritimes) seized about 300 pounds (140 kg) of heroin in Manjakandriana and about 100 pounds (46 kg) of heroin in Toamasina.32 The illegal drug came from Tanzania and was intended to be distributed in Mauritius. Madagascar was serving as a transit point, confirming its place as a trafficking hub in the Indian Ocean.33 In 2021, 162 pounds (73.5 kg) of gold, worth US$4 million on the international market, were smuggled through Madagascar’s airport to South Africa on their way to Dubai. The load was uncovered in South Africa, to the embarrassment of the Malagasy government and its law enforcement and intelligence services.34 Over the years, the trafficking of people and endangered species, such as tortoises and rosewood, has frequently been conducted in and out of the country. The usual route was through Malagasy ports or airports and the traffickers were only caught by intelligence services and law enforcement agencies in destination countries.35 OVERSIGHT ISSUES In reviewing the structures of the current intelligence services in Madagascar, most observers would be struck by the lack of review boards, committees, or institutions to review or sanction their activities. At best, Madagascar’s intelligence services are under the control of the incumbent president or their office, and at worst, totally independent and accountable to no one. This lack of oversight mechanism is untenable in a country that aspires to be demo-



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cratic. Indeed, in a democratic country, checks and balances should be set up to prevent any branch of government from being more powerful or autocratic than others. Furthermore, in a democratic country, the security sector, including the intelligence services, should not influence or interfere in the normal democratic political processes that determine who should be in power. Yet that is not the case in Madagascar, where the incumbent president could use the intelligence services to ensure their political survival by eliminating their political enemies. Under pressure from the international community, some security sector reforms were implemented during the 1990s and 2000s to depoliticize and professionalize the sector, focusing particularly on the concept of national security. Nevertheless, the intelligence community was not affected by these reforms and remained highly politicized and unprofessional. Consequently, to consolidate democracy in the country and improve the efficiency of its intelligence community, a reform of this sector is highly recommended. Such reform would lead not only to the establishment of oversight mechanisms and democratic control over the intelligence community, but also to its depoliticization and professionalization. CONCLUSION Although Madagascar has a relatively long history of intelligence dating back to its nineteenth-century kingdom, its current intelligence community appears to be weak and inefficient. This weakness and inefficiency can be explained not only by the lack of financial and human resources at the disposal of the intelligence community, but also by its misuse by the ruling elites. The CIS and SAMIFIN constitute the main components of the current intelligence community. While the CIS is under the control of the president, the SAMIFIN is independent. However, both agencies lack financial and human resources and have a similar method for collecting information, which consists of being the recipient of information from other agencies. As a result, they have more failures than successes on their records, at least publicly. In addition to weakness and inefficiency, the current intelligence culture is also characterized by the lack of an oversight mechanism to review or sanction its activities. This situation constitutes a serious problem in a country striving to be democratic, as there is no safeguard against potential abuses of intelligence services. Consequently, a security sector reform is highly recommended, not only for the consolidation of democracy in the country, but also for the depoliticization and professionalization of the intelligence community.

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NOTES   1.  Global Initiative, “‘Une Plaque Tournante’: Madagascar’s Changing Role in Regional Illicit Markets—Webinar,” Global Initiative, 2020, https://globalinitiative .net/analysis/une-plaque-tournante-madagascar-webinar/.  2. Country Reports on Terrorism 2008—Madagascar (United States Department of State, 2009), https://www.refworld.org/docid/49fac6c11e.html.  3. Martin T. Bimfort, “A Definition of Intelligence,” Central Intelligence Agency, 1995, 5, https://www.cia.gov/static/554d7d05a62d7d6de84b5b84ae6702ae /A-Definition-Of-Intelligence.pdf.   4.  “What Is Intelligence,” Office of the Director of National Intelligence, 2021, https://www.dni.gov/index.php/what-we-do/what-is-intelligence.   5.  Solofo Randrianja and Stephen Ellis, Madagascar: A Short History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009), 316; and Mervyn Brown, A History of Madagascar (Princeton, NJ: Markus Wiener Publishers, 2000), 408.  6. Pierre Randrianarisoa, La diplomatie Malgache face à la politique des Grandes Puissances, 1882–1895 [Malagasy diplomacy faced with the politics of the Great Powers, 1882–1895] (Paris, France: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifiques, Ministere Francaise de l’Education Nationale, 1973), 226.   7.  Nicolas Courtin, “Du gouvernement royal des Hauts Plateaux à l’état colonial Français: L’émergence de dispositifs de polices à Madagascar” [From the royal government of the Hauts Plateaux to the French colonial state: The emergence of police systems in Madagascar], Crime, Histoire & Sociétés 15, no. 2 (2011): 77–95, http:// journals.openedition.org/chs/1290.  8. Ibid.  9. Ibid. 10. Ibid. 11. Randrianarisoa, La diplomatie Malgache. 12.  Ibid., 214. 13.  Courtin, “Du gouvernement royal des Hauts Plateaux.” 14. Maureen Ann Covell, Madagascar: Politics, Economics, and Society (New York: Frances Pinter, 1987), 187. 15.  Rémy Ralibera, Souvenirs et témoignages Malgaches: De la colonisation à la IIIe République [Malagasy souvenirs and testimonies: From colonization to the Third Republic] (Antananarivo, Madagascar: Foi et Justice, 2007), 217. 16.  The DGIDIE was created by Executive Order (Décret) No. 77-313 of September 17, 1977, and supplemented by Executive Order (Décret) No. 85-232 of July 10, 1985. 17.  A praetorian state is one in which the military tends to intervene and potentially dominate the political system. See Amos Perlmutter, The Military and Politics in Modern Times: On Professionals, Praetorians and Revolutionary Soldiers (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1977), 335; Juvence Ramasy, “Madagascar: Les forces armées garantes de la stabilité politique et démocratique” [Madagascar: The armed forces guarantors of political and democratic stability], Identity, Culture and Politics 11, no. 2 (2010): 1–42; and Juvence Ramasy, “Madagascar: The Military



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in Politics,” in Oxford Research Encyclopedia of Politics (Oxford University Press, 2020), https://doi.org/10.1093/acrefore/9780190228637.013.1836. 18.  US Department of State, Country Report on Human Rights Practices for 1991, Ecoi.Net, 1992, https://www.ecoi.net/en/document/1151133.html. 19. United States Department of State, Country Reports on Terrorism 2008— Madagascar. 20.  Executive Order (Décret) No. 2009/282 of March 30, 2009. 21.  Executive Order (Décret) No. 2010-080 of February 24, 2010. 22.  Global Initiative, “‘Une Plaque Tournante.’” 23.  Executive Order (Décret) No. 2003-728 of July 3, 2003, article 2. 24. Ibid. 25. Africa Intelligence, “Madagascar: A Spy in His Prime of Life,” Africa Intelligence, 2006, https://www.africaintelligence.com/eastern-and-southern-africa _politics/2006/01/07/a-spy-in-his-prime-of-life,16902203-art; and United States Department of State, Country Reports on Terrorism 2008—Madagascar. 26.  Executive Order (Décret) No. 2007- 510 of June 4, 2007, article 3. 27. United States Department of State, Country Reports on Terrorism 2008— Madagascar. 28. Ibid. 29.  Executive Order (Décret) No. 63-253 of May 9, 1963, articles 36 and 37. 30.  “Russian Ship Detained in Port Elizabeth for Cargo of Illicit Arms,” Maritime Executive, August, 23, 2018, https://www.maritime-executive.com/article/russian -freighter-detained-in-port-elizabeth-for-cargo-of-illicit-arms. 31.  Michael Schwirtz and Borgia Gaelle, “How Russia Meddles Abroad for Profit: Cash, Trolls and a Cult Leader,” New York Times, November 11, 2019, https://www .nytimes.com/2019/11/11/world/africa/russia-madagascar-election.html. 32.  The center was created in 2015 by the Malagasy government to have an interstate body within which maritime data are periodically centralized, making it possible to issue an early warning in the event of potential maritime risks or proven threats. See http://cfimmadagascar.org. 33.  Jean-Pierre Bat, “Et pour quelques zébus de plus . . . : Trafics et insécurités à Madagascar” [And for a few more zebus . . . : Trafficking and insecurities in Madagascar], Africa4 (blog), Libération, October 16, 2016, https://www.liberation .fr/debats/2016/10/16/et-pour-quelques-zebus-de-plus-trafics-et-insecurites-a-mada gascar_1816877/. 34.  Africa Intelligence, “Madagascar/South Africa: Gold Smugglers Used Same Plane as Finance Ministry,” Africa Intelligence, 2021, https://www.africaintelligence .com/eastern-and-southern-africa_business/2021/01/20/gold-smugglers-used-same -plane-as-finance-ministry,109635631-ar1. 35.  Global Initiative, “‘Une Plaque Tournante.’”

30 Malawi The Role of “Paramilitary” Groups in Political Surveillance Paul Chiudza Banda

This chapter discusses intelligence culture through an analysis of intelligence

gathering and operations in colonial and postcolonial Malawi. Intelligence gathering is an essential component of all governments and is “the world’s second oldest profession.”1 Unlike other studies in the field that analyze the roles played by “traditional” or “mainstream” state intelligence organs, such as the army and the police, this chapter analyzes two paramilitary groups. One served the state during the colonial era: the Nyasaland Volunteer Reserve (NVR). The other served the state during the postcolonial period: the Malawi Young Pioneers (MYP). The roles played by these two groups were wide ranging; apart from serving as intelligence organs, they also served as “development” agents. The NVRs were European settlers in the country, mainly involved in agricultural production. Both organs also served as “spies” for the states that they served, particularly locating and victimizing those deemed to be in opposition to the state. Similarly, the government placed the MYPs in designated bases across the country where agricultural production was the main activity. Both organs had access to state resources, including local and international training, sophisticated weapons, government funding, and the use of state infrastructure, such as offices and ammunition warehouses. In doing so, these two organs helped prolong the lifespans of the states and administrations they served. As Jonathan Bloch and Patrick Fitzgerald explained, “All governments feel the need to be informed of real or imaginary threats to themselves and their territorial and economic interests. Beyond that, they ask for information on weaknesses which can be exploited in pursuit of the same.”2 To tell their stories, this chapter focuses on the “turning points” for which these two organs served the state.

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The country now known as Malawi was a British Protectorate from 1891 to 1964. British interests in the protectorate originated in the mid-nineteenth century, when British explorers and Christian missionaries alerted British authorities about the territory. The protectorate was established in 1891. The first British government official in charge was Sir Harry Hamilton Johnston, who served as consul in 1889. He combined responsibilities for the unclaimed territory and dealings with Portuguese East Africa (now Mozambique). The protectorate’s first name was British Central Africa (BCA). In 1893 the name was changed to British Central Africa Protectorate (BCAP). Under the July 1907 constitution, the name changed yet again, to Nyasaland Protectorate, which occurred alongside changing the title of the most senior government official from commissioner to governor.3 Between 1891 and 1966, Nyasaland had thirteen British governors, of whom the first was Johnston (1891–1896), while the last was Sir Glyn Smallwood Jones, who served as governor from 1961 to 1964, and as governor general from 1964 to 1966.4 From 1953 to 1963, the Nyasaland protectorate was included in a political entity called the Central African Federation (CAF), which brought together the three British territories of Nyasaland (now Malawi), Northern Rhodesia (now Zambia), and Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe).5 From 1964 to 1994, Dr. Hastings Kamuzu Banda ruled Malawi with an iron fist, and in addition to controlling the political system, he and his close party allies and relatives also controlled the country’s economy.6 INTELLIGENCE GATHERING DURING THE COLONIAL PERIOD Studies on colonial intelligence in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East often pinpoint the roles played by mainstream state intelligence organs, especially the police and the army. Since the colonial states were imposed and created without the consent of the indigenous peoples, by the British and other European powers, those areas were often characterized by anti-colonial rebellions. These required robust state security and intelligence gathering activities to defeat. There were intelligence roles played by such organs as the Special Branch (SB) and Criminal Investigation Department (CID) in British territories. Sometimes the government also deployed the military to perform intelligence-gathering services. Those operating in British territories often collaborated with the British government’s intelligence organ, called the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS or MI6). Works by such scholars as Martin Thomas, Keith Jeffrey, and Philip Murphy have covered these issues.7 Philip Murphy has written extensively on the Federal Intelligence and Security Bureau (FISB), which coordinated intelligence services in the CAF for the period 1954 to 1963. Murphy and other scholars posit that although intel-



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ligence offices existed by the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the British were slow to roll them out in the overseas territories. In part, this was because their deployment resembled the use of a “secret police,” which the British government did not want to be associated with, as that was regarded as an inherently un-English pursuit. There was also the lack of workforce to serve as intelligence personnel across the vast British Empire, since Britain usually sent out very few officials to work in the overseas territories. As such, most of Britain’s intelligence activities in Africa and parts of Asia began after the Second World War. The FISB helped the British government and the territorial governments maintain dominion over the colonized peoples, many of whom were in opposition to the imposition of the federation. The information gathered also helped ease intergovernmental tensions and suspicions that afflicted the federation during its lifespan and smoothed connections between the federal and British governments by working together with the MI5 and MI6 in London. In the three territories, the FSIB worked alongside the SB and the CID of the police force.8 The Nyasaland government created the SB in the early 1950s and handled intelligence-gathering services from then onward. It replaced the former Security Branch of the Nyasaland Police.9 These studies have significantly influenced the conceptualization of this chapter. They pinpoint how intelligence collection and dissemination had connections with the political machinations of the colonial period. The intelligence informed policy formulation at both the territorial and imperial levels. However, these studies have some gaps. Among these is that they all focus on the use of the traditional or mainstream intelligence organs at the disposal of the colonial state. Doing so often overlooks the role that paramilitary groups played, such as the NVR. Second, there is an overemphasis on the coercive powers associated with the state intelligence organs. The paramilitary groups also served in other development-related roles, especially in agricultural production. Further, there is a tendency in the scholarship on intelligence gathering in colonial Africa to overemphasize the era of decolonization (mostly from 1945 to the mid-1960s), thereby leaving out other forms of intelligence gathering (though underdeveloped) at the beginning of the twentieth century (before 1945). Therefore, there is a need to explain how paramilitary groups also served African postcolonial states. THE NVR: ITS HISTORY AND SERVICE TO THE NYASALAND COLONIAL STATE European colonial states often faced resistance from their subjects.10 Malawi’s colonial history experience was no different; it has a detailed record of such opposition. One prominent rebellion was the Chilembwe uprising of

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January to February 1915, which unleashed the intelligence-gathering role of the NVR. The 1915 African uprising is usually called the “Chilembwe uprising,” after its leader, Reverend John Chilembwe. He was the leader of an “independent” church called the Providence Industrial Mission (PIM), with its headquarters in Chiradzulo district, in the Shire Highlands. Chilembwe was also a landowner and entrepreneur but was unhappy with colonial-era policies. These included land alienation, high taxation, and forced labor. When the First World War broke out in 1914, the colonial state, through the police, also forcibly enlisted Africans in the protectorate, to work as either combatants in the war zones or carriers; many were mistreated. Many of these Africans were congregants of the PIM or lived in the surrounding areas. The uprising began in earnest on January 23, 1915, as Chilembwe led his men to the nearby European settler–owned estate called the LivingstoneBruce Estates. They beheaded the estate manager, William Jervis Livingstone, and two other European males. The men put Livingstone’s freshly severed head in a basin and took it to the PIM to show the congregants. Apparently Livingstone and his cohorts had mistreated Africans in the area, while the estate had also encroached on African-owned land, including that which Chilembwe claimed. Chilembwe sent some of his men to attack a government weapons warehouse at Mandala, Blantyre, also in the Shire Highlands. As the colonial police intensified the search to capture the ringleaders, Chilembwe and his brother, Morris, attempted to escape into neighboring Portuguese East Africa (modern-day Mozambique). However, on February 3, 1915, the troops captured them near Migowi, in present-day Phalombe district. They shot both dead and severed Morris’s head. Chilembwe’s corpse was carried by official government troops, comprising both Africans and Europeans, and personnel from the NVR. They buried him in an unmarked grave and without a formal ceremony at Mulanje Boma (district headquarters). The troops killed Chilembwe instead of capturing him because they did not want the Africans to continue sympathizing with him if he had still been alive. Similarly, Chilembwe’s grave was unmarked for fear that his followers and admirers would use the gravesite as a shrine.11 The NVR’s history and its role as an intelligence organ during the African uprising and beyond provides an opportunity to appreciate how colonial states, such as the one in Nyasaland, relied on paramilitary groups for both intelligence and counterinsurgency. British settlers in the protectorate laid the foundations for the NVR’s establishment as a private entity in the year 1900. As a volunteer movement, its primary objective was to provide a reserve force of trained sharpshooters for use by the Nyasaland government during emergencies. However, noting its importance, the Nyasaland government did not hesitate to incorporate the movement as part of the government intelligence



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and security organs. By October 1901, the government gazette announced the movement’s meeting, and even suggested the name should be the “British Central African Volunteer Reserve.” The movement’s first units were formed in the southern province, as follows: at Chiromo (later Lower Shire, and later Port Herald) on October 28, 1901; at Blantyre, on November 6, 1901; at Fort Johnston, on November 21, 1901; and at Zomba (the colonial capital), on November 30, 1901.12 By the 1902–1903 fiscal year, the movement had ninetysix registered members and started appearing in annual government reports. These detailed the government’s provision of paramilitary training programs to the volunteers.13 By the 1907–1908 fiscal year, the Nyasaland government, through the Legislative Council, for the first time directly allocated state funds to the NVR. The amount was £600 for buying firearms. Then the government enacted the Volunteer Reserve Ordinance of 1908, under which the government appoint an organizing secretary for the movement. In 1913 the government created the position of staff officer, filled by an army officer of the rank of major, to coordinate the movement’s activities.14 Under the 1908 ordinance, a fully constituted section needed to register a total of ten volunteers or more and required an annual general meeting in the second week of every January. A member of each NVR section was entitled to a government-owned firearm upon completion of paramilitary training. The government provided guns and two hundred rounds of ammunition to each section member. For members to receive a firearm, they had to sign a bond, which included pledging allegiance to the His Majesty’s government and never to use the weapons outside of Nyasaland unless otherwise ordered.15 Apart from these paramilitary activities, the Nyasaland government also felt compelled to work with the NVR because its members were essential to the economic development of the then “young” protectorate. In the protectorate’s early years, the government struggled to raise enough funds to run state affairs, from both domestic and foreign sources (from London). The British government operated on a model that encouraged the overseas territories to be financially self-sustaining. It provided the colonies with “grants-in-aid” funding only when local or domestic revenue did not meet the required domestic expenditure. During the first twenty years of the protectorate’s existence, the government relied on annual financial subsidies from the British South Africa Company (BSAC), ranging from £5,350 to £10,435 per annum.16 The NVR members thus provided the colonial government with the much-needed revenue, through the government’s direction of taxation on imports and exports. They also employed Africans on their large plantations (growing tea, coffee, cotton, and tobacco), and in turn the African laborers paid taxes (poll and hut taxes) to the government.17

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Since the NVR was readily available to the Nyasaland government when the Chilembwe uprising broke out, its members quickly joined forces with the government troops to hunt down the “rebels.” Some NVR members were in the group that eventually captured and killed Chilembwe and his brother on February 3, 1915. While other NVR members lived among the perpetrators of the uprising, the government, under Governor George Smith, relied on them to capture and punish the ringleaders. They provided intelligence that was not readily available to the official government troops because they understood and spoke the vernacular languages. The NVR members, often traveling on motorcycles, served as both patrol and combat officers, tracing the homes and hideouts of the Africans, some of whom lived on or near the private estates of the settlers. For instance, the Namadzi section of the NVR was housed at the Livingstone-Bruce Estates, where the African uprising officially began. The NVR forced African residents on the estates and the surrounding areas to provide incriminating information on fellow Africans. The NVR members participated in the killing of fifty of Chilembwe’s armed fighters (in active combat). During the village-to-village raids, the NVR members looted and destroyed Chilembwe’s church, burned down houses of Chilembwe’s followers, and confiscated property from the Africans, including livestock (such as cattle, goats, ducks, fowls, and pigeons) and grocery items as well as shops. The goal was to remove the competition from emerging African capitalists. They also patrolled the streets of major urban centers in the districts and the modern-day cities of Blantyre and Zomba (the colonial capital). This helped to prevent the purportedly planned killing of other European settlers and the destruction of their businesses in the country. The NVR publicly executed (by hanging and shooting) Chilembwe’s followers without allowing them to be tried in a court of law. The government never accounted for the numbers of those executed under those conditions. Of the Africans arrested, the Nyasaland police force publicly executed thirtysix.18 Having defeated the “rebels,” the NVR continued to exist and served the government in various capacities. By 1932, for instance, the NVR had ten sections across the country, including opening new sections in the central province of the protectorate. The government required NVR members to take the oath of allegiance and to participate in military service when needed, as they had done during the First World War. However, by the time the Second World War began, the NVR was no longer as active as before. As Peter Charlton noted that “their brief moment of glory had blossomed and died.”19 As the NVR’s role diminished, especially with the departure from Nyasaland of many European settlers because of the economic depression, the police handled most of the intelligence activities. Initially the CID worked in that area. In August 1939, the government set up the Nyasaland Police Intel-



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ligence Bureau (NPIB) to work on intelligence matters. In the post–Second World War era, the Special Branch (SB) replaced the NPIB as the organ responsible for intelligence collection and dissemination.20 The important roles played by the NVR in the history of the Nyasaland protectorate are significant for Malawi. They indicate that when governments have limited personnel and funding, the use of nontraditional intelligencegathering sources becomes essential. Apart from providing troops to fight for Britain during the First World War, the NVR covertly and overtly provided intelligence services to the Nyasaland government that helped to avert the further spread of the 1915 African uprising. This also shows that although the colonial state and the European settlers were at loggerheads when it came to matters of security and intelligence gathering, they often worked together. The section that follows focuses on the postcolonial state in Malawi. It discusses how a movement, similar in motive and character, served the Malawi government by performing similar paramilitary roles to those of the NVR. THE MALAWI INDEPENDENT STATE AND INTELLIGENCE ACTIVITIES Malawi gained independence from British colonial rule on July 6, 1964. Two years later, the country attained its republican status. For the period from 1964 to 1994, the country was under the authoritarian rule of Dr. Hastings Kamuzu Banda (1898–1997). Much has been written about Dr. Banda’s time in power, especially how he used the police force, the army, and the MYPs to impinge upon the rights of his perceived and actual political opponents.21 The aim of this section is to locate the role of the MYP movement as a nontraditional state intelligence organ in postcolonial Africa. It makes the connection between the use of a paramilitary movement in postcolonial Malawi and its colonial-era predecessor in the form of the NVR. This link has been absent from the works that have focused on postcolonial Malawi. Although Dr. Banda had shown some authoritarian tendencies during the period prior to independence (1958–1964), it was not until after July 1964 that this became more visible. The turning point for this was the so-called cabinet crisis, from August to October 1964. The major factors revolved around differences between Dr. Banda (the prime minister) and his cabinet colleagues, on matters concerning both domestic and foreign policies. Ultimately, Dr. Banda dismissed three cabinet ministers, while three others resigned in solidarity with the dismissed colleagues.22 Having “survived” the purported “mutiny,” Dr. Banda became even more authoritarian. He had to protect his political position and his economic interests, including those of

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his immediate family members. He could only achieve this if there was state stability and no one challenging the president’s authority. It was in that political climate that the MYP became an important tool for intelligence gathering and dissemination. THE MYP: ITS ROLE IN POLITICAL SURVEILLANCE The MYP movement was the brainchild of Dr. Banda, and its history dates to early 1963. In that year, Dr. Banda, then serving as prime minister of Nyasaland, sent a delegation of ministers to Ghana on a familiarization tour. Apparently Dr. Banda had spent time in Ghana between 1953 and 1958, where his longtime friend, then president of Ghana Kwame Nkrumah, had established a similar youth movement, called the Young Pioneers Movement. Banda wanted a similar organization for Malawi upon gaining independence. He wanted the MYPs to contribute to the country’s economic development and work alongside the Youth League, another youth movement of the nationalist Malawi Congress Party (MCP). The MYPs were to receive training in such areas as agricultural production, carpentry, mechanics, and building construction, among other trades. By the end of 1963, Banda created the MYP’s first National Council, which he served as patron, assisted by other cabinet ministers. The foundational MYPs, nine in total, went to Ghana for training, again in 1963.23 Other Malawian youths trained under Israelis, both in Israel and Malawi. In 1964, for instance, three Israeli officials, led by a Mr. P. Gomen, former leader of Gadna, the Israeli National Youth Movement, deployed to Malawi to train the MYPs. The MYP training included teaching the youth to adhere to these terms in their code of conduct: patriotism, discipline, loyalty, obedience, honesty, self-sacrifice, punctuality, humility, hard work, and courage.24 In 1965 the MYP transitioned from a party-related movement into a government-sponsored entity. The Young Pioneers Act of 1965 formally recognized the MYP as such. It included the following conditions: that all members of the MYP were also members of the MCP. The MYP’s commander would always be a cabinet minister. The minister had the power to call upon the MYPs to support the security forces in matters of law and order. All MYPs wore uniforms and insignia, could carry and use weapons like the security forces, and had powers and duties like police officers.25 On the other hand, there were also other “mainstream” state intelligence agencies, many of which were carryovers from the colonial era. The police branches of the SB and CID continued to serve in roles similar to those of the colonial era. Members of these police branches had powers to arrest Malawi-



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ans without any warrant, either police or court issued. They arrested people on what they deemed “reasonable grounds” for breaching peace and threatening the country’s stability.26 However, the police were often displeased with the operations of the MYP, for two key reasons. First, on numerous occasions the government diverted weapons meant to be used by the police and the army to the MYP. Second, the government also deliberately placed MYP spies in the police and the army, thereby undermining their work.27 Thousands of the country’s youths joined the MYP’s ranks and received training both in Malawi and internationally. While the movement’s early motives were developmental in nature, its security branch and functions, as prescribed in the 1965 act, meant that it is often associated with the atrocities of the Banda regime. The government placed MYP members in government offices, schools and universities, the police, the army, and other state institutions. Others found space in agricultural settlement schemes across the country. There, they spied on real and perceived opponents of the regime. Many of the “opponents” were those with links to or supported the cabinet ministers who were fired or resigned during the 1964 cabinet crisis. The MYP security personnel had the power to arrest Malawians without an arrest warrant by the police or the courts of law. MYP members were also exempt from being arrested by the police, except after consultation with the MYP’s top brass.28 The government purchased sophisticated weapons, mainly from the USA and Great Britain, worth thousands of British pounds, for the security branch, sometimes diverting these from the Malawi Army’s Kamuzu Military College and the Malawi Police’s Ntakataka Training School. The MYP kept the weapons at its training bases across the country; Mount View Estate (in Thyolo district) was the headquarters of the movement’s intelligence services, run with support from the Israeli embassy to Malawi.29 Doing so deprived the Malawi Army of some much-needed weapons, and also weakened the army’s position of defending the Nacala Railway line during the Mozambican Civil War between 1977 and 1992.30 The atrocities committed by the MYP members, through their security and intelligence organs, have been widely uncovered in the post-Banda era from 1994 to the present. Living among Malawians from all sectors of life, the MYP members committed atrocities in the name of the regime, although not always under orders from the party and government top brass. These included arbitrary arrests of thousands of Malawians, the killing of Malawians, and terrorizing and confiscation of property from regime opponents, among other measures.31 It is unsurprising that as the Banda regime was about to collapse, the MYP was targeted for disarmament by the Malawi Army. An altercation at a beer hall between members of the MYP and the army in December 1993 soon degenerated into a countrywide “civil war.” The wider Malawian public,

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who had suffered under MYP atrocities, supported the army’s disarmament pursuit, known locally as “operation bwezani,” which meant “operation return our weapons” in the literal English translation. This also included ransacking MYP offices and training bases across the country. In Lilongwe, the capital, the MYP headquarters, known as Youth House, was torched, and so was the Kamuzu Institute for Youth, where the MYP members engaged in their sporting activities.32 The foregoing developments were a huge blow to the MYP, whose numbers had “swollen” to over 50,000 members by the early 1990s. The foregoing developments were a huge blow to the MYP. By mid-December 1993, a total of 36 MYP military bases were disarmed, and over 2,000 rifles, machine guns, and shotguns were recovered. Elsewhere, the Malawi Army also took over the control of the Mzuzu State House, which was used for MYP activities. In late 1993 the government disarmed the MYP in the aftermath of a national referendum that returned the country to a multiparty democracy. Under a new republican constitution passed in 1995, the MYP ceased to exist. Some members remained in the country as “civilians,” while others fled to neighboring Mozambique, where it was alleged they planned an insurrection to topple the Malawi government.33 The new government and constitution also disbanded the SB of the police. The government no longer relies on using paramilitary agencies, with such roles now performed by police and military agencies.34 Yet intelligence excesses and abuses have continued.35 In 2018 the post-Banda National Intelligence Bureau (NIB) was dissolved and the National Intelligence Service (NIS) created due to NIB spying on opposition political parties, with the official reason given being that the NIB was operating illegally.36 Other reforms were implemented, such as requiring a basic level of education for the intelligence chief. Currently the NIS is under the Office of the President and Cabinet (OPC).37 In 2020 a new government was formed, and President Lazarus McCarthy Chakwera fired the acting police inspector general and NIS chief, Kenam Kalilani, citing corruption.38 Kalilani was subsequently charged with stealing his intelligence services computer.39 It remains to be seen how Malawi will overcome abuses within its intelligence culture and whether past abuses will be addressed to provide victims with justice. CONCLUSION This chapter contributes to the study of intelligence gathering and use in colonial and postcolonial Malawi by examining nonstate actors. It has placed intelligence activities at the center of state operations, agreeing with scholars who emphasize the centrality of intelligence in government operations. It has highlighted the intelligence culture in Malawi with a focus on two paramili-



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tary organizations that served the state in Malawi, namely the NVR and the MYP movement. Both started as nonstate organs before their full incorporation into state intelligence operations. For the NVR, the turning point was the 1915 African uprising, while for the MYP movement the turning point was the 1964 cabinet crisis. What also sets the two movements apart is that both were involved in other “developmental” activities, especially agricultural production. These made them essential for state operations and relations with ordinary people across the country. The atrocities committed by both organizations have yet to be fully accounted for in the country’s history and cast a shadow over the current national intelligence culture. Many abuses took place in “unofficial” settings and hence often went unreported, but the paramilitaries nonetheless acted with government sanction. NOTES  1. Calder Walton, Empire of Secrets: British Intelligence, the Cold War, and the Twilight of Empire (New York: Overlook Press, 2013), 1.   2.  Jonathan Bloch and Patrick Fitzgerald, British Intelligence and Covert Action (Ireland: Brandon Book Publishers, 1983), 15.  3. Annual Report, Nyasaland Report for 1921 (London: HMSO, 1922), 2–4.   4.  David P. Henige, Colonial Governors, from the 15th Century to the Present (Milwaukee: University of Wisconsin Press, 1970), 155–156.   5.  See, for instance, Andrew Cohen, The Politics and Economics of Decolonization in Africa: The Failed Experiment of the Central African Federation (London: I. B. Tauris, 2017).   6.  Guy Mhone, “The Political Economy of Malawi: An Overview,” in Malawi at the Crossroads: The Post-colonial Political Economy ed. Guy C. Z. Mhone (Harare: SAPES Books, 1992), 1–33.   7.  Martin Thomas, “Colonial States as Intelligence States: Security Policing and the Limits of Colonial Rule in France’s Muslim Territories, 1920–1940,” Journal of Strategic Studies 28, no. 6 (2005): 1033–1039; and Keith Jeffrey, “Intelligence and Counterinsurgency Operations: Some Reflections on the British Experience,” Journal of Intelligence and National Security 2, no.1 (1987): 118–141.   8.  Philip Murphy, “Intelligence and Decolonization: The Life and Death of the Federal Intelligence and Security Bureau, 1954–63,” Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 29, no. 2 (2001): 101–113; and Walton, Empire of Secrets, 1–29.   9.  John McCracken, “Coercion and Control in Nyasaland: Aspects of the History of a Colonial Police Force,” Journal of African History 27, no.1 (1986): 140–141. 10.  On African colonial resistance, see T. O. Ranger, “African Reactions to the Imposition of Colonial Rule in East and Central Africa,” in Colonialism in Africa: The History and Politics of Colonialism, 1870–1914, ed. L H. Gann and Peter Duignan (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969), 1:293–324.

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11.  David T. Stuart-Mogg, “A Brief Investigation into the Genealogy of Pastor John Chilembwe of Nyasaland and Some Thoughts upon the Circumstances Surrounding His Death,” Society of Malawi Journal 50, no.1 (1997): 44–58. 12.  Peter Charlton, “Some Notes on the Nyasaland Volunteer Reserve,” Society of Malawi Journal 46, no. 2 (1993): 25. 13.  Great Britain, Report on the Trade and General Condition of the British Central Africa Protectorate for the Year 1902–1903 (London: HMSO, September 1903), 32–33. By 1904, the figure had increased to 125 members. 14. “Nyasaland Volunteer Reserve, History,” S1/397/31, Malawi National Archives (hereafter MNA). 15. Nyasaland Government, Proclamations, Rules and Notices Relating to the Nyasaland Protectorate in force on 31 December 1914, comp. Charles J. Griffin (Judge of the High Court of Nyasaland) and Walter E. Demuth (Barrister at Law), 18–22. 16.  Paul Chiudza Banda, “Decolonizing the BSAC in Nyasaland: Economic and Developmental Implications, 1944–1967,” Journal of the Middle East and Africa 10, no. 4 (October–December 2019): 323–341. 17.  Simon Roberts, “The Direct Taxation of Africans in the Nyasaland protectorate, 1892–1939: Some Determinants of Revenue Policy,” British Tax Review 193 (1967): 192–206. 18.  Stacey Hynd, “The Extreme Penalty of the Law: Mercy and the Death Penalty as Aspects of State Power in Colonial Nyasaland, 1904–47,” Journal of Eastern African Studies 4, no. 3 (2010): 547–548; and George Shepperson, Independent African: John Chilembwe and the Origins, Setting and Significance of the Nyasaland Native Rising of 1915 (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1958), 246–247, 308–309. 19.  A Handbook of Nyasaland (London: Crown Agents for the Colonies, 1932), 428–429. See also Charlton, “Some Notes on the Nyasaland Volunteer Reserve,” 44. 20.  “Police Intelligence Bureau, 1939,” MNA S2/140/39, MNA. See also Cyril Marlow, A History of the Malawi Police Force (1971), 27–28. 21.  See, for instance, Harvey J. Sindima, Malawi’s First Republic: An Economic and Political Analysis (New York: University Press of America, 2002), 133–158; and Bakili Muluzi et al., Democracy with a Price: The History of Malawi since 1900 (Blantyre, Malawi: Jhango Heinemann, 1999), 79–106. 22.  Muluzi et al., Democracy with a Price, 81–90; and Henry M. B. Chipembere, “Malawi in Crisis,” Ufahamu: A Journal of African Studies 11, no.1 (1981): 80–95. 23. “Ngwazi Introduces Young Pioneering,” Malawi News, July 19, 1963; “Ngwazi to Rejuvenate Youths into Pioneers,” Malawi News, August 2, 1963; and Kwame Nkhrumah. Africa Must Unite, 2nd ed. (New York: International Publishers, 1972), 130–131. 24.  Malawi Young Pioneers, “Youth in Malawi: Security and Progress with the Malawi Young Pioneers,” Malawiana Section, Chancellor College Library, University of Malawi. 25.  “The Young Pioneers Act, 1965,” Malawi Government Gazette Supplement, March 19, 1965.



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26. Malawi Government, Annual Report of the Malawi Police Force (1971), 29–37. 27. Confidential dispatch from the British High Commissioner to Malawi, to the Commonwealth Relations Office (CRO), August 21, 1965, DO 224/28: Malawi Young Pioneers and Youth League, The National Archives, United Kingdom (hereafter TNA). 28.  Muluzi et al., Democracy with a Price, 93–94. 29.  Confidential dispatch from the British High Commissioner to Malawi. 30.  TNA FCO 106/2230: “Visit by Colonel C.D.M. Ritchie to Malawi,” UK Ministry of Defense, July 31, 1987. 31.  See Malawi Government, History and Hope in Malawi: Repression, Suffering, and Human Rights under Dr. Kamuzu Banda, 1964–1994 (March 2005). 32.  James Tengatenga, “Operation Bwezani: A Theological Response,” in Church, Law, and Political Transition in Malawi, 1992–94, ed. Matenbo S. Nzunda and Kenneth R. Ross (Gweru, Zimbabwe: Mambo Press, 1995), 101–109. TNA FCO 169/988: “Malawi: Armed Disturbances,” John Martin, British High Commissioner (BHC) to Malawi, to the FCO, 6 December 1993. Telegram no. 287; See also, TNA FCO 169/988: “Malawi Internal: Army Briefing for Press and Diplomatic Community,” John Martin to the FCO, 13 December 1993. Tele-letter no. 011/1. 33.  “Army Must Detain Tembo—MYP,” Chronicle, February 15–21, 1994. 34.  Malawi Government, Constitution of the Republic of Malawi, 2010, section XV, “The Police,” and section XVI, “The Defense Force.” 35.  Gregory Gondwe, “Malawi: Legal Intelligence Service to Help Journalists— Media Guru,” BizCommunity.com, April 5, 2011, https://www.bizcommunity.com /Article/129/15/58386.html. 36.  Owen Khamula, “Malawi Parliament Passes ‘Spies’ Law as Govt Makes Compromises: NIS Replaces NIB,” Nyasa Times, June 13, 2018, https://www.nyasatimes .com/malawi-parliament-passes-spies-law-as-govt-makes-compromises-nis-replaces -nib/. 37. Ibid. 38.  Moses Miachael-Phili, “Malawi Leader Forms New Government,” Anadolu Agency, July 9, 2020, https://www.aa.com.tr/en/africa/malawi-leader-forms-new -government/1904598; and Audrey Kapalamula, “Ex-intelligence Chief Bail Ruling August 3,” Times, July 28, 2020, https://times.mw/ex-intelligence-chief-bail-ruling -august-3/. 39.  “Intelligence Computers Case Stalls as Magistrate Viva Nyimba Is in Covid-19 Isolation,” Nyasa Times, January 28, 2021, https://www.nyasatimes.com/intelligence -computers-case-stalls-as-magistrate-viva-nyimba-is-in-covid-19-isolation/.

31 Mali An Intelligence Culture Developing with International Assistance Charlie Lizza

In 2012, Mali fell into open conflict, sparked by an insurgency that led to a coup d’état, a surge in Islamist terrorism, and a French military intercession to prevent a possible terrorist takeover of Bamako, the capital.1 The international mobilization to contain the threat drove the insurgents underground, transitioning the conflict from open war to peacekeeping efforts in 2013. This latter phase included a United Nations (UN) stabilization mission, two European Union (EU) training missions, and other international assistance programs focused on nation building and developing security capacity.2 While hostilities officially ended in 2015, the UN voiced “serious concern” in 2018 as terror groups mounted attacks against the state and the international missions.3 Indeed, the Sahel saw close to seven thousand deaths in terrorismlinked violence in 2020, up from four thousand in 2019, suggesting that the efforts to build Malian security capacity have not been successful.4 Mali also continues to experience political instability. In August 2020, Malian soldiers, primarily angered by the failures to stem the tide of jihadist violence as well as perceived administrative mismanagement, initiated a coup.5 This takeover—the fifth attempt by the military since 1960 and the third success—threw the ongoing counterterrorism struggle in the Sahel further into jeopardy.6 While neither the country’s terrorism concerns nor issues with its intelligence culture can be untangled from its broader sociopolitical problems, this chapter does not delve deeply into the most recent coup, nor does it explore wider non-security-focused efforts. Though a purely counterterrorism response is insufficient to wholly address the country’s difficulties, this chapter argues that Mali’s intelligence apparatus is underdeveloped and overly reliant on foreign assistance. Beginning with Malian history, it examines the country’s intelligence agencies and their efforts since 2012 and then analyzes how 405

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the unstable political environment, limited economic capacity, and inter- and intra-communal strife affect Malian intelligence culture. Finally, this chapter explores the impacts and limitations of foreign assistance and capacity-building efforts on the country’s intelligence culture and capacity. BACKGROUND Mali gained independence from the French in 1960 and, until 1991, operated as a single-party government through insurgency, coup d’état, and war.7 Following a March 1991 military coup, Mali’s electoral system shifted to multiparty democracy.8 It successfully transitioned power between democratically elected presidents for the first time in 2002, leading to significant praise from the international community.9 However, in January 2012, Taureg nationalists, calling themselves the Movement for the Liberation of Azawad (Mouvement national de libération de l’Azawad, MNLA), began a secession campaign in northern Mali.10 The ineffectual government response in the face of significant rebel successes sparked a military coup in March 2012.11 The resulting uncertainty allowed the rebels to seize all of northern Mali and declare independence from Bamako in April.12 By July 2012, the MNLA, which had allied itself with Islamist militant groups, including Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM), had fractured, and terror groups assumed control of MNLA-held territory.13 In January 2013, as Islamist fighters coalesced within 500 kilometers (about 310 miles) of the capital, the French government launched Operation Serval to stop the terrorist advance.14 Following the operation’s success, the focus shifted to peacekeeping. The Malian government oversees security with the assistance of the United Nations Multidimensional Integrated Stabilization Mission in Mali (MINUSMA), established by the UN Security Council in April 2013, and the French government does so through the cross-Sahel Operation Barkhane, which was officially launched in August 2014.15 However, just as Mali’s intelligence agencies were unable to identify or stem the nationalist and Islamist insurgencies prior to 2013, the peacekeeping missions have had limited success. INTELLIGENCE COMMUNITY There is limited literature regarding Mali’s intelligence agencies and culture, especially compared to the research done on its military. Most of that



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research focuses on military’s intelligence functions and it’s organizational capacity to carry out missions as well as some limited work on government oversight.16 In addition to a fusion center, Mali has three primary intelligence organizations: the State Security General Directorate (Direction Générale de la Sécurité de l’État, DGSE), the Directorate of Military Security (Direction de la Sécurité Militaire, DSM), and the General Intelligence and Territory Surveillance Directorate of the National Police (Direction des Renseignements Généraux et de la Surveillance du Territoiree, DGRG).17 Mali’s premier intelligence agency, the DGSE, has an extremely broad mandate. Established in 1989, the agency is permitted to monitor “all the activities that take in [sic] the country, and by gathering all the information, and all the intelligence on the political, economic, social, cultural, military, and scientific life of the country,” and is empowered to conduct operations through broad access to public and private institutions.18 This access includes the right to detain individuals under suspicion.19 These legal authorities are augmented with significant resources, especially relative to the rest of Mali’s intelligence community.20 The DGSE reports to and “functions under the direct authority of the President,” which allows it to avoid significant government oversight.21 Perhaps unsurprisingly, therefore, allegations of a culture of corruption and human rights abuses are commonplace. For example, Mali’s intelligence director was criticized for throwing a lavish birthday party in March 2019, and the DGSE has been implicated in criminal activity, including obstructing investigations into drug trafficking.22 International observers have accused it of arbitrarily holding prisoners as well as refusing to acknowledge persons held in custody.23 Created in 1995 under the Ministry of Defense, the DSM oversees Mali’s military intelligence apparatus, which includes nearly fourteen thousand personnel from all branches of the military as well as the four-thousand-person Gendarmerie and three-thousand-strong National Guard.24 Overall, international observers consider Malian military capabilities to be lacking, with a culture largely focused on force protection efforts and conducting security operations rather than intelligence and counterterrorism functions, limiting the latter’s efficacy.25 The Gendarmerie appears to have an improved intelligence capacity relative to the military, as “every gendarme receives training to elicit information from the population” as part of their “role as community police in rural areas,” and its Special Forces unit, the National Gendarmerie Intervention Platoon (Peloton d’intervention de la Gendarmerie national, PIGN), has its own intelligence collection processes.26

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Following the 2012 civil war, the DSM pursued reforms to improve intelligence sharing across locations and operations, including setting up Analysis and Fusion Cells (Cellule d’anayse et de Fusion, AFC) in 2014 to better combat threats such as terrorism and crime.27 However, it is unclear how effective these cells are in practice. While the DSGE draws most of its personnel from the ranks of the military, there does not appear to be robust information sharing between the two organizations. Like the DGSE, the military suffers from a culture of corruption and has been implicated in human rights abuses, including extortion, sexual assault, arbitrary executions, and torture.28 Finally, the DGRG falls under the auspices of the Ministry of Security and is mandated to collect and exploit intelligence, oversee all police intelligence efforts, and investigate foreigners.29 The Ministry of Security also houses a fusion center.30 Next, this chapter turns to Mali’s intelligence culture, primarily through the lens of the military. INTELLIGENCE CAPACITY Mali’s intelligence community has shown limited effectiveness, in part due to lack of interagency coordination, ineffective government oversight and direction, and political instability. It has relied on foreign assistance—particularly from France, Germany, and the United States—for several decades. One Malian Army officer noted that while government control of Mali’s intelligence apparatus “exists on paper,” regulation is marred by a lack of clear responsibilities within the government, including “a constitutional vacuum . . . in the legislative control and oversight of the intelligence services” and limited judicial effort to provide oversight and accountability.31 This lack of effective oversight and direction is not unique to the intelligence community. Bamako struggles with endemic corruption and an inability to provide services to large swaths of the country, ensuring that its grasp on legitimacy and authority remains tenuous.32 It has seen two coups since 2012, both led by military members dissatisfied with efforts against the insurgency and government corruption. These national issues prevent effective intelligence efforts, exacerbating the problems facing Malian intelligence culture, including corruption, inadequate staffing, collection biases, and stovepiping. Mali’s intelligence and security services suffer from corruption and do not adequately integrate personnel from the north.33 The former hurts the military internally and externally: it prevents the delivery of adequate equipment and, as soldiers have also been implicated in extortion, assault, murder, and ha-



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rassment of civilians, it undermines the organization’s legitimacy internationally and among citizens.34 Compounding issues of acceptance, particularly in the north, a RAND study of Malian counterterrorism efforts found myriad deficiencies within the military, including that its personnel makeup do not reflect the broader demographics of the country. While the Gendarmerie and National Guard have integrated soldiers from northern minorities into their ranks and conduct long-range patrols, the regular military is primarily staffed with southern personnel, limiting its perceived authority and legitimacy in the north.35 The overreliance on southern personnel also limits intelligence capacity. The military, which does not have its own high-tech collection assets, is only capable of collecting human intelligence (HUMINT), a crucial counterterrorism intelligence source. However, its efficacy is limited because language and cultural barriers between Malians prevent effective intelligence efforts: the majority southern military lacks the ability to collect and exploit intelligence from the more ethnically diverse central and north regions.36 HUMINT is further limited by collection biases: military officials “generally appeared to discount the value of HUMINT, as opposed to technical means of intelligence collection.”37 While technical collection is critical, especially in high-tempo operations such as those conducted by the French in early 2013, HUMINT and similar capacities are requirements for long-term counterterrorism efforts. Much like ethnic integration, Gendarmerie intelligence culture appears to have a different appreciation for the value of HUMINT collection: groups engaged in counterterrorism send personnel out into the field daily to collect intelligence.38 However, the broader language and cultural divides in the military preclude a consistent, holistic understanding of the environment, suggesting that Mali has much work to do before achieving intelligence selfreliance. Further, Mali’s intelligence organizations lack the capacity for simple logistical tasks, including interagency coordination and information sharing. Mali has low literacy, hamstringing its institutional ability to perform management functions. For example, the military is unable to manage basic human resources and financial services, including lacking an official record of service members.39 While not an exact proxy for the Malian intelligence community, presumably the DSM and DGSE suffer from a similar lack of personnel management. Like intelligence communities throughout the world, Mali’s suffers from stovepiping: while military reporting gets disseminated to senior officials, RAND found that “there does not appear to be robust intelligence sharing between [the military] and Mali’s DGSE.”40 This lack of coordination can contribute to intelligence warning failures.

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INTELLIGENCE EFFORTS SINCE 2012 Precipitated in part by the return of Tauregs from Libya following the end of the al-Gaddafi regime, the MNLA separatist movement formed in November 2011. In January 2012, with backing from Islamist groups, the MNLA launched a campaign for northern independence. Between January and March, secessionists and Bamako fought over several northern cities, with the former steadily gaining ground. The insurgents’ success drove unrest in the Malian military members of which initiated a coup and displaced the president in March 2012. The unrest provided an opening for the MNLA to seize all of northern Mali and declare independence in April.41 However, the rebel coalition quickly splintered into conflict between the MNLA and its Islamist backers. While the MNLA had fought for an independent homeland for Tauregs, Islamist groups sought to impose sharia law on the newly captured territory.42 By summer 2012 terrorist groups had pushed the MNLA out of northern Mali, prompting Western concern that the region would turn into a haven for violent Islamist extremism.43 While intelligence efforts alone would not have ameliorated the societal factors that led to the uprising, there were key intelligence failures nonetheless. The DGSE had collected intelligence that groups in northern Mali were considering launching an insurgency, but no agency “assess[ed] the threat that led to Malian state disruption in 2012.”44 This failure left the government unaware of the impending crisis, the mishandling of which, among other factors, led to the coup and loss of northern Mali to Islamist groups. Further, Mali’s intelligence agencies were unable to meet the military’s needs for effective tactical intelligence, as evidenced by the MNLA’s rapid successes from the conflict’s outset. By September 2012, Bamako had asked the international community for military support. Islamist groups consolidated power in the north and began moving southward as the UN approved security assistance.45 In early January 2013, terrorists began marshaling within five hundred kilometers (about 310 miles) of Bamako, prompting fears that the state would fall, and on January 11, 2013, French forces began engaging militants.46 Dubbed Operation Serval, the effort was an unquestionable success. By February 8, 2013, the coalition had retaken most of northern Mali. Such a feat required leveraging significant intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance capabilities as well as tightly aligned analysis efforts to determine targets, provide pertinent data to French forces to enable action, and repeat.47 However, French efforts were largely self-contained within an operation of limited scope, pursued first and foremost in the French national interest.48 The highly technical, rapid intelligence work critical for short-term effectiveness



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did not prove as valuable for long-term local empowerment. Operation Serval was not meant to build Malian capacity or to leverage Malian capabilities, and it did not improve the state’s ability to conduct effective intelligence operations. Thus, while technologically advanced militaries can be effective at eliminating terrorist targets quickly, these rapid successes are often of limited duration, as military victories do not rectify the problems that created the issue. Acknowledging that the counterterrorism success did not grant Mali longterm stability, France handed over stability operations to the UN and transitioned to a purely counterterrorism mission in mid-2013.49 Peacekeeping and capacity-building efforts began under the United Nations Multidimensional Integrated Stabilization Mission in Mali (MINUSMA); the European Union Capacity Building Mission in Mali (EUCAP Sahel Mali), which seeks to bolster Mali’s police and national guard functions; and the European Union Training Mission in Mali (EUTM Mali), which advises and assists Mali’s military. MINUSMA, which has suffered significant casualties since its start, is obligated to protect cities and bolster the Malian state while improving military coordination.50 The mission has drawn commendation for its “firstof-its-kind intelligence-like cell, the All Sources Information Fusion Unit (ASIFU).”51 This cell, staffed by European intelligence personnel, gathers, analyzes, and disseminates intelligence from technical and human sources. However, systemic issues remain: the ASIFU does not share all information with the rest of MINUSMA, and the mission struggles to coordinate with local personnel.52 CULTURAL DIVIDES AND INTRA-COUNTRY STRIFE Mali has little choice but to rely on the international community to fill intelligence gaps, as it has limited resources with which to build or maintain capacity. It was ranked 184th on the Human Development Index in 2020, and the majority of its citizens rely on agriculture to survive.53 Human capital is extremely limited; literacy levels are low, preventing adequate staffing among intelligence and security agencies.54 By 2012 Mali, already struggling economically, faced a recession and a food shortage.55 Additionally, significant ethnic and cultural divides between the desert north of the country and the lowland south continued to drive intra-country strife.56 The majority of the population lives in the south, separated from the remaining 10 percent of northern residents by culture, language, lifestyle, and custom. The south is primarily dominated by a single tribe, while the north has four, each with its own language, internal customs, and intra- and

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intercommunal conflicts, as well as its own set of interests and grievances.57 From its founding, Mali, “a southern construct,” relied on the military—also a southern institution—to hold the country together through spates of violence. Some of these were brutally repressed, which fed more resentment between the regions.58 These drivers and divides were a key component in the 2012 rebellion, leading some analysts to note that “the terrorist problem is nested within the larger security problems and cannot be treated separately, either analytically or with respect to security policy and security sector reform.”59 While the long-standing north-south divisions have changed little, the conflict manifesting as Islamist terrorism is a new phenomenon. It began in 2003, with an Algerian group operating in the north primarily targeting interests outside Mali. In 2007, the cell declared allegiance to al-Qaeda, renamed itself AQIM, and began attacking Malian targets. In 2009, AQIM killed a military officer, and in 2012, it allied itself with MNLA in the uprising against Bamako, becoming an integral part of the north-south conflict.60 This coincided with the rise of other Islamist groups, including Ansar Dine and Movement for Oneness and Jihad in West Africa (MUJAO), both of which have allied with AQIM.61 There are myriad reasons for the rise in membership and support of Islamist militants in northern Mali since the early 2000s. Economic rationales and a sense of abandonment are key factors.62 Northern Mali is incredibly poor, with most income derived from pastoral pursuits and criminal activity.63 Economic hardships are exacerbated by central government corruption, including demanding payments before redressing disputes and charging fines for basic activities like gathering wood for fires.64 Further, Bamako’s development efforts emphasize the interests of southern farmers at the perceived expense of the nomadic, pastoralist north, further aggravating the economic divides and the belief that the central government does not represent the north.65 The same cultural factors that drive support for Islamist groups also impact Mali’s intelligence culture. Poor economic conditions and food scarcity can lead individuals to pursue immediate economic gains and food security over support to government institutions, especially when that government is perceived as corrupt. This weakens Mali’s intelligence culture on two fronts: its intelligence services lack qualified personnel with northern backgrounds, and for operations in the north that rely on human assistance, those that perceive the government as corrupt are unlikely to aid intelligence efforts. INTERNATIONAL ASSISTANCE This section examines some of the issues with post-2013 attempts at capability building through MINUSMA’s intelligence efforts that have had limited



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success. Similar to the connection between societal problems and terrorism, Mali’s lack of intelligence capacity cannot be considered separate from the larger sociopolitical issues facing the country. To help address these broader issues, Mali has welcomed foreign aid. Thus, the most viable option for intelligence and security improvement comes from the international community, and Mali has relied on such assistance for decades. To use a recent example, the 2012 insurgency made it clear that Bamako is unable to rely on its own intelligence apparatus.66 Starting in 2012, the international community has exerted an outsized influence on the country’s intelligence culture. However, external actors have experienced significant issues in bolstering the state, some due to conditions on the ground and some self-inflicted. Such problems have precedents: American efforts to build military counterterrorism capacity before 2012 were abject failures characterized by “mass defections and desertions.”67 As of 2015, the MINUSMA included more than eleven thousand personnel, primarily from Europe and Africa.68 The UN relied on locals for cultural and linguistic expertise as well as boots-on-the-ground activities. Intending to act primarily in a force-multiplier role, it facilitated the introduction of intelligence techniques and equipment to Mali. The intelligence apparatus consists of a Joint Mission Analysis Centre for strategic analysis and a Joint Operations Centre for tactical efforts. However, hampered by lack of local capacity, MINUSMA struggled to produce either. The mission was forced to bolster the intelligence effort with additional European personnel as “a significant proportion of the civilian and local military personnel were illiterate.”69 Any effort to improve Malian intelligence culture, then, is hamstrung by the broader educational challenges. The MINUSMA intelligence effort experienced issues from the start and at all parts of the intelligence cycle. The intelligence apparatus lacked basic equipment, clear direction from the MINUSMA commander, and qualified management and analytic personnel.70 These issues were compounded by personnel rotations, which forced each incoming intelligence unit to essentially repeat the previous group’s efforts, limiting continuity and consistency between rotations.71 For collection, the mission had significant assets in-country between external military technologies and local expertise. However, collection efforts involving African personnel were hampered by a local focus on force protection, a lack of collection tradecraft, and illiteracy. The information that was collected was often trapped in stovepipes: African soldiers were used to a culture of reporting to their command rather than sharing with the peacekeeping mission, and training was unable to fully ameliorate the issue.72 To mitigate these problems, MINUSMA created an innovative intelligence group, the ASIFU, to “improve the processing and production of MINUSMA

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. . . intelligence in order to have accessible and useable information on time” to “support the decisionmaking processes” at the strategic, operational, and tactical levels of MINUSMA.73 While the mission could leverage trained European intelligence officers, they lacked the cultural and linguistic expertise necessary to achieve a holistic picture of the operating environment. The unit also could not overcome significant organizational obstacles. For example, MINUSMA employed two separate, incompatible databases, one of which had stringent classification requirements that prevented information sharing without official declassification requests.74 There were also cultural barriers to collaboration: the ASIFU often did not consult “the many civilian experts that worked within other parts of the [mission],” limiting the quality of its work.75 Finally, international actors also did not share between themselves: Swedish personnel refused to share reports with MINUSMA, as did the French.76 Western-driven human collection operations met roadblocks as well, as European personnel were unfamiliar with local language, history, and customs. Imagery collection from satellites, UAVs, and personnel outfitted with cameras, as well as collection from helicopter units, was a primary intelligence input, as was open source intelligence (OSINT).77 Without being able to fully leverage their local counterparts, the mission is unable to conduct effective HUMINT operations, which are critical for counterterrorism work. MINUSMA intelligence efforts face a number of internal cultural challenges, including stovepiping from technical, cultural, and overclassification perspectives; Western-centric tactics, techniques, and procedures; a reliance on outdated or inefficient technology; and lack of a suitable interface between the mission and local personnel on the ground. These issues preclude effective and efficient capacity building among Malian intelligence agencies, as they cannot fully utilize the experience, knowledge, and technical capacities brought to bear by the international community. Further, MINUSMA cannot overcome language and cultural barriers and is unable to share all available intelligence with stakeholders. African personnel are able to leverage language and cultural proficiencies in pursuit of intelligence priorities, but barriers to information sharing, differing priorities, and lack of qualified personnel prevent a holistic intelligence effort and preclude substantive and sustainable capacity building. CONCLUSION As the 2012 insurrection demonstrated, Mali’s intelligence culture suffers from critical shortcomings, rendering it incapable of providing warning



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intelligence to government officials and tactical intelligence to the military. Mali’s intelligence culture suffers from corruption; has inadequate hiring practices that limit collection; and does not adequately inform government officials, military members, and international partners. As this chapter has argued, these issues are not merely a product of insufficient attention and resource allocation to the intelligence agencies. Rather, Mali suffers from myriad systemic sociopolitical and economic problems, including an unstable political environment, endemic corruption, long-standing ethnic divisions, limited economic prospects, low civilian capacity, and diverse actors with independent interests that all exert pressure on the state. These factors prevent effective governance, weakening Bamako as a whole and undermining its authority and legitimacy, particularly in the north. The intelligence culture is not immune from these broader problems. Indeed, they also undercut the state’s ability to conduct effective intelligence operations and provide for its own security. The international community is also unable to bolster the state, as Mali’s systemic issues cause serious challenges for external capacity building. While MINUSMA and other missions can augment Malian intelligence capabilities by importing technical means of collection and significant analytic expertise, they are unable to fully leverage these assets against terror groups and to improve Malian intelligence efforts. Technical tools and international expertise alone cannot overcome broader problems, such as national illiteracy, low trust in state institutions, and cultural and language barriers. To improve these conditions, there must be wider social and political changes. NOTES 1.  The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not reflect the official policy or position of the Department of Defense or the US government. 2. Bruno Charbonneau, “Intervention in Mali: Building Peace between Peacekeeping and Counterterrorism,” Journal of Contemporary African Studies 35, no. 4 (2017): 415–31; Michael Shurkin, John Gordon IV, Bryan Frederick, and Christopher G. Pernin, Building Armies, Building Nations: Toward a New Approach to Security Force Assistance (Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 2017), 153–80; and Denis M. Tull, “Rebuilding Mali’s Army: The Dissonant Relationship between Mali and its International Partners,” International Affairs 95, no. 2 (2019): 405–406. 3.  Report of the UN Secretary-General on the Situation in Mali, S/2017/811, September 28, 2017, paras. 2, 27, 40. 4.  “Unprecedented Terrorist Violence’ in West Africa, Sahel Region,” UN News, January 8, 2020, https://news.un.org/en/story/2020/01/1054981; and “Central Sahel,

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Burkina Faso,” Global Centre for the Responsibility to Protect, March 15, 2021, https://www.globalr2p.org/countries/burkina-faso/.   5.  Adele Orosz, “Mali: The ‘Good’ Coup d’Etat?,” Just Security, November 19, 2020, https://www.justsecurity.org/73408/mali-the-good-coup-detat/.  6. Orosz, “Mali”;” and “Mali,” in The World Factbook (Central Intelligence Agency, February 5, 2021), https://www.cia.gov/the-world-factbook/countries /mali/#military-and-security.  7. “Mali,” The World Factbook; and Kathleen M. Baker, “Mali,” in Encyclopedia Britannica, 2021, https://www.britannica.com/place/Mali.  8. “Mali,” The World Factbook; and Baker, “Mali.”   9.  A former US ambassador to Mali called the country “one of Africa’s most successful democracies:” Robert Pringle, “Mali’s Unlikely Democracy,” Wilson Quarterly 30, no. 2 (2006): 31–39. 10. Alexis Arieff, “Crisis in Mali,” Congressional Research Service, January 14, 2013, R42664, 5–8, www.fredsakademiet.dk/ordbog/mord/mali_2013.pdf; and Susanna D. Wing, “French Intervention in Mali: Strategic Alliances, Long-Term Regional Presence?,” Small Wars and Insurgencies 27, no. 1 (2016): 61–63. 11. Adam Nossiter, “Soldiers Overthrow Mali Government in Setback for Democracy in Africa,” New York Times, March 22, 2012, https://www.nytimes .com/2012/03/23/world/africa/mali-coup-france-calls-for-elections.html. 12.  Wing, “French Intervention in Mali,” 61–63. 13.  Adam Nossiter, “Jihadists’ Fierce Justice Drives Thousands to Flee Mali,” New York Times, July 17, 2012, https://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/18/world/africa/jidhad ists-fierce-justice-drives-thousands-to-flee-mali.html?_r=1&partner=rss&emc=rss. 14.  Francois Heisbourg, “A Surprising Little War: First Lessons of Mali,” Survival 55, no. 2 (2013): 10–11. 15.  Wing, “French Intervention in Mali,” 65–67; “Francois Hollande’s African Adventures,” Economist, July 19, 2014, https://www.economist.com/europe/2014/07/21 /francois-hollandes-african-adventures; and “Multidimensional Integrated Stabilization Mission in Mali,” United Nations, 2021, https://minusma.unmissions.org/en /history. Operation Barkhane is not considered in-depth in this chapter. 16.  Paul Shemella and Nicholas Tomb, Security Forces in African States: Cases and Assessment (Amherst, NY: Cambria Press, 2017), 115; and Adama Mahamane Maiga, “Challenges to Reforming Intelligence Agencies in Re-Democratizing Countries: The Case of Mali” (MA thesis, Naval Postgraduate School, September 2018), https://apps.dtic.mil/dtic/tr/fulltext/u2/1065430.pdf. 17.  Maiga, “Challenges to Reforming Intelligence Agencies,” 14. Seealso “Section II Article 9,” Journal Officiel, no. 5 (February 20, 2005): 167, http://www.sgg-mali .ml/JO/2005/mali-jo-2005-05.pdf. 18. Ibid., 15–17. 19.  2019 Mali Human Rights Report (US Embassy in Mali, May 26, 2020), https:// ml.usembassy.gov/2019-mali-human-rights-report/. 20.  Maiga, “Challenges to Reforming Intelligence Agencies,” 16–17. 21. Ibid., 16.



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22.  “Malians Shocked by Intelligence Director’s Extravagant Birthday Bash,” The Observers, France 24, March 14, 2019, https://observers.france24.com/en/20190314 -mali-diawara-intelligence-director-birthday-bash; and Karolina MacLachlan, Elise Dufief, James Hall, Kari Kietzer, and Xavier Lhote, “Security Assistance, Corruption, and Fragile Environments Exploring the Case of Mali 2001–2012,” Transparency International, August 2015, 23, http://ti-defence.org/wp-content /uploads/2016/03/150818-150817-Security-assistance-corruption-and-fragile-envi ronments-Exploring-the-case-of-Mali-2001-2012.pdf. 23.  2019 Mali Human Rights Report. 24. Maiga, “Challenges to Reforming Intelligence Agencies,” 15, 17–20; and “Mali SSR Background Note,” Geneva Centre for Security Sector Governance, International Security Sector Advisory Team, November 2, 2019, https://issat.dcaf.ch /Learn/Resource-Library/Country-Profiles/Mali-SSR-Background-Note. 25.  Michael Shurkin, Stephanie Pezard, and S. Rebecca Zimmerman, Mali’s Next Battle: Improving Counterterrorism Capabilities (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 2017), x, 50, https://www.rand.org/pubs/research_reports/RR1241.html. 26.  Ibid., 73, 81. 27.  Maiga, “Challenges to Reforming Intelligence Agencies,” 18–20. 28.  Ibid., 37–38; 73; and 2019 Mali Human Rights Report. 29.  Maiga, “Challenges to Reforming Intelligence Agencies,” 20–21. 30.  Ibid., 20–21. 31.  Ibid., 23–25 32. “World Report 2015: Mali,” Human Rights Watch, 2021, https://www.hrw .org/world-report/2015/country-chapters/mali?page=1#. 33.  Shurkin, Pezard, and Zimmerman, Mali’s Next Battle, x–xi. 34.  Ibid., 74–75; and 2019 Mali Human Rights Report. 35.  Shurkin, Pezard, and Zimmerman, Mali’s Next Battle, x–xi. 36.  Ibid., 72. 37.  Ibid., 73. 38.  Ibid., 73. 39.  Ibid., x–xi, 65, 75. 40.  Ibid., 73. 41.  Wing, “French Intervention in Mali,” 61–63; and “Mali Tuareg Rebels Declare Independence in the North,” BBC, April 6, 2012, https://www.bbc.com/news/world -africa-17635437. 42.  Callimachi, “Mali Rebellion.” 43.  Arieff, “Crisis in Mali,” 5–8; and Nossiter, “Jihadists’ Fierce Justice.” 44.  Maiga, “Challenges to Reforming Intelligence Agencies,” 22. 45.  Arieff, “Crisis in Mali,” 5. 46.  Ibid., 1–2; Heisbourg, “Surprising Little War,” 10–11; and “France Launches Mali Military Intervention,” Al Jazeera, January 11, 2013, https://www.aljazeera .com/news/2013/1/11/france-launches-mali-military-intervention. 47.  Heisbourg, “Surprising Little War,” 11–12. 48.  Arieff, “Crisis in Mali,” 1–2. 49.  Wing, “French Intervention in Mali,” 65.

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50.  Shurkin, Pezard, and Zimmerman, Mali’s Next Battle, 93–104. 51.  Ibid., 93–94. 52.  Ibid., 94. 53.  Human Development Reports, United Nations Development Programme, 2021, http://hdr.undp.org/en/data. 54.  Shurkin, Pezard, and Zimmerman, Mali’s Next Battle, 65. 55.  Arieff, “Crisis in Mali,” 1, 12. 56.  Heisbourg, “Surprising Little War,” 7–8. 57.  Ibid., 8–11, 14–15. 58.  Shurkin, Pezard, and Zimmerman, Mali’s Next Battle, x–xi, 8–11, 14–15. 59.  Ibid., 5. 60.  Ibid., 11–13. 61.  Ibid., 13–14. 62. Tor A. Benjaminsen and Boubacar Ba, “Why Do Pastoralists in Mali Join Jihadist Groups? A Political Ecological Explanation,” Journal of Peasant Studies 49, no. 1 (2019): 1; and Shurkin, Pezard, and Zimmerman, Mali’s Next Battle, 5–25. 63. “Drug Trafficking, Violence and Politics in Northern Mali,” International Crisis Group, December 13, 2018, https://www.crisisgroup.org/africa/sahel/mali/267 -narcotrafic-violence-et-politique-au-nord-du-mali; and Benjaminsen and Ba, “Why Do Pastoralists in Mali Join Jihadist Groups?,” 10–12. 64.  Benjaminsen and Ba, “Why Do Pastoralists in Mali Join Jihadist Groups?” 22–23. 65.  Ibid., 1, 22–23. 66.  Denis M. Tull, “Rebuilding Mali’s Army: The Dissonant Relationship between Mali and Its International Partners,” International Affairs 95, no. 2 (2019): 408–409. 67.  Shurkin, Pezard, and Zimmerman, Mali’s Next Battle, 1. 68. Ibid., 93; and Sebastiaan Rietjens and A. Walter Dorn, “The Evolution of Peacekeeping Intelligence: The UN’s Laboratory in Mali,” in Perspectives on Military Intelligence from the First World War to Mali, ed. Floribert Baudet, Eleni Braat, Jeoffrey van Woensel, and Aad Wever (The Hague: T. M. C. Asser Press, 2017), 200. 69.  Rietjens and Dorn, “Evolution of Peacekeeping Intelligence,” 197–205. 70.  Ibid., 204–205. 71.  Ibid., 204–205. 72.  Ibid., 205–206. 73.  Ibid., 201–202. 74.  Ibid., 211. 75.  Ibid., 201–202. 76.  Ibid., 216–217. 77.  Ibid., 205–210.

32 Mauritania Intelligence Culture at Domestic and International Crossroads Ryan Shaffer

Mauritania is a Northwest African country notable for military control over

the government and having had the highest proportion of slaves in the world. An Islamic Republic with diverse ethnic groups, the country is largely dependent on the exportation of natural resources for its economy and was rated 157 by the Human Development Index in 2020, with 50 percent of the population in multidimensional poverty.1 In terms of geography and population, it “is one of the largest and least populated countries of West Africa.”2 The country’s official languages are Arabic and French, and it has about four million people in three significant ethnic groups: black Moors (Arab-speaking slaves or former slaves with African ancestry who were “enslaved by white Moors”), white Moors (Arab-Berber ancestry), and sub-Saharan Mauritanians (various non-Arabic speaking ethnic clusters).3 Security challenges in the country include widespread violent crime, communal conflict, corruption, and terrorism; there is an active al-Qaeda presence in bordering Mali.4 Additionally, the military has played a significant role in the country’s government through repeated coups, human rights violations, and suppression of political opposition. Most notably, while the president officially outlawed slavery in 1980 and its prohibition was officially passed the following year, slavery persists, and its legacies continue to play a role in the country.5 This chapter examines Mauritania’s intelligence culture by looking at the intersection of security, military control, and corruption. In doing so, the chapter argues that Mauritanian intelligence culture has been marked by abuses and politicized actions against opponents, while its capabilities and training against transnational terrorism have improved. Scholarship about general topics related to Mauritania written in English is limited, which also means there is even less research published about intelligence. The reasons 419

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for this include the country’s relatively small population, that its official languages do not include English, and that censorship and political suppression impede serious research on important matters like security. This chapter draws from the limited English-language research as well as government and international organization websites. In doing so, it is organized in four parts. The first provides a historical background about the security sector’s role in governance. Next, the chapter examines specific intelligence agencies and relationships, with attention to culture. Then it explores international security relations by exploring partners and institutions. Last, the chapter concludes with a summary of current challenges to the country and characteristics of the intelligence culture. BACKGROUND The country that is now the Islamic Republic of Mauritania was originally colonized by France, which maintained power by co-opting tribal elites.6 The colonial administration faced armed resistance during the interwar period, and the Second World War loosened French control, prompting the devolution of power to locals.7 In November 1960, Mauritania officially gained independence, with Moktar Ould Daddah, one of six university graduates in the country, becoming president.8 Scholar Noel Foster described the context at independence: “There were virtually no professionals, few streets and government offices, and only two high schools.”9 The ensuing wave of Arab nationalism and opposition to French-educated elites gave way to an Arabization policy, with Arabic becoming an official language in 1968.10 Following the Saharan War, which proved devastating for the country’s economy, Daddah was overthrown by a military coup in July 1978 and fled to France. The military proved unable to solve the country’s problems and ceded the country’s claims to Western Sahara in 1979. Boubacar N’Diaye’s research on the leadership of Mauritania highlighted the outsized role of the military. He explained that in the over fifty years since independence from France, the country “was ruled by military officers” except for the first seventeen years and a brief period in 2007 and 2008.11 Indeed, the 1978 coup was the beginning of decades of military rule, which impacted society and political culture. As Foster described, “the successive military juntas brought their worldviews to the ministries they took over,” which were “unschooled, unprepared for governance, and bereft of a political base.”12 While there was a series of military leaders, Maaouya Ould Sid’Ahmed Taya served from December 1984 until he was deposed in August 2005 and left a lasting legacy that shaped the country’s society, politics, and foreign rela-



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tions. N’Diaye explained, “Ould Taya has been consistently described as an uncharismatic, taciturn, spiteful man” and “depicted as an impulsive, morbidly insecure, narcissistic, ‘petty tyrant’ of uncommon drive, vindictiveness, and cunning” who was possibly mentally ill.13 His power ended when he was forced out in the 2005 coup, and Ely Ould Mohamed Vall, director of the General Directorate for National Security (Direction Générale De La Sûreté Nationale, DGSN) since 1984, replaced him. Vall used his power to have his cousin appointed the president’s bodyguard and later to head the Presidential Security Battalion (BASEP), which “enable[d] him to pull off two coups” within three years.14 A brief period of democratic rule that began in 2007 had ended in 2008 when the president “fired all the most senior commanders within the military and security establishment,” provoking another coup.15 More recently, in 2020 Freedom House changed its rating of the country from “not free” to “partly free” because of “a relatively credible presidential election that resulted in the country’s first peaceful transfer of power after the incumbent completed his term, signaling a departure from a history of military coups.”16 Current president Mohamed Ould Ghazouani, who won the August 2019 election, served as director of the DGSN after the 2005 coup and was chief of staff of the Armed Forces from 2008 to 2018 and minister of defense from 2018 to 2019.17 Despite the relative change in the election process, the country is still plagued by limits on freedom, including journalists facing arrest for writing about certain topics, as well as discrimination against groups including black Mauritanians and women.18 A 2014 United Nations (UN) report, for example, found: “Approximately 50 per cent of the Haratine community are in conditions of de facto slavery through domestic servitude and bonded or forced labour. The Haratine remain marginalized and underrepresented in political and public positions.”19 A subsequent UN finding in 2018 stated that the Mauritanian government did not provide data to analyze discrimination or ethnic groups and noted the “persistence” of slavery in the country.20 Additionally, Freedom House pointed out that the government was improving “laws that address the problem of institutionalized slavery and discrimination” but continued “to arrest antislavery and antidiscrimination activists.”21 Though internal security in terms of coup proofing and suppressing political dissent was a priority, Mauritania’s intelligence services have faced several international and transnational threats. In 1989, Mauritania and Senegal clashed following a local conflict that sparked riots in Senegal, which “incited” riots in both countries.22 The government was involved in executions and torture, while the conflict involved the displacement or expulsion of about 400,000 people on both sides of the border.23 The September 11, 2001, attacks brought about a significant change by allowing the country to rebrand itself as “uncompromising against encroaching Islamist terrorism to cement

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a strong security relationship with the United States.”24 Notably, Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM), initially founded by Mokhtar Belmokhtar, who received training in Afghanistan during the 1990s, expanded “operations across the Sahel into Mauritania, Mali, Niger, and elsewhere.”25 AQIM has since recruited Mauritanians, set up terrorist training camps in the country, and committed terrorist attacks, with its first suicide bombing on a “street between the French and Libyan embassies” in August 2009.26 INTELLIGENCE CULTURE Mauritania’s intelligence services have their origins in the French colonial system but have transformed in the more than sixty years since then through repeated coups and military juntas. Indeed, the political leadership has been intertwined with the security establishment for at least forty years. In addition to the services seeking information on foreign and domestic actors, article 67 of the country’s penal code defines crimes against national security as bearing arms against the state, engaging with foreign intelligence services that undermine the state, or damaging military installations.27 Thus, the country’s intelligence culture has been marked by politicized and militarized governments as they collect information on domestic and foreign threats. The country’s main civilian intelligence agency is the Department of Research and Information (Direction études et de la Documentation, DED), which was founded in December 1984 following the disbanding of the Studies and Documentation Office (Bureau d’études et de la Documentation), which had become synonymous with repression.28 Much remains unknown about the DED’s personnel size, resources, budget, and “whether it placed primary reliance on human- or technology-based methods of gathering information.”29 However, it was reported that DED was likely “tasked with the refinement of raw intelligence gathered not only by the agency itself but also by the Gendarmarie Nationale and intelligence departments (deuxième bureax) of the Mauritian armed forces.”30 The DED’s headquarters during the 1990s was “in a non-descript two-story building near one of Nouakchott’s largest mosques,” and its powers to arrest, imprison, and interrogate suspects are unclear.31 The current status of the DED is unknown, as there is little information about it. There are other internal security services—the National Gendarmerie (Gendarmerie Nationale), National Guard (Garde Nationale), and DGSN— which each have their own “intelligence bureaus” with “parallel intelligence networks loyal to the commander.”32 The National Guard conducts some police duties by protecting government sites and security, while the National Gendarmerie serves a “paramilitary police force.”33 The DGSN is an urban



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police force that had about one thousand personnel in the mid-1980s. Under the Ministry of Interior and Decentralization, the DGSN is the “only” police force in the country, and Law 007/2010 tasked it with the country’s internal and external security, including counterterrorism, migration, and financial crimes.34 Colonel Ely Ould Mohamed Vall was head of the DGSN from 1984 to 2005, at which point he became president following the August 2005 coup, and Mohamed Ould Ghazouani (current president of the country since 2019) became director of DGSN.35 The DGSN officers have significant powers to prevent or break up meetings and detain or imprison individuals. The officers also earned a reputation for human rights abuses, including attacking campaigners against slavery.36 As of 2021, the DGSN is headed by Mohamed Ould Meguet, who was involved in the 2007 coup and was a member of the then decision-making High Council of State.37 A 2012 decree defined the Ministry of Interior and Decentralization’s powers as maintaining public order, being responsible for the police, promoting democracy, and conducting a census, among many others.38 The four institutions for internal security and civil protection include DGSN, the National Guard, the General Road Safety Group that provides safety and controls checkpoints, and the General Directorate of Civil Protection.39 The DGSN in particular is charged under article 87 with maintaining public order, obtaining intelligence, maintaining border security, controlling weapons, and managing the national identification card system.40 If one uses Mauritania’s other security institutions to extrapolate characteristics of the intelligence services, its community appears to be limited in size, with mostly outdated equipment that restricts operations. The official numbers in the country’s security institutions are unknown, but the International Institute for Strategic Studies in 2020 estimated they have 15,850 active military personnel (15,000 in the army, 600 in the navy, and 250 in the air force) as well as a Gendarmerie of 3,000 and a National Guard of 2,000, both under the control of the Ministry of Interior and Decentralization.41 The country lacks a defense industry and “has a limited and ageing equipment inventory, which hampers operational capability.”42 The military is focused on “territorial integrity and internal security” as well as “border security” and “counter-insurgency operations in the desert” against terrorists.43 The military has long had intelligence capabilities. In 1987, the country’s military was divided into several sections, including intelligence, and led by the president, who also served as defense minister.44 The army was organized by five geographic regions. Overall military strength appeared to peak at about seventeen thousand in July 1978 against the Polisario Front during the Western Sahara War. Currently the Army’s Second Bureau (Deuxième

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Bureau) is part of the national staff tasked with providing the military leadership with information and collecting “internal” intelligence.45 For many, membership in a security service is key to accessing money. As Foster explained, “those stationed in populated areas with authority over the populace and those with access to funds” were better off than others.46 Often the choice is to join the military or paramilitary forces “while avoiding service in the regular Army units at all costs.”47 Indeed, this has led to violent confrontation between the services, such as in 2005 when army servicemembers surrounded a police station that was holding an army member.48 Moreover, Foster notes that in the early 2000s, the military became increasingly involved in business and less focused on “war fighting,” as accountability was “replaced by the new businessman’s concern for their assets.”49 Indeed, “the security establishment controlled the police and investigative services,” which allowed the government to blackmail people and attack critics.50 In particular, “the country’s security and intelligence services” controlled “personal dossiers and evidence,” which were used as “trump cards.”51 The composition of the intelligence services is unknown, but historically recruitment to the military involved discrimination against blacks and provoked resentment.52 Military and security jobs are highly sought after, as they provide steady income and the possibility of foreign travel. Indeed, Anouar Boukhars describes sociopolitical tensions as one of three internal stresses that drive insecurity, while the country lacks a unified national identity based on inclusion.53 While the French colonial government favored black Africans, who accounted for one-third of the population, for government positions, after independence the new government began Arabizing the country, and there is persistent discrimination against black Africans and the Haratin, black Arabic-speaking Moors who are descendants of slaves.54 The security sector has been described as abusive, with the authorities targeting and detaining civil society activists while doing little to stem slavery or abuse of women. The annual Human Rights Report from the US Department of State concluded: “Civilian authorities maintained effective control over the security forces” and the “security forces committed some abuses.”55 Abuses included “an arbitrary or unlawful killing,” torture, poor prison conditions, and subjective arrests despite each security service having an investigative body.56 In terms of broader oversight, power in the country is concentrated in the hands of the president, who appoints the prime minister and ministers of the cabinet.57 The government limits the ability of political parties to function, denying registration of parties and dispersing protests. Amnesty International described authorities as restricting human rights; critics were “subjected to intimidation, harassment, arbitrary arrests and detentions” and international human rights campaigners were prevented from entering the country.58



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Likewise, Human Rights Watch has noted authorities detaining opposition activists surrounding the 2019 election, with some receiving prison terms.59 The government stopped Internet service for more than a week after the elections and arrested critics under criminal defamation laws as well as laws prohibiting hate speech.60 Additionally, the 1964 Law of Associations requires permission from the government for people to group together and allows the Ministry of Interior and Decentralization to refuse permission on the basis of “anti-national propaganda” or “an unwelcome influence on the minds of the people.”61 The punishment of certain activities is also subjective. An estimated 2.4 percent of the population are slaves in the country, but in 2019 the government only investigated four cases and did not convict anyone.62 Meanwhile, blasphemy and homosexuality among Muslims are punishable by death.63 INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS Though it is unclear which countries have intelligence relationships with Mauritania, countries with common security threats generally cooperate by sharing information. Immediately following independence, France was the country’s main source of equipment and training, and it left the country in 1966 with a military of about one thousand personnel.64 Since then the country’s security focus and partnerships have developed. AQIM specifically and radicalization of youth in general pose a significant threat to the country, necessitating improved intelligence. In fact, Foster pointed to a 2009 case in which AQIM murdered an American missionary as evidence that Mauritania’s “domestic intelligence services could not neutralize these cells by isolating them from their logistics or their command and control in the vast expanses of the Sahara desert.”65 Indeed, the threat of terrorism seems to be a significant factor in shaping foreign cooperation and aid. In 2020, scholar Anouar Boukhars wrote that Mauritanian “intelligence services were inadequately trained and ill-equipped, and many of their assignments focused on targeting political opponents and rivals,” but to fight terrorism the government concentrated on “developing both field-level human intelligence networks and technical capabilities.”66 This included revamping older capabilities, including the Nomad Group, the military’s camel-backed units, and acquiring “modern surveillance radar.”67 President Abdel Aziz, from 2009 to 2019, and current president Ghazouani (then defense minister) initiated “the most significant military reforms in Mauritanian history” and quadrupled the defense budget “from 2008 to 2018 (to $160 million).”68 Foreign aid, such as from the European Union, is also used to bolster security.69 Vehicles, planes, and helicopters were purchased for surveillance, including combating

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cross-border crime. China has also provided equipment in addition to financial aid for infrastructure development, including an airport and a seaport.70 The international relations of the country have been unique for an Islamic Republic. As a country with diplomatic relations and friendly ties with the United States, it readily accepts assistance from a range of countries. In terms of relations, Foster explained in the mid-1990s that the United States saw Mauritania as “a Baathist state that favored Saddam Hussein, supported slavery and enforced white Moor supremacy at gunpoint.”71 In 1999, the United States was involved in forging full Mauritania–Israel diplomatic relations, but relations were broken off in 2008 by Mauritania following Israeli actions in Gaza, and the Israeli embassy in Mauritania was attacked shortly afterward.72 The country embraced the West in the fight against terrorism because of its own jihadist threat as well as to gain more international support. Significantly, Mahfouz Ould al-Walid, a Mauritanian Islamic scholar who was an al-Qaeda associate, operated an Islamic school in Afghanistan during the 1990s and was named in Osama bin Laden’s will.73 The most notable Mauritanian accused of terrorism was Mohamedou Ould Slahi, who was held by the United States in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, for fourteen years, after which he was returned to Mauritania without charge.74 Mauritania is also a member of the Trans-Sahara Counterterrorism Partnership, a US-led group of a dozen countries to counter violent extremism.75 The Mauritanian Army website contains many photos of Mauritanian military intelligence leaders meeting foreign diplomats and defense leaders from, for example, Algeria, France, United Arab Emirates, and the United States.76 As for regional cooperation, in February 2014, G5 Sahel (G5 du Sahel) was founded, with Mauritania joining Burkina Faso, Chad, Mali, and Niger to cooperate on governance, infrastructure, and security.77 The country’s capital was selected as the location of the G5 Sahel Collège de Défense, and the campus in Nouakchott trains leaders of the armies, gendarmeries, and guards through a one-year education program.78 CONCLUSION Mauritania’s intelligence culture shapes and is shaped by ethnic divides, military juntas, corruption, repression of political opponents, absence of the rule, and human rights abuses. As the State Department concluded in its annual report, “Impunity was a serious problem in the security forces” and “politicization, corruption, and ethnic tensions between the Beydane-majority security forces and Haratine (‘Black Moor’ Arab slave descendants) and subSaharan communities were primary factors contributing to impunity.”79 It is



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important to note that there are professional officers seeking improvement of their government and society.80 Notably, the government has launched several anti-corruption efforts and initiated prosecutions of public servants.81 Meanwhile, the country faces very real national security threats, increasing the need for professional intelligence services. Since the government has been repeatedly led by military officers who seized power through coups and most recently in an election, the security sector has played and continues to play a significant role in politics. Indeed, for the security sector to act, it requires intelligence. If the government continues to silence critics, be led by the military, and maintain power through arbitrary law enforcement, then the country’s intelligence culture will continue to be seen as corrupt, politicized, and militarized. NOTES  1. Mauritania (United Nations Human Development Reports, 2021), www.hdr .undp.org/en/countries/profiles/MRT.  2. “Mauritania,” Oxfam International, 2021, https://www.oxfam.org/en/what -we-do/countries/mauritania.  3. “Mauritania,” in The World Factbook (Central Intelligence Agency, 2021), https://www.cia.gov/the-world-factbook/countries/mauritania/.  4. Mauritania 2020 Crime & Safety Report (US Department of State, Overseas Security Advisory Council, April 16, 2020), https://www.osac.gov/Content /Report/37f54420-a772-4254-af59-1875fb6f7f5a.   5.  Katherine Ann Wiley, Work, Social Status, and Gender in Post-Slavery Mauritania (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2018), 8.  6. Noel Foster, Mauritania: The Struggle for Democracy (Boulder, CO: First Forum Press, 2011), 18.  7. Ibid., 19.  8. Ibid., 20.  9. Ibid., 20. 10.  Ibid., 21. 11. Boubacar N’Diaye, Mauritania’s Colonels: Political Leadership, CivilMilitary Relations and Democratization (New York: Routledge, 2018), 6. 12. Foster, Mauritania, 31. 13. N’Diaye, Mauritania’s Colonels, 39. 14.  Ibid., 36. 15. Foster, Mauritania, 183. 16.  “Mauritania,” Freedom House, 2021, https://freedomhouse.org/country/mauri tania/freedom-world/2020. 17. “‫[ ”السيرة الذاتية للفريق محمد ولد الغزواني‬Biography of the team Mohamed Ould Al-Ghazwani], aqlame.com, October 31, 2018, https://web.archive.org /web/20190331231743/http://aqlame.com/article39153.html. 18.  “Mauritania,” Freedom House.

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19.  Report of the Special Rapporteur on Contemporary Forms of Racism, Racial Discrimination, Xenophobia and Related Intolerance, Mutuma Ruteere, A/ HRC/26/49/Add.1 (United Nations, June 3, 2014), 4, https://reliefweb.int/sites/relief web.int/files/resources/A_HRC_26_49_Add_1_ENG.pdf. 20.  Concluding Observations on the Combined Eighth to Fourteenth Periodic Reports of Mauritania, CERD/C/MRT/CO/8-14 (United Nations, May 30, 2018), 2, 3, https://docstore.ohchr.org/SelfServices/FilesHandler.ashx?enc=6QkG1d%2fPPRi CAqhKb7yhsm4K61N4LXZ1gUQrOXkYgOmW4flMTgDSTxkbn6MdD7PxROgc QI%2fU89Q61p7hCQpddK%2ffQHi%2fMv7XHiUs8Cy1mxiavb4QW5DKp67gJg RMecrW. 21.  “Mauritania,” Freedom House. 22. Foster, Mauritania, 35. 23.  Ibid., 35. 24.  Ibid., 43. 25. J. Peter Pham, “The Dangerous ‘Pragmatism’ of Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb,” Journal of the Middle East and Africa 2, no. 1 (2011): 18. 26.  Ibid., 18, 19. 27.  See Article 67 in “Ordonnance 83-162 du 09 juillet 1983 portant institution d’un Code Pénal” [Ordinance 83-162 of July 9, 1983 establishing a Penal Code], Journal Officiel de la République Islamique de Mauritanie (1984), https://www .refworld.org/pdfid/491c1ffc2.pdf. 28. Anthony G. Pazzanita, ed., Historical Dictionary of Mauritania (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2008), 110:172. 29.  Ibid., 172. 30.  Ibid., 173. 31.  Ibid., 173. 32. Foster, Mauritania, 66. 33.  2020 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Mauritania (US Department of State, 2021), https://www.state.gov/reports/2020-country-reports-on-human -rights-practices/mauritania/. 34.  “Présentation” [Presentation], Police.gov.mr, 2021, http://www.police.gov.mr /index.php/en/police-nationale/presentation. 35. Pazzanita, Historical Dictionary of Mauritania, 173; and “‫السيرة الذاتية للفريق محمد‬ ‫ولد الغزواني‬.” 36. Pazzanita, Historical Dictionary of Mauritania, 173. 37. “Présentation”; and “The High Council of State Makes Public a New Release,” Mauritian Development Gateway, 2021, www.pmd.mr/pages/en /article?idTopic=5AF40FD7-550A-8054-0107-1619F042F4BE&idRubric=3419 DE22-550A-8054-00C9-0235DCD47834&idArticle=9DB13222-3EC1-E168-016D -154FDA3E491A. 38.  “Décret n° 086.2012/ PM du 28 mai 2012 fixant les Attributions du Ministre de l’Intérieur et de la Décentralisation et l’Organisation de l’Administration Centrale de son Département” [Decree No. 086.2012 / PM of May 28, 2012 establishing the powers of the Minister of the Interior and the decentralization and organization of the



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Central Administration of its Department], Mauritania, 2021, http://extwprlegs1.fao .org/docs/pdf/Mau177566.pdf. 39.  Ibid.; see also: “Biographie du Ministre,” Ministry of Interior and Decentralization, 2021, https://www.interieur.gov.mr/index.php/fr/node/26. 40. Ibid. 41.  International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Middle East and North Africa,” Military Balance 120, no. 1 (2020): 365, 366. 42.  Ibid., 365. 43.  Ibid., 365. 44.  Mauritania: A Country Study (Washington, DC Federal Research Division of the Library of Congress, 1988), http://www.country-data.com/cgi-bin/query/r-8589 .html. 45.  “Deuxième Bureau” [Second Bureau], Armée Nationale Mauritanienne, 2021. http://www.msgg.gov.mr/sites/default/files/2020-11/J.O.%201403F%20DU%20 30.12.2017.pdf. 46. Foster, Mauritania, 68. 47.  Ibid., 68. 48.  Ibid., 68. 49.  Ibid., 69. 50.  Ibid., 207. 51.  Ibid., 216. 52.  Mauritania: A Country Study (Washington, DC: Federal Research Division of the Library of Congress, 1988), http://www.country-data.com/cgi-bin/query/r-8594 .html. 53.  Anouar Boukhars, The Drivers of Insecurity in Mauritania (Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 2012), 7, https://carnegieendowment .org/files/mauritania_insecurity.pdf. 54.  Ibid., 9. 55.  2020 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Mauritania. 56. Ibid. 57.  “Mauritania,” Freedom House. 58.  “Mauritania 2017/2018,” Amnesty International, 2018, https://www.amnesty .org/en/countries/africa/mauritania/report-mauritania/. 59.  “Mauritania Events of 2019,” Human Rights Watch, 2021, https://www.hrw .org/world-report/2020/country-chapters/mauritania#. 60. Ibid. 61. Ibid. 62. Ibid. 63. Ibid. 64. Foster, Mauritania, 63. 65. Foster, Mauritania, 25. 66.  Anouar Boukhars, “Keeping Terrorism at Bay in Mauritania,” Africa Center for Strategic Studies at National Defense University, June 16, 2020, https://africa center.org/spotlight/keeping-terrorism-at-bay-in-mauritania/. 67. Ibid.

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68. Ibid. 69.  “Mauritania’s Camel-back Mission to Win Hearts and Minds,” France24, November 18, 2008, https://www.france24.com/en/20181128-mauritanias-camel-back -mission-win-hearts-minds. 70. Foster, Mauritania, 231; Boukhars, “Keeping Terrorism at Bay in Mauritania”; “China Begins Construction of Mauritanian Landing Ship,” Defence Web, November 17, 2017, https://www.defenceweb.co.za/sea/sea-sea/china-begins-construction-of -mauritanian-landing-ship/; and “China–Mauritania Relations Develop Steadily,” China Embassy, 2021, http://lr.china-embassy.org/eng/gyzg/a123/t417870.htm. 71. Foster, Mauritania, 41. 72.  “Secretary of State Madeleine K. Albright,” US Department of State, 1999, https://1997-2001.state.gov/statements/1999/991028.html; and Daniel Flynn, “Gunmen Attack Israel Embassy in Mauritania,” Reuters, January 31, 2008, https://www .reuters.com/article/us-mauritania-israel/gunmen-attack-israel-embassy-in-maurita nia-idUSL0148908520080201. 73. Jonathan Landay and Phil Stewart, “Al Qaeda Leader bin Laden Left $29 Million Inheritance for Jihad,” Reuters, March 1, 2016, https://www.reuters.com /article/us-usa-binladen-inheritance/al-qaeda-leader-bin-laden-left-29-million-inheri tance-for-jihad-idUSKCN0W347W; and “Mahfouz Ould al-Walid,” United Nations Security Council, 2001, https://www.un.org/securitycouncil/sanctions/1267/aq_sanc tions_list/summaries/individual/mahfouz-ould-al-walid. 74.  Jon Schuppe, “U.S. Releases Mohamedou Ould Slahi, Author of ‘Guantanamo Diary,’” NBC News, October 17, 2016, https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/u-s -releases-mohamedou-ould-slahi-author-guantanamo-diary-n667776. See also Mohamedou Ould Slahi and Larry Siems, Guantánamo Diary (New York: Back Bay Books, 2015). 75.  “Trans-Sahara Counterterrorism Partnership,” US Department of State, 2019, https://www.state.gov/trans-sahara-counterterrorism-partnership/. 76.  “Le CEMGA reçoit l’attaché militaire français” [The CEMGA receives the French military attaché], Armée Nationale Mauritanienne, 2021, http://armee.mr/fr /node/1986; “Le CEMGA reçoit l’envoyé spécial américain” [CEMGA receives US special envoy], Armée Nationale Mauritanienne, 2021, http://armee.mr/fr/node/1984; “Le CEMGA décore l’attaché militaire algérien” [The CEMGA decorates the Algerian military attaché], Armée Nationale Mauritanienne, 2021, http://armee.mr/fr /node/1967; and “Le CEMGA accueille le chef d’état-major des forces armées des EAU” [CEMGA welcomes UAE Armed Forces chief of staff], Armée Nationale Mauritanienne, 2021, http://armee.mr/fr/node/2032. 77.  “G5 Sahel,” March 15, 2021, https://www.g5sahel.org/le-g5-sahel-2/. 78. “Mission,” Le Collège de Défense du G5 Sahel, 2021, http://cdg5s.org/fr /node/1185. 79.  2020 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Mauritania. 80. Foster, Mauritania, 293. 81. Sumedh Rao, Conflict Analysis of Mauritania (Birmingham, UK: GSDRC, University of Birmingham, 2013), 16, https://gsdrc.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/07 /GSDRC_ConflAnal_Mauritania.pdf.

33 Mauritius Moving toward Mass Surveillance Linganaden Murday

This chapter addresses the dearth of research about Mauritius’s intelligence culture. This lack is likely due to the secretive nature of the subject and the fact that information available on it is mostly fragmented, with only passing references made in press articles about criminal cases. Mauritian scholars have also avoided the topic because of its “sensitive nature.”1 While the Mauritius Police Force (MPF) provides information on its various branches, not much is available on its intelligence-gathering apparatus. The flimsy body of published academic literature on the MPF does not do better, either. Louis-José Paul’s book on the history of the police in Mauritius (1768–1968) mentions the creation of an “Intelligence Service” after the communal riots that preceded independence.2 Yet he neither discusses the subject nor provides any detail concerning that service. This chapter does not aim to provide a history of intelligence culture in Mauritius or a comprehensive account of intelligence gathering in Mauritius. Instead, it captures recent developments on the subject in Mauritius and the controversies surrounding intelligence-gathering practices. It argues that alongside traditional intelligence gathering within the MPF, Mauritius is moving into a more centralized and comprehensive system, involving actors within and outside the MPF and propelled by the adoption of technologies of mass surveillance. However, the whole intelligence culture is marked by a lack of clear checks and balances that can guard against abuses and provoke a change in the persistent perception that the country’s intelligence infrastructure is employed in a politicized manner for regime protection rather than purely tackling national security issues. Drawing mainly from newspaper articles, reports, and parliamentary debates, this chapter discusses intelligence culture in Mauritius in three key sections. The first provides background information on Mauritius and its police 431

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force and briefly explains the meaning of intelligence and its connections with surveillance. The second section looks at the use of intelligence in support of police activities, especially to combat crime. By the same token, it discusses how the government instrumentalizes the police intelligence infrastructure to achieve political ends. The third part examines the introduction of technologies that enable mass surveillance as a case study to understand aspects of the use and potential abuse of intelligence. In particular, it reviews biometric identification (ID) cards and a camera network called the Safe City project as well as surrounding controversies. The chapter concludes with a discussion about the intelligence culture and future of intelligence in the country. BACKGROUND Mauritius is a small island situated in the east of the African continent, with a population of about 1.4 million people.3 Since gaining its independence from the United Kingdom in 1968, the country has been politically and socially stable despite occasional civil unrest, such as the 1999 riots and communal tensions. Indexes on democracy have regularly described it as one of the most democratic countries in the world and the only full democracy in Africa.4 Mauritius does not have an army. Instead, it has a police force comprising several specialized branches. Given its geographical isolation, the country does not suffer from state-based threats. Rather, external threats emanate mainly from transnational criminal activities, such as drug trafficking. Therefore, the country’s intelligence activities are mainly inward looking. The Constitution of Mauritius provides that the MPF should be under the command of a commissioner of police.5 The prime minister can give “general directions of policy with respect to the maintenance of public safety and public order,” and it is mandatory for the commissioner of police to comply with such directions.6 However, the commissioner also enjoys a large degree of independence, as the Constitution specifies that “the Commissioner shall not, in the exercise of his responsibilities and powers with respect to the use and operational control of the force, be subject to the direction or control of any person or authority.”7 This is further confirmed by article 5(6), which provides that in the exercise of power to arrest, the commissioner “shall not be subject to the direction or control of any other person or authority.”8 Yet in practice those who are in power seem to have more informal influence on the way that the police conduct daily activities. This perception is fueled by the curious ways that the police sometimes exercise power to arrest and conduct



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interrogations. In many high-profile cases, inquiries seem to spare those who are close to government while targeting their opponents. In the local parlance, such situations are known as “orders and instructions emanating from the higher echelons,” which refer to “invisible” hands of powerful individuals influencing police decisions.9 Overall, this undermines the credibility of and trust in the MPF.10 At the outset, it is important to elaborate on the working definition of the two key terms used in this chapter. At its simplest, intelligence is about information.11 Scholars like Michael Herman exclude actions from the purview of intelligence. He defines intelligence as “information and information gathering, not doing things to people; no-one gets hurt by it, at least not directly.”12 Covert actions are considered “separable and subsidiary functions.”13 Yet this does not fully address the term as employed currently by many scholars and practitioners who also include covert actions. In synthesizing the various definitions found in the intelligence literature, Peter Gill and Mark Phythian point out that intelligence consists of “the mainly secret activities-targeting, collection, analysis, dissemination and action-intended to enhance security and/or maintain power relative to competitors by forewarning of threats and opportunities.”14 Improvements in information technology have contributed enormously in the increasing use of surveillance.15 Thus, it is unsurprising that today it is claimed that “electronic information has become the bedrock of much intelligence work.”16 Surveillance is the action part of intelligence.17 Gill and Phythian define surveillance as including two key elements: “monitoring of behaviour and attempts to discipline it.”18 The use of closed-circuit television (CCTV) cameras, for instance, not only enables the gathering of information but also helps discourage illegal behaviors. Apart from images, surveillance may also involve the gathering of biometric data like fingerprints or iris scans or telecommunications data like phone conversations.19 Data gathered using surveillance technologies can be used to improve the life of citizens. For instance, it can be used to identify emerging social issues or even assist in bettering the delivery of social services.20 However, at the same time, surveillance can also undermine principles like privacy.21 Jack Balkin points out that in authoritarian states there is a lack of accountability mechanisms surrounding surveillance, which leads to abuses.22 Democratic states, in principle, display a more responsible use of surveillance data. They have the required checks and balances that ensure the information gathered is used for legitimate purposes like national security.23 However, both scholars and human rights groups have raised concerns about the impact of surveillance on civil liberties even in democratic contexts.24

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TRADITIONAL INTELLIGENCE GATHERING WITHIN THE POLICE FORCE The duty to gather intelligence is scattered within the several branches of the MPF. However, the National Security Service (NSS) (formerly called the National Intelligence Unit) is the specialized unit for such tasks. The branch gathers intelligence to promote internal security and as such informs the work of the minister of home affairs (which normally falls under the responsibility of the prime minister).25 It gathers information on all internal and external activities that can potentially threaten national peace and security.26 One of the key domestic security issues is managing interethnic relations. Consequently, the NSS has a desk dedicated to each of the main religious/ ethnic groups of the country, namely the Chinese desk, Creole desk, Hindu desk, and Muslim desk.27 In performing that task, the NSS engages in activities, including surveilling targeted individuals or even paying potential informants for reliable information.28 The service has a monthly budget of Rs 600,000 (approximately US$14,800) dedicated to that purpose, and payments are approved by the prime minister.29 The NSS has also been used to assess opinions of the population, and government uses that information to recalibrate policies, such as on the annual budget. One former director of the NSS even pointed out that he ordered surveys for that purpose and reported the findings to the prime minister.30 Furthermore, the NSS runs background checks on potential new recruits of the public service, including potential new police recruits.31 This usually involves seeking information in the neighborhood of the potential recruits. The officers responsible for conducting these checks normally seek information from active or sometimes retired police officers living in the neighborhood. This can be because of convenience associated with the fact that police officers usually know their neighborhood well. It can also be due to peers knowing and trusting each other. The NSS uses the same method when collecting intelligence on criminal activities, such as drug dealing. More controversially, the NSS has often been used by successive governments to achieve political ends. This involves spying on the activities of opposition parties and their leaders. Agents also attend political events, including public meetings, and report on the speeches delivered on those occasions.32 In one incident that happened during 2019 in front of the home of former prime minister Navinchandra Ramgoolam, a direct political opponent of the sitting prime minister, Pravind Kumar Jugnauth, a member of the public caught and scuffled with an NSS officer allegedly spying on the former.33 There is also an increased politicization of intelligence around elections, when the government uses the NSS for regular feedback on its popularity



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and reelection chances. One police officer who worked in the NSS during the 2019 election confirmed that the NSS’s detailed intelligence gathering in various constituencies gave the government an edge over its opponents.34 It possibly allowed the government to adjust its electoral campaign strategy in the light of intelligence received. The MPF has also acquired several devices to obtain signals intelligence (SIGINT). More specifically, the NSS has bought phone tapping equipment from Israel, and Israeli operatives came to Mauritius for their commissioning.35 However, there is a strong suspicion that the government is using such facilities to spy on its political opponents. Members of the opposition have usually complained about the NSS indulging in phone tapping—a practice that is considered illegal without the authorization of a judge.36 Although the now former prime minister Anerood Jugnauth formally denied any illegal phone tapping, he responded to the allegations of tapping equipment bought from Israel by saying: “I am not aware of this whole business.”37 Such answers strengthen the belief that the NSS serves those in power and that it is even difficult to use parliament to hold the prime minister accountable for its activities. The task of intelligence gathering also rests with other branches of the MPF. The Anti-Drug and Smuggling Unit (ADSU), a key branch of the police force, has its own intelligence unit. It gathers and analyzes information that enables the whole branch to function.38 ADSU uses infiltration strategy to identify and catch drug traffickers. Furthermore, ADSU officers disguise themselves as potential drug buyers to acquire information about the modus operandi of drug traffickers and catch them. The ADSU also mounts undercover controlled delivery operations to catch the local contacts of foreign drug mules. To further intelligence collection by encouraging those who have information concerning drug trafficking to come forward, the ADSU used to provide reward money for informants. However, for reasons that remain unclear, this practice was abandoned. As a result, it has become increasingly difficult for the ADSU’s intelligence unit to gather high-value intelligence for its operations.39 This is because, as a former officer noted, no one wants to risk their life by providing information to the ADSU without financial benefits.40 The failure of intelligence sharing between the various branches of the police and related external bodies like the Customs Anti-Narcotic Squad (falling under the purview of the Mauritius Revenue Authority) is also a key institutional problem. The Commission of Enquiry on Drug Trafficking underlined intelligence sharing as a key weakness in the fight against drug trafficking in Mauritius. It pointed out that these agencies fail to share information due to unhealthy competition over who can “claim credit for the arrest of traffickers.”41 The commission also noted that the failure of drug enforcement agencies to catch the key individuals in drug trafficking network reflects their

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poor surveillance.42 In addition, ADSU’s ability to handle sensitive information has been called into question due to evidence of the existence of some corrupt officers leaking information to traffickers about the institution’s impending operations.43 The same problem arises with custom officers, some of whom have been convicted of drug trafficking.44 This fuels suspicions about ADSU and customs and undermines public trust that they can safely share sensitive information with these institutions. THE RISE OF MASS SURVEILLANCE Technology is transforming the country’s intelligence culture by making massive amounts of personal data available with little oversight. Over the past decade, with technological improvements and the establishment of information technology as a key component of the economy, Mauritius has become better equipped to engage in mass surveillance. An analysis of this development provides a useful case study to understand the potential abuse of surveillance and its effects on the intelligence culture. Large sums of money have been invested to install the surveillance infrastructure that would enable the gathering of data on the identity and the whereabouts of citizens. A review of the speeches by proponents of those projects show that they mobilized and manipulated narratives about crimes and the supposed dissuasive effects of surveillance technologies in order to justify these enormous investments. So far, they look more like resources squandered in the name of an elusive promise that identities would not be stolen and streets will feel safe. The first step in the direction of mass surveillance was the introduction of biometric ID cards in 2013. The project, entitled the Mauritius National Identity Scheme (MNIS) Project, began in July 2013 (although the idea was initially enunciated in the 2007/2008 budget speech) with the help of the Singaporean government to replace the existing National Identity Card (NIC) that was introduced in 1986.45 NIC was a simple “paper-based laminated in plastic” card that could be easily forged.46 The MNIS project was presented as a stepping-stone into modernity as defined by Western standards.47 In contrast to the NIC, which could only be used for identification purposes, the MNIS Smart ID card had additional uses. It was portrayed as a smart card made up of polycarbonate and possessing a contactless electronic chip that can contain biometric information, like fingerprints and civil status.48 As such, the card made it much easier to detect cases of impersonation.49 Prime Minister Navinchandra Ramgoolam also claimed that the high-end laser technology necessary to print the required information (e.g., name and surname) ensured that the biometric card was “tamperproof.”50 All information gathered would then



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be securely stored in a database situated at the Government Online Centre.51 It was argued that this new system would improve the service that the Civil Status Division could deliver to the population.52 Furthermore, the database would also be a powerful tool for providing citizens with e-government (including e-health) services.53 In implementing this project, the National Identity Card (NIC) Act had to be amended to allow the recording of biometric data. To alleviate the public’s fear that the data collected would be misused, the amended NIC Act provided that all information collected will be governed by the Data Protection Act of the country.54 However, this failed to reassure the public given the many exceptions when the act does not apply.55 Civil society organizations, as well as parliamentary and extraparliamentary opposition, vehemently opposed the project and underlined threats to human rights, especially the right to privacy. Some did not object to the biometric card per se if the card and its content would remain in the custody of the “owners” of the biometric data only, ensuring that they would have control over its use.56 Instead, they were more worried about storing biometric information on a central database over which “owners” of biometric data have no control.57 Opponents pursued their struggle by resorting to legal proceedings. A May 2015 Supreme Court judgment rejected the right to privacy argument against the MNIS project. The Supreme Court pointed out that the “coercive taking of fingerprints . . . ha[s] been made in the interests of public order” and therefore “constitute[s] a justifiable interference with the right of the plaintiff.”58 Nonetheless, the court confirmed the unconstitutionality of the central database.59 The latter was officially destroyed in September 2015.60 However, the struggle to halt the use of biometric cards for more intrusive purposes remains ongoing. This is because the NIC Act allows the prime minister to expand the range and type of data stored in the biometric card.61 Hence, there are fears that these may in the future include sensitive personal information related to health and financial status. Furthermore, in 2017 the government made an unsuccessful attempt to allow parastatal bodies and private companies access to information stored in biometric cards through further amendments to the NIC Act.62 More significantly, amid the COVID-19 induced economic crisis, the government announced a new Mauritius National Identity Card System underpinned by “state-of-the-art technology with enhanced security features.”63 The details of this new proposed system and its security implication are not yet known. Nonetheless, these events show that surveillance through smart ID cards may become even more intrusive in the future. Another important layer is currently being added to that intelligence apparatus with the installation of an almost island-wide CCTV camera system

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costing Rs 19 billion (about US$467 million) and with an additional Rs 350 million (about US$8.6 million) annual operating cost. The roots of the project itself started in 2008, when the then government planned to install some 340 cameras at strategic locations on the island.64 In 2009 the project was implemented.65 However, the 2019 version, which involved collaboration with Chinese multinational technology company Huawei, provoked more controversy because of its scale, cost, and technological sophistication. The project, marketed as the “Safe City” project, has been exempted from the provisions of the Data Protection Act, which has made many people suspicious about the real intentions of its proponents.66 About 4,000 “intelligent surveillance cameras” are currently being installed in two thousand locations throughout the island and the project also comprises “4,500 trunking smart handsets, 500 trunking vehicle radios and an Emergency Response System.”67 The intelligent video surveillance (IVS) cameras are installed in “crime prone areas,” “vicinity of places of worship,” “vicinity of educational institutions,” and “well frequented public places.”68 In addition, the project also included 300 intelligent traffic surveillance (ITS) cameras.69 The IVS cameras have special features including facial recognition technology (using a biometric software application), which can compare camera footage with the stock of pictures uploaded on its database. The government claims that this feature will be used to monitor and track the whereabouts of people of interest like habitual criminals.70 The facial recognition technology is currently being tested. The security argument was put forward to justify the colossal spending, with the government claiming that such technology will “reduce the occurrence of crime, fight drug trafficking and decrease the number of road accidents.”71 Even if the police confirmed that the Safe City cameras have helped in solving crime, there are still questions about their usefulness and vulnerability to manipulation. These issues manifested themselves clearly with the assassination of a political activist in October 2020. The political activist was close to the government but allegedly was killed as he prepared to denounce corrupt practices involving the allocation of government contracts during the COVID-19 pandemic. Initially the local police station treated it as a suicide case. However, a group of lawyers (nicknamed “The Avengers”) conducted preliminary investigations at the site where the body was discovered and convinced the director of public prosecution (DPP) to set up a judicial inquiry. It was in this context that the questions of who has access to the Safe City recordings and for how long they are kept attracted renewed interest, given that the footage of the whereabouts of the political activist is thought to be crucial for solving the case.



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During the judicial inquiry process, the images produced by a police officer working in the control room of the Safe City showed the person taking the bus from the town of Rose Hill to Quatre Bornes. However, the images at Quatre Bornes (the last place where he was seen alive) were missing although the Safe City cameras were operational.72 The other images that were available at other locations displayed wrong dates and times, which raised suspicions about whether such crucial information may have been manipulated.73 During the judicial inquiry, another police officer denied that images went missing, arguing that some cameras were not operational even if they had been installed at the time of the political activist’s assassination.74 These contradictory versions raise questions about access to the data from the Safe City cameras and whether that data is vulnerable to manipulation. Prime Minister Pravind Kumar Jugnauth affirmed in Parliament that the information collected by the Safe City cameras is in the custody of the MPF and will be used only for the purpose of fulfilling its official duties.75 Officially, access to the data collected is restricted to authorized police officers working at the Main Command Centre and Sub-Command Centres who, according to Jugnauth, operate according to set guidelines.76 However, it seems the guidelines were only issued on November 18, 2020, in the face of increasing public scrutiny of the Safe City project following the assassination of the political activist.77 More tellingly, during the judicial inquiry it was also revealed the data harvested was stored at the Government Online Centre (GOC), which itself is dependent on the National Computer Board, which is led by a political nominee appointed by the political party in power.78 This seemingly supported the belief that information gathered could be manipulated to protect those in power. Another controversy was about the fact data captured by the Safe City cameras is only stored for thirty days, after which that it is “overwritten” by new information.79 It is true that, when the information is no longer required, the deletion of the data stored is a fundamental step in preserving privacy.80 However, the justification for setting a thirty-day timeline is unclear, and the only explanation provided was that it is “adequate and meets the requirements of the Police Force.”81 Moreover in the specific case of the aforementioned assassination, the panel of lawyers representing the family affirmed that forensic information technology specialists can recover footage that has been deleted or overwritten.82 In response, those in charge of the Safe City project claimed that Huawei and Mauritius Telecom (one of the local partners in the execution of the project) must recover the deleted footage.83 The issue of mass surveillance without clear responsibilities while leaving avenues for abuse highlights the lack of transparency and oversight in the intelligence culture.

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CONCLUSION Despite the strength of its democratic credentials, Mauritius faces a lack of clear checks and balances to avert the misuse (perceived, potential, or actual) of its intelligence apparatus. Mauritius’s intelligence culture is perceived by the public to be secretive, at times politicized, vulnerable to leaks, largely dependent on the agency, and increasingly dependent on technology that has the potential for abuse. Indeed, it is understood that intelligence is associated with secrecy, but the perception that it is vulnerable to political manipulation undermines its integrity in the public’s eyes. This is true for both the traditional intelligence gathering carried out by the police in the performance of their duties and the more recent technology-driven mass surveillance. Within the MPF, intelligence collection is decentralized even if the NSS is especially designed for gathering information to combat crimes and assist in ensuring home security. The NSS has important resources at its disposal, including a budget to reward informants and the logistics to intercept SIGINT. Nonetheless, the public perceives that it is marked by a sometimes politicized culture deployed by those in power to achieve political ends, including that of winning elections. Furthermore, to demonstrate the decentralized nature of intelligence gathering, this chapter has explored the case of the ADSU and shown that there is evidence of potential leaks of intelligence, hampering its efforts to combat drug trafficking. Its operations also suffer from a lack of resources to collect information from the public and a lack of cooperation with the narcotics division of customs at the key entry points to the island. Apart from these traditional intelligence-gathering activities, during the past decade Mauritius has gradually moved toward the use of technologies that enable mass surveillance. The fact that these surveillance projects have not only survived but have been enhanced under successive governments suggests an ongoing political consensus. Nonetheless, human rights and privacy implications as well as how the data gathered is stored, accessed, used, and destroyed remain matters of public concern. NOTES 1.  Leo Couacaud, Sheetal Sheena Sookrajowa, and Jason Narsoo, “The Vicious Circle That Is Mauritian Politics: The Legacy of Mauritius’s Electoral Boundaries,” Ethnopolitics, July 7, 2020, 15. 2.  Louis-José Paul, Deux siѐcles d’histoire de la police à L’île Maurice 1768– 1968 [Two centuries of police history in Mauritius 1768–1968] (Paris: Édition L’Harmattan, 1997), 8. 3. “Mauritius,” in The World Factbook (Central Intelligence Agency, 2021), https://www.cia.gov/the-world-factbook/countries/mauritius/.



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 4. Democracy Index 2020: In Sickness and in Health? A Report by the Economist Intelligence Unit (The Economist Intelligence Unit, 2021), 8–9.   5.  The Constitution of the Republic of Mauritius, article 71 (2).   6.  Ibid., article 71 (3).   7.  Ibid., article 71 (4).   8.  Ibid., article 5 (6).  9. Yasin Denmamode and Lovina Sophie, “Arrestation de Rachna Seenauth: Les incohérences dans l’action de la police” [Rachna Seenauth’s arrest: The inconsistencies in police action], L’Express, April 18, 2020, https://www.lexpress.mu /article/375178/arrestation-rachna-seenauth-incoherences-dans-laction-police. 10.  Shelly Carpayen, “Les policiers, armes politiques de destruction massive de confiance populaire” [Policemen, political weapons of mass destruction of public trust], L’Express, May 23, 2021, https://www.lexpress.mu/article/393968/policiers -armes-politiques-destruction-massive-confiance-populaire 11.  David Kahn, “An Historical Theory of Intelligence,” in Intelligence Theory: Key Questions and Debates, ed. Peter Gill, Stephen Marrin, and Phythian Mark (London: Routledge, 2009), 4. 12.  Michael Herman, “Ethics and Intelligence after September 2001,” Intelligence and National Security 19, no. 2 (2010): 342. 13. Ibid. 14.  Peter Gill and Mark Phythian, Intelligence in an Insecure World (Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 2018), 23–24. 15.  Jack Balkin, “The Constitution in the National Surveillance State,” Minnesota Law Review 93, no.1 (2008): 3. 16.  Gill and Phythian, Intelligence in an Insecure World, 37. 17.  Ibid., 197. 18. Ibid. 19.  A Report on the Surveillance Society (Surveillance Studies Network, September 2006), 4, 23, https://www.personuvernd.is/media/frettir/surveillance_society _full_report_final.pdf. 20.  Balkin, “Constitution in the National Surveillance State,” 3. 21.  Report on the Surveillance Society, 6. 22.  Balkin, “Constitution in the National Surveillance State,” 18. 23. Ibid. 24.  Hannah Devlin, “‘We Are Hurtling towards a Surveillance State’: The Rise of Facial Recognition Technology,” Guardian, October 5, 2019, https://www.theguard ian.com/technology/2019/oct/05/facial-recognition-technology-hurtling-towards-sur veillance-state. 25.  Karen Walter, “Écoutes téléphoniques: Dans l’oreille interne du NSS” [Telephone tapping: In the internal ear of the NSS], L’Express, April 24, 2016, https:// www.lexpress.mu/article/280352/ecoutes-telephoniques-dans-loreille-interne-nss. 26. Ibid. 27.  Nasif Joomratty and Najette Toorab, “Services de renseignements: Les opérations du NSS de nouveau sur le tapis” [Intelligence services: NSS operations back in

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the limelight], Le Défi Media, September 2, 2019, https://defimedia.info/services-de -renseignements-les-operations-du-nss-de-nouveau-sur-le-tapis. 28.  Walter, “Écoutes téléphoniques.” 29. “Service de renseignements: Les failles du NSS et de sa direction” [Intelligence service: The flaws of the NSS and its management], L’Express, August 30, 2019, https://www.lexpress.mu/article/359973/service-renseignements-failles-nss-et -sa-direction. 30.  Joomratty and Toorab, “Services de renseignements.” 31.  Informal conversation with an academic possessing inside information on the Mauritian Police Force, April 20, 2021. 32.  Joomratty and Toorab, “Services de renseignements.” 33. Ibid. 34.  Lovina Sophie, “Post-élections: Malaise au National Security Service après des mutations” [Post-election: Malaise at the National Security Service after transfers], L’Express, November 15, 2019, https://www.lexpress.mu/article/365460/post -elections-malaise-au-national-security-service-apres-mutations. 35. Hansard, Sixth National Assembly Parliamentary Debates, First Session, April 19, 2016, 26–27. 36.  Walter, “Écoutes téléphoniques.” 37. Hansard, Sixth National Assembly Parliamentary Debates, April 19, 2016, 27 38.  The Commission of Enquiry on Drug Trafficking Report, July 2018, 127, http://cut.mu/wp-content/uploads/2018/12/Commission-of-Enquiry-on-Drug-Traf ficking-Report-optimized.pdf. 39. Ibid., 129. 40.  Thierry Laurent and Cedric Ramasawmy, “Combat contre le trafic de drogue: Quel avenir pour l’ADSU?” [Fight against drug trafficking: What future for ADSU?], Defimedia.info, August 12, 2018, https://defimedia.info/combat-contre-le-trafic-de -drogue-quel-avenir-pour-ladsu. 41.  Commission of Enquiry on Drug Trafficking Report, 37. 42. Ibid. 43. Ibid. 44. Ibid., 60. 45. Hansard, Fifth National Assembly: Parliamentary Debates, Second Session, July 9, 2013, 87. 46. Ibid. 47. Ibid., 92. 48. Ibid., 88. 49. Ibid., 94. 50. Ibid., 88. 51. Ibid. 52. Ibid., 89. 53. Ibid., 92. 54. Ibid., 91.



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55.  “Carte biométrique: Pourquoi nous sommes contre” [Biometric card: Why we are against], L’Express, June 23, 2014, https://www.lexpress.mu/video/248051/carte -biometrique-pourquoi-nous-sommes-contre. 56. Ibid. 57. Ibid. 58.  Jugnauth Pravind Kumar v. The State of Mauritius & Anor, 2015 SCJ 178, No. 108728, 7. 59. Ibid., 8. 60. Hansard, Sixth National Assembly: Parliamentary Debates, First Session, March 28, 2017, 169. 61.  “Carte d’identité biométrique: La frayeur des contestataires” [Biometric identity card: The fear of the opponents], L’Express, June 16, 2017, https://www.lexpress .mu/article/309881/carte-didentite-biometrique-frayeur-contestataires. 62. Ibid. 63.  Cabinet Decisions, February 19, 2021, para. 8 64. “The Closed-Circuit Television Theory,” L’Express, June 12, 2008, https:// www.lexpress.mu/node/218308. 65. Hansard, Seventh National Assembly: Parliamentary Debates, First Session, March 30, 2021, 32. 66. “Safe City: Méfiance et suspicion” [Safe City: Distrust and suspicion], Le Mauricien, May 26, 2019, https://www.lemauricien.com/espace-abonne/safe-city -mefiance-et-suspicion/280251/. 67. Hansard, Sixth National Assembly: Parliamentary Debates, First Session, June 14, 2018, 34. 68. Hansard, Seventh National Assembly: Parliamentary Debates, First Session, August 11, 2020, 27. 69. Hansard, Sixth National Assembly: Parliamentary Debates, First Session, April 2, 2019, 145. 70. Hansard, Seventh National Assembly: Parliamentary Debates: First Session, April 6, 2021, 85. 71. Hansard, Sixth National Assembly: Parliamentary Debates, June 14, 2018, 34. 72. Ibid. 73.  Shehzad Jaddoo, “Affaire Kistnen: Les images des caméras Safe City visionnées en Cour de District de Moka” [Kistnen case: Safe City camera images seen in Moka District Court], Le Défi Media, December 14, 2020, https://defimedia.info /affaire-kistnen-les-images-des-cameras-safe-city-visionnees-en-cour-de-district -de-moka. 74.  “(Affaire Kistnen) Safe City cameras à La-Louise: Versions contradictoires de la police” [(Kistnen affair) Safe City cameras in La-Louise: Contradictory versions of the police], Le Mauricien, December 17, 2020, https://www.lemauricien.com /actualites/faits-divers/affaire-kistnen-safe-city-cameras-a-la-louise-versions-contra dictoires-de-la-police/393624/. 75. Hansard, Seventh National Assembly: Parliamentary Debates, August 11, 2020, 30–31. 76.  Ibid., 31.

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77.  “(Affaire Kistnen) Safe City cameras à La-Louise.” 78. “Safe City: Un nominé politique Big Brother?” [Safe City: A Big Brother political nominee], L’Express, December 17, 2020, https://www.lexpress.mu /article/386558/safe-city-un-nomine-politique-big-brother. 79. Hansard, Seventh National Assembly: Parliamentary Debates, March 30, 2021, 30. 80.  Balkin, “Constitution in the National Surveillance State,” 21. 81. Hansard, Seventh National Assembly: Parliamentary Debates, March 30, 2021, 30. 82. “Affaire Kistnen: Requête de Bhadain pour que des spécialistes retrouvent les images des caméras Safe City” [Kistnen affair: Bhadain request for specialists to recover images of the Safe City cameras], L’Express, February 25, 2021, https://www .lexpress.mu/article/389466/affaire-kistnen-requete-bhadain-pour-que-specialistes -retrouvent-images-cameras-safe. 83.  Al-Khizr Ramdin, “Enquête judiciaire : ‘C’est à Mauritius Telecom d’entamer les démarches auprès de Huawei en vue de récupérer les images Safe City,’ dit le DCP Jhugroo” [Judicial inquiry: “It is up to Mauritius Telecom to initiate proceedings with Huawei in order to recover the Safe City images,” says DCP Jhugroo], Defimedia. info, February 25, 2021, https://defimedia.info/enquete-judiciaire-cest-mauritius -telecom-dentamer-les-demarches-aupres-de-huawei-en-vue-de-recuperer-les -images-safe-city.

34 Morocco Intelligence Culture at the King’s Service Blanca Camps-Febrer

The Kingdom of Morocco is situated at the very northwest corner of Africa, between the Atlantic, the Mediterranean, and the Sahara Desert. The country holds a strategic position at the Strait of Gibraltar, which separates the African continent from Europe by eight miles. Morocco is also territorially connected to Spain through the two Spanish enclaves of Ceuta and Melilla, historically claimed by Morocco as part of its territory and a contentious topic in diplomacy, mobility, and smuggling. The Rif and the Atlas Mountains are spread across the country and are home to most Amazic-speaking populations. Morocco has a monarchic authoritarian system. While parliamentary and local elections are held regularly, the most important decisions are made by a tight elite around King Mohammed VI. Morocco is a confessional Muslim country with a small local Jewish community and a Christian community of mainly European origin. Within Islam, the official branch followed in the country is the Malikite school. Sufi communities are also popular in many regions, some holding influential power and contributing to the culture and religious ties of Morocco, with many Sufi and Malikite communities across West Africa. The northern African territory was coveted by European imperial powers, which penetrated the territory, especially in the nineteenth century, financially and militarily smothering the Alawite sultanate that dominated most of the region. By 1912 France and Spain had established their occupation through protectorates, officially safeguarding the centuries-long sultanate. The colonial regime gave rise to and strengthened some local elites and notables, consolidating their French ties after independence in 1956. Some of these elite families persist and control a large part of the economy, among them notably the king’s family.1 445

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Once an eminently agricultural country, today Morocco’s rural population accounts for only 33 percent of its inhabitants, and the service and industrial sectors have emerged as the central economic engines. However, Morocco shows high levels of inequality, poverty, and unemployment, which periodically drive social and political protests for specific social demands into regional or national uprisings against corruption and regional underinvestment. Morocco is also the first calcium phosphate and phosphoric acid exporter in the world, with mines situated in the south and in Western Sahara’s Boucraa.2 Due to its occupation of 80 percent of Western Sahara with its fish-rich sea coast, Morocco holds an important bargaining chip with the European Union. The kingdom is trying to position itself as a hub for African investment as well as for political diplomacy among global powers and as an entry point to West Africa for the United States (US) or China. Regional rivalry with Algeria has led Morocco in recent years to take a more active role in the global war on terror (GWoT) in the Sahara-Sahel as well as a more prominent role in developing economic and political ties within the continent. The two regional powers maintain their political and economic exchanges at a minimum level, even though both communities hold strong family and cultural ties. This chapter examines the historical development of secret services and intelligence agencies in Morocco. It shows how contemporary history and the position of Morocco in the international system have shaped an intelligence culture based on density, operationalization, hierarchy, and personalist goals. The chapter is divided into six parts and argues that the intelligence culture is characterized by impunity in safeguarding the monarchy’s authority. The first section examines the role of the monarchy after independence from France and how central preserving the monarchy was to the intelligence and security services. The second section explores the “Years of Lead” marked by the emergence of new intelligence and security services. The third part analyzes the practices and personnel size of the intelligence services to show how vital informal networks are as well as highlight the diverse community of more than a dozen intelligence services. The fourth section highlights various foreign alliances, discussing how significant France was and is to Morocco’s security. In the fifth part, human rights are analyzed with attention to reform limits and how human rights violations perpetuated by the intelligence and security services continue. Finally, the conclusion synthesizes the preceding sections to analyze the intelligence culture with attention to its character.



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INDEPENDENT MOROCCO: THE NATION AND THE KING After a long nationalist struggle, Morocco became formally independent from France and Spain in 1956. Mohamed V, a nationalist charismatic figure himself, gained the sympathy of French, American, and most nationalist elites and assured colonial powers there would be a smooth independence transition. One of the first steps in the construction of the new state was to build the military and police structures. Their main mission was consolidating the monarchy in the new political system, especially by neutralizing possible opponents.3 Since then, the landscape of the intelligence services has been focused on strengthening the monarchical system. The CAB1, for instance, was created within the police General Directorate for National Security (Direction Génerale Sûrété Nationale, DGSN) and engaged in countersubversion operations under the leadership of Houssein Seghir, Mohamed Oufkir, and later Ahmed Dlimi. A direct inheritance of the French colonial period, the CAB1 was fundamentally charged with countering political opposition. Along with the CAB1, the new landscape of public security was built following the French model, with French training, equipment, and colonial-trained personnel.4 Notably, Mohamed Oufkir, who had been aide-de-camp of the French resident general and later became general, was also an informant for France’s External Documentation and CounterEspionage Service (Service de Documentation Extérieure et de ContreEspionnage, SDECE).5 Oufkir became head of the police (DGSN), minister of interior, and later minister of defense and chief of staff, until his assassination for his involvement in the 1972 anti-monarchical coup. After King Mohamed V’s death in 1961, his son Hassan II, a staunch anticommunist, became an important Cold War ally for the West, especially as a regional actor within West Africa and among Arab states. Morocco further developed its ties with French, Israeli, and US intelligence and defense services. In the process, the Moroccan intelligence services’ role as operationdriven actors was consolidated, active not only in intelligence gathering and surveillance through dense networks of formal and informal agents, but also in the direct repression of political opposition. One of the most well-known affairs involving Morocco’s intelligence services happened in broad daylight on a busy street in Paris, France. On October 29, 1965, Moroccan opposition leader Mehdi Ben Barka was kidnapped as he was coming out of the Brasserie Lipp, a French restaurant, presumably by three French agents, one of them from the SDECE. The specifics that followed are unknown, but Ben Barka disappeared after having become an international figure in the Non-Aligned Movement and one of the leaders of the Tricontinental. In this CAB1 operation commanded by Oufkir and Dlimi, Ben

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Barka’s disappearance greatly impacted Moroccan and French public opinion as well as the SDECE’s existence itself.6 Dlimi and Oufkir were sentenced in absentia in France, while in Morocco the CAB1 was officially dissolved but continued to operate in secrecy. Forced disappearances, extrajudicial killings, unlawful detentions, and torture were not uncommon under Hassan II. Yet what was uncommon was the bluntness of the operation against Ben Barka and the increasing suspicion that Oufkir’s intelligence and security services could act freely, or even worse, in complicity, across French territory. Nevertheless, the reliance on coercion produced a hypertrophy for those controlling the armed and security apparatus.7 It caused Hassan II to end up “alone and vulnerable to the last direct challenge, coming from his security forces.”8 After two failed military coups against him in 1971 and 1972, it became evident to Hassan II that some had become too powerful and dangerous within the regime. The political unit CAB1 within the police was dismantled and its agents transferred partially to the Directorate for the Surveillance of the Territory (Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire, DST) (known as the DGST since 2005), which was charged with internal intelligence. In 1973 the General Directorate for Studies and Documentation (Direction Générale des Études et de la Documentation, DGED) was created and led by Dlimi. With the death of Oufkir, Dlimi headed the DST, the new political police under the DGSN. Dlimi was simultaneously also the director of the DGED, the intelligence service for foreign affairs, and thus managed to control the most important branches of intelligence in the country. Dlimi, who had been directly under Oufkir’s authority, later became general and commander after his leadership in the Green March of 1975 on the Spanishoccupied Western Sahara and the subsequent war against the POLISARIO Front. A “suspicious” car accident in 1983 ended the career of a man who had become perhaps too powerful in Hassan II’s regime. The DGED mirrored the French SDECE, which had operated during the last years of the colonial period and trained several Moroccan officers. The DGED was charged with external intelligence, and even other state personnel unrelated to the secret services but serving abroad were expected to inform and report to it. After the 1970s, the military influence within the regime was thoroughly reduced, compared to most of its neighbors in the region. The most powerful actors within the military were either “disappeared” or sent to occupied Western Sahara, where they could build their own economic networks away from the capital and the king. In contrast, police and military intelligence services remained essential allies of the monarchy. Through a brief border war with Algeria in 1963, the Royal Armed Forces gained prestige in the country, a needed and improved status after being tainted by involvement in repressing protests.9



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THE YEARS OF LEAD The last decades of the twentieth century are remembered as the “Years of Lead” or the “Black Years” in Morocco, from 1961 to the 1990s. Thousands of opposition activists were arrested and tortured, and hundreds disappeared. According to Amnesty International, arrests were often carried out by officers outside their legal mandate, following a political campaign against the opposition or common protestors.10 These arrests were attributed to the Office of Territorial Surveillance (Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire, DST). The DST was created in 1973 as an autonomous intelligence unit that responded directly to the king but was officially within the Ministry of Interior. The DST was accused of most human rights violations, despite not being officially allowed to make arrests because it was not part of the judicial police within the DGSN.11 In the new millennium under King Mohamed VI, Morocco was portrayed as a place safer than most other African countries. The attacks in Casablanca in 2003 and those in Marrakech during 2011 did not fundamentally alter this image, but they brought about legislative changes, enhanced executive powers for counterterrorist programs and new police units, modernization, and increased resources. Even though Morocco later became one of the main exporters of jihadists to the Syrian and Libyan crises, the regime presented itself as an intelligence asset for its allies. In fact, Morocco was one of the regimes involved in the US Central Intelligence Agency’s extraordinary renditions program for the GWoT.12 It was reportedly organized in coordination with the Moroccan DST. The CIA rendered detainees for custody and interrogations under torture by Moroccan agents in two detention centers associated with the program, in Témara and Ain Aouda.13 The country also opened its airspace and airport facilities to the CIA for the extraordinary renditions.14 A THICK WEB OF INTELLIGENCE SERVICES There are two ways of approaching Morocco’s intelligence culture. First, one can look at the large intelligence operations that involve disbanding drug trafficking networks and terrorist cells and detaining jihadists, or even Morocco’s important contribution to counterterrorist intelligence in Europe. Yet there is another, less visible way of understanding the intelligence culture, and that is from the bottom-up, from the subaltern and lowest echelons of the information services. The moqqadem reveals how intelligence services aim to control populations. The moqqadem is a man in charge of knowing and passing over

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information about everything that happens within a small area of a town or city: illegal sexual encounters, drugs, people’s political stances or opinions, people moving in and out of the neighborhood, and so forth. The moqqadem is formally under the General Affairs Directorate (Direction des Affaires Generales), and there could be around forty-five thousand of them across the territory. Their mission is based on proximity and knowledge of the people and their activities. They collect information and pass it on to higher echelons in the police, which filter and further analyze the data.15 Their attachment in the territory and their ambiguous administrative status do not protect them from greedy businesses and scandals. The moqqadem is a “subaltern figure” who “evolve[s] at the margins of official bureaucracy.”16 Morocco’s intelligence services have been shaped by the need to monitor the population and the communities’ pulse throughout a vast territory. Although space does not allow a nuanced political analysis of the Moroccan government, it is important to note that personal ties and loyalties are one of the features that continue to be central to the maintenance of central authority. Colonial occupation strengthened and institutionalized these allegiance practices through the extension of bureaucratized information networks. These networks relied on traditional forms of local and communal authorities, such as the moqqadem. In parallel, the administrative colonial structure, with the process-oriented production of intelligence reports, was an important asset in gathering intelligence from all branches of the local civil administration. Morocco currently has fifteen intelligence services in a highly stratified and diversified structure of agencies reporting directly to the Royal Cabinet. The diversity of services is designed to ensure a certain balance of power through competition. More a product of Mohammed V and his inheritors’ own goals than of the French imprint, turf wars and reforms are not uncommon, while impunity from law persists and whistleblowers are punished. The DGED tries to follow the same model abroad: a thick network of informants, both within the migrant Moroccan communities and in the political and security apparatus of the host country.17 Departing from the French model, the intelligence landscape combines dense networks of formal and informal agents of human intelligence throughout the territory and a highly stratified and diversified structure of agencies that ensure a balance of power among the different agencies. The DGED is in charge of collecting information abroad and passing it on to other intelligence services. It supervises political and economic activities of Moroccans abroad and is present in all Moroccan embassies and consulates.18 Along with the central roles of the DGST and DGED, other important intelligence services have specific missions. Within the Royal Armed Forces, the Second Bureau is named for the French colonial empire of the Third Re-



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public (Deuxième Bureau). It is charged with military surveillance of foreign armies and foreign land borders. The 5th Bureau was created in 1956 within the structure of the army, and it was split from the 2nd Bureau in 1976 to become an independent unit in charge of Military Intelligence inside the Royal Armed Forces. The Intelligence Service of the Royal Moroccan Gendarmerie (Service de Renseignement de la Gendarmerie Royal Marocaine, SRGR) is the military police created from the French model. Other services include the Moroccan General Information (Renseignements Généraux Marocains, RG), the Autonomous Intelligence Service of the Moroccan Auxiliary Forces (Service Autonome de Renseignement des Forces Auxiliaires Marocaines, FA), and the General Directorate for Home Affairs (Direction Générale des affaires Intérieures, DGAI), which are charged with political intelligence as well as surveillance of elections.19 The most recently created unit is the National Service for Counterterrorism (Service National Pour la Lutte Contre le Terrorisme), also called Bureau Central d’Investigation Judiciaire (BCIJ). The service was managed by Abdelhak Khiame until 2020 and received media attention when the BCIJ claimed to have dismantled hundreds of terrorist cells using technological methods and informants networks throughout the territory. According to the new director of the BCIJ, Cherkaoui Habboub, the “secret of their success” was the DGST’s constant source of information.20 FOREIGN ALLIANCES The Moroccan regime has one key ally: France. Although other European countries have more difficult relations with Morocco, the regime has groomed strong alliances with French business, political, and security elites.21 Even though some issues have also strained relations with France, from the Ben Barka affair to the surveillance scandal involving French politicians and journalists, the intelligence and security cooperation is regarded as mutually beneficial, especially in counterterrorism.22 Morocco has good relations with the United States, but that relationship is not central to North American security.23 The US–Morocco bilateral relationship transformed and toned down immediately after the two failed coups against Hassan II. During the Cold War, the US naval communications complex in Kenitra was the focal point of US communications in the Mediterranean and the south Atlantic.24 The strategic importance of the Moroccan Kingdom as a stable ally was a priority over Hassan II’s extravagant and violent rule.25 US–Morocco relations improved when Morocco became the regional asset for the GWoT, providing technological platforms and opera-

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tions for intelligence gathering in the Sahara-Sahel region.26 US–Morocco relations have continued through cooperation in military and security affairs.27 A less visible but constant partner for Morocco’s national and internal security has been Israel. Morocco and Israel have held unofficial relations almost since Israel’s establishment. Morocco had an active and vibrant population of Jewish Moroccans. Most Jewish Moroccans left the country for Israel, but their ties are still palpable in the preservation of the Moroccan Arabic communities in Israel and historical memory in North Africa. During Gamal Abdel Nasser’s rule in Egypt, Israel and Morocco consolidated their ties in the face of a pan-Arab movement that was seen as a common threat. According to some former Mossad officers, the Israeli intelligence agency “opened an office in Morocco as early as 1963.”28 Israel assisted Morocco in the war against Algeria and provided intelligence and defense equipment for the war in Western Sahara and the construction of the berm that divides the territory.29 Hassan II had no problem spying on Arab leaders for the Israeli intelligence services in exchange for intelligence support in cases such as the abduction and disappearance of Ben Barka.30 Indeed, this was the case at the 1965 Arab Summit in Casablanca, when private conversations between Arab leaders attending the conferences were recorded for Israeli benefit ahead of the Arab offensive in 1967.31 The Israeli liaison office in Morocco was closed in 2000 following a regional pushback. Then in December 2020 a normalization agreement for Moroccan-Israeli diplomatic relations was signed, and direct commercial flights are expected to operate soon. The declaration’s third paragraph highlights “the proclamation by the United States of America on ‘Recognizing the Sovereignty of the Kingdom of Morocco over Western Sahara.’”32 Following the May 2003 attacks in Casablanca in which forty-five people died, Morocco fully entered the fight against terrorism. Anti-terrorist legislation was passed, and the BCIJ was created with the specific purpose of leading the fight. Morocco built a narrative of competency and successes with the BCIJ, a modern and efficient anti-terrorist agency known unofficially as the “Moroccan FBI.” Since 2002 the official number of dismantled terrorist cells is 210, 4,304 individuals were detained, and 500 violent plots were prevented.33 The BCIJ also demonstrates the blurred line between the military and the police.34 This trend is obvious in its discursive nature: drugs/terror/crime are treated under similar understandings and operational practices, which conflate war and law enforcement. The new framework in counterterrorism has seemingly altered the security sector’s landscape. According to Ahmed Aït-Taleb, “The interest of national public opinion now focuses on building staff capacities and providing the entities concerned with the technical and logistical means they need.”35 Indeed,



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anti-terrorist legislation and procedures have served as cover for enhancing selected agencies with invasive methods of surveillance of civil society actors and journalists. The spyware Pegasus, for instance, has been used since 2017 by the Moroccan intelligence services to spy on at least two human rights defenders.36 Pegasus is an intrusive spyware used on mobile phones, developed by the Israeli company NSO Group. TOP-DOWN REFORMS: KEEPING THE REGIME TRENDY Morocco’s intelligence services have a sad record of scandals and human rights violations. In 1999, it seemed that the years of discretional repression could become a thing of the past. Hassan II died, and the new king, Mohamed VI, was presented as a modernist, the “king of the poor” willing to turn the page on human rights violations. Indeed, he dismissed the infamous Driss Basri as interior minister, who had been Hassan II’s right hand. The turn toward a more human rights–friendly narrative had started a few years before Hassan II’s passing. International pressure, especially from France, and the end of the communist threat made it difficult for the regime to continue massive repression.37 A process of transitional justice was promoted, and in 2004 its mechanism, the Equity and Reconciliation Commission (Instance Equité et Réconciliation, IER), was established. This institution, headed by a former political prisoner, reviewed hundreds of cases of human rights violations by state forces. These human rights violations were acknowledged for the first time as a systematic and pervasive phenomenon. However, the names of the victimizers could not be made public, no trials took place, state police archives were hardly opened, and no real reforms occurred. In practice, no accountability was achieved. The process, however, has been reportedly useful for the reconfiguration of security elite alliances within Mohamed VI’s new reign. Allegations of torture continue to be common, and illegal acts within the security services are not addressed. On the contrary, whistleblowers are punished, and attempts to seek justice abroad for mistreatment by security forces can carry diplomatic consequences for the countries that receive the claims.38 In 2013 the current chief of the DGST, Abdellatif Hammouchi, was accused in France of torturing a Western Sahara activist. The regime closed ranks with Hammouchi, and the diplomatic tensions caused the two countries to suspend judicial cooperation.39 After the January 2015 terrorist attacks in Paris, France resumed judicial cooperation with Morocco, and it remains France’s unavoidable counterterrorism partner.

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Reform has thus always oscillated between the variables of a diplomatic need to show a modernized face, elite competition within the public security sector, protection of the king’s closest allies, and efficiency centered on strengthening control. CONCLUSION The history of Moroccan intelligence culture has been determined by three major factors. First, the French imprint on institutional structures, regulations, and cultural and operational procedures is evident. It also continues through personal transnational networks of cooperation with training, restructuring, and narratives. Second, the intelligence sector has relied on a traditional thick network of informal and formal informants reporting and collecting information from even remote areas. A dense network of informants, even those who are not part of the services’ payroll, provides detailed knowledge of the population’s pulse. This focus on human intelligence, inside the country and abroad, has been a key factor for international counterterrorism cooperation, especially with Europe. Nevertheless, the regime is also decisively investing in surveillance technology, even outside the limits of judicial control, as the NSO Group case has shown in the targeting of human rights defenders and journalists with malicious spyware on their mobile phones.40 The acquisition of new surveillance technology might also serve in the ascendance of certain intelligence units and actors, like Hammouchi’s DGST, against other more traditionally based ones. The third and most determining factor is the personalization of power, the structure and culture being more a product of Mohamed V and his descendants’ own goals for the country and the monarchy.41 With the intelligence services’ objective to preserve the centrality and popularity of the monarchy, a strong culture against any opposition or critique is central in the DGST and DGED. Indeed, it is a pervasive culture engaged in surveillance of populations through institutional, informal, and traditional networks as well as unlawful repression of peaceful political activists. The lack of democratic accountability, despite timid attempts at transitional justice and with other externally funded initiatives to reform the justice system, continues to foster turf wars within the array of intelligence services, along with “arbitrary” reshuffles and dismissals that seem to demonstrate power struggles within the political and security sectors. The task of reforming falls on the superiors’ will, which consists of the monarch’s immediate



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entourage. It is indeed based on a paternalistic model: impunity from law but not from authority. Morocco’s intelligence community has always been very firmly anchored in the West, sometimes even playing the Trojan horse role among African and Middle Eastern politics. Recent approaches to China, however, show that the kingdom’s priority is to stay on top of global power reconfigurations. The regime’s use of intelligence about its own citizens, while at the same time maintaining the narrative of exceptionality, stability, and “reformism” in the region, has been effective during the first two decades of Mohamed VI’s reign. However, frustration over the lack of results from the post-2011 reforms, economic hardship following the COVID-19 pandemic, and a decline in the king’s popularity might foreshadow increased intelligence and security measures for the regime’s self-preservation against popular discontent. Indeed, intelligence tools and resources, especially under a prolonged pandemic-related state of emergency, are readily available to the government. NOTES 1.  For more on the evolution of elites in Morocco, see Ali Benhaddou, Maroc, les élites du royaume: Essai sur l’organisation du pouvoir au Maroc, Collection Histoire et Perspectives Méditerranéennes [Morocco, the elites of the kingdom: Essay on the organization of power in Morocco, Mediterranean History and Perspectives Collection] (Paris: Harmattan, 1997); Abdelkader Berrada and Mohamed Saïd Saadi, “Le grand capital privé marocain” [Large Moroccan private capital], in Le Maroc actuel, ed. Jean-Claude Santucci (Institut de recherches et d’études sur le monde arabe et musulman, 1992), 325–91; Mohammed Said Saadi, “Moroccan Cronyism: Facts, Mechanisms, and Impact,” in Crony Capitalism in the Middle East, ed. Mohammed Said Saadi (Oxford University Press, 2019), 146–70; and I. William Zartman, ed., The Political Economy of Morocco, A SAIS Study on Africa (New York: Praeger, 1987). For the monarchy’s economic role, see Lucette Valensi, “Le roi chronophage: La construction d’une conscience historique dans le Maroc postcolonial” [The timeconsuming king: Building historical consciousness in postcolonial Morocco], Cahiers d’études africaines 30, no. 119 (1990): 279–98. 2.  Data from 2019, OEC. Morocco’s export represented 36.8 percent of the global market. 3.  Michel Abitbol, Histoire Du Maroc [History of Morocco] (Paris: Perrin, 2009); and David Stenner, Globalizing Morocco: Transnational Activism and the Postcolonial State (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2019). 4.  Ameziane Kittani, Driss Ben Omar, and Mohamed Oufkir were among those high-ranking officers issuing from the colonial armies (Abitbol).

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 5. Claude Clément, La incógnita Ufkir: Biografía del general que asesinó a Ben Barka [The unknown Ufkir: Biography of the general who assassinated Ben Barka] (Barcelona: Dopesa, 1975).   6.  Multiple intelligence agencies from different countries have been rumored to be implicated in the affair, among them the Israeli intelligence service, Mossad. According to some accounts, Ben Barka “was tortured to death, and Mossad agents disposed of the body, which was never found.” Ronen Bergman, “Israel-Morocco Deal Follows History of Cooperation on Arms and Spying,” New York Times, December 10, 2020, https://www.nytimes.com/2020/12/10/world/middleeast/Israel-morocco -cooperation-history.html.  7. Mahjoub Tobji, Les officiers de sa Majesté: Les dérives des généraux Marocains, 1956–2006 [His Majesty’s officers: The drifts of the Moroccan generals, 1956–2006] (Paris: Fayard, 2006).  8. Zartman, Political Economy of Morocco.   9.  For a detailed analysis of protests and repression in Morocco during the twentieth century see Laura Feliu, Josep Lluís Mateo Dieste, and Ferran Izquierdo, eds., Un siglo de movilización social en Marruecos, Colección Alborán [A century of social mobilization in Morocco, Alboran Collection] (Barcelona: Edicions Bellaterra, 2019). 10.  AI Index: MDE 29/01/91Amnesty International, March 20, 1991. 11.  The “black beast” of the terror was Driss Basri, chief of the DGSN since 1973. In 1979, Basri became the minister state for the interior; he was replaced in 1999 by the new King Mohamed VI. 12. “Extraordinary Rendition,” Frontline, November 4, 2007, https://www.pbs .org/frontlineworld/stories/rendition701/; “Rendition and Secret Detention: A Global System of Human Rights Violations Questions and Answers,” Amnesty International, January 2006, https://www.amnesty.org/download/Documents/80000/pol300 032006en.pdf. 13. Open Society Foundations, ed., Globalizing Torture: CIA Secret Detention and Extraordinary Rendition (New York: Open Society Foundations, 2013). 14.  “Rendition and Secret Detention.” 15. The moqaddem is well known in the neighborhood he is in charge of. His mission is to learn about the “problems” and conflicts in the area and sometimes broker agreements between the population and the different administrations. Through legal or illegal means he can help register a newborn, suggest who the young troublemakers are and have them be recruited for the army, or even let some illegal activities happen, for a personal fee. 16. Béatrice Hibou and Mohamed Tozy, Tisser le temps politique au Maroc: Imaginaire de l’état à l’âge néolibéral, Recherches Internationales [Weaving political time in Morocco: State imagination in the neoliberal age, International Research] (Paris: Éditions Karthala, 2020), 355. 17.  Elke Devroe and Paul Ponsaer, “The Informal Economy of Intelligence into Terrorism: A Moroccan-Belgian Case-Study,” Forensic Research & Criminology International Journal 2, no. 2 (2016): 51.



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18.  Karim Boukhari and Abdellatif El Azizi, “Exclusif: Voyage au cœur des services secrets” [Exclusive: Journey to the heart of the secret services], TelQuel, April 2, 2007, http://www.telquel-online.com/167/couverture_167_1.shtml. 19.  Décret no. 2-97-176 du 14 chaabane 1418 (Décembre 15, 1997). 20.  S.A., “Le secret de la réussite du FBI marocain révélé” [Moroccan FBI’s secret to success revealed], Bladi.net, December 31, 2020, https://www.bladi.net/cherkaoui -habboub-reussite-bcij,78018.html. 21.  An apparent paradox is the enormous anticolonial activity of Moroccans in France during the Protectorate. According to historian David Stenner in Globalizing Morocco, this could be explained by the alliances and friendships that some of the nationalist leaders had with important politicians, but also because some of the prominent key figures within the movement had also acted as informants for France. 22.  In July 2021, Amnesty International and Forbidden Stories published an investigation on the use of Israeli spyware Pegasus by several countries against activists and journalists. Among the countries of concern was Morocco, and one of the phones selected as a potential target was used by French president Emmanuel Macron. According to several declarations, investigations have been launched, but the issue has so far had no diplomatic consequences. “About the Pegasus Project,” Forbidden Stories, 2021, https://forbiddenstories.org/about-the-pegasus-project/. 23.  Morocco was nevertheless important for the United States during the Second World War, especially for its geostrategic position and political leanings. 24.  “Memorandum from Secretary of State Rogers to President Nixon, Washington, January 5, 1973,” in Foreign Relations of the United States, 1969–1976, volume E-9, pt. 1, Documents on North Africa, 1973–1976, https://history.state.gov/historical documents/frus1969-76ve09p1/d59. 25.  Laura Feliu, “Las políticas de promoción de los derechos humanos de Estados Unidos y Francia: El caso de los golpes de estado en Marruecos” [The policies for the promotion of human rights of the United States and France: The case of the coups in Morocco], Revista de Estudios Internacionales Mediterráneos, no. 14 (2013), http:// www.tallerteim.com/reim/index.php/reim/article/view/17. “The King, now, as in the past, has shown himself impervious to advice regarding his method of rule. We must accept him as he is.” “Memorandum from Secretary of State Rogers to President Nixon,” https://history.state.gov/historicaldocuments/frus1969-76ve09p1/d59. 26.  Jeremy H. Keenan, “Africa Unsecured? The Role of the Global War on Terror (GWOT) in Securing US Imperial Interests in Africa,” Critical Studies on Terrorism 3, no. 1 (April 26, 2010): 27–47; Jeremy H. Keenan, “El reto de la seguridad en el Sahel: Las perspectivas Argelina, Marroquí y Libia” [The challenge of security in the Sahel: The Algerian, Moroccan and Libyan perspectives], Balance, 2011, 166–70. 27. “Defense Secretary Dr. Mark T. Esper and Morocco’s Minister of Foreign Affairs Nasser Bourita Signed the Defense Cooperation Road Map That Will Expand until 2030,” Department of Defence, October 2, 2020, https://www.defense. gov/Explore/News/Article/Article/2369742/us-morocco-chart-defense-cooperationthrough-2030/; and “Immediate Release: Readout of Secretary of Defense Dr. Mark T. Esper’s Meeting with Moroccan Minister of Foreign Affairs and International Cooperation Nasser Bourita,” Department of Defense, October 2, 2020, www.defense

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.gov/Newsroom/Releases/Release/Article/2370878/readout-of-secretary-of-defense -dr-mark-t-espers-meeting-with-moroccan-minister/. 28. Einat Levi, “Israel and Morocco: Cooperation Rooted in Heritage,” in Israel’s Relations with Arab Countries: The Unfulfilled Potential (Ramat Gan, Israel: MITVIM, The Israeli Institute for Regional Foreign Policies, September 2018), 13, https://mitvim.org.il/wp-content/uploads/Einat_Levi_-_Israel_and_Morocco_-_Co operation_Rooted_in_Heritage_-_September_2018.pdf. Morocco is part of Israel’s periphery strategy: to engage Arab countries far from the Israeli–Palestinian conflict and/or with common enemies. 29.  Levi, “Israel and Morocco.” 30.  Meit Amir, the former director of the Mossad services in the 1960s, provided a detailed description of the Mossad’s involvement in the kidnapping and assassination of Mehdi Ben Barka. “History: 1965, When the Mossad Helped Morocco Murder Ben Barka,” Yabiladi, October 25, 2017, https://en.yabiladi.com/articles/details/58726 /history-1965-when-mossad-helped.html. 31. Ronen Bergman, “Israel-Morocco Deal Follows History of Cooperation on Arms and Spying,” New York Times, December 10, 2020, https://www.nytimes .com/2020/12/10/world/middleeast/Israel-morocco-cooperation-history.html. 32. “Multilateral (20-1222)—Joint Declaration between the United States, Morocco and Israel,” Office of Treaty Affairs, Department of State, December 22, 2020, https://www.state.gov/20-1222. 33.  Official statement by Mohamed Nifaoui, general controller of the BCIJ. “210 cellules terroristes démantelées au Maroc depuis 2002,” Bladi, May 19, 2021, https:// www.bladi.net/cellules-terroristes-demantelees-maroc,82817.html. 34. P. B. Kraska, “Militarization and Policing—Its Relevance to 21st Century Police,” Policing 1, no. 4 (November 7, 2007): 501–13. 35. Ahmed Aït-Taleb, Le secteur public de securite: Architecture, action et éthique; Essai sur l’institution sécuritaire au Maroc [The public security sector: Architecture, action and ethics; Essay on the security institution in Morocco] (El Jadida /Rabat: El Maarif, 2014), 5. 36. “Morocco: Human Rights Defenders Targeted with NSO Group’s Spyware,” Amnesty International, October 10, 2019, https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest /research/2019/10/morocco-human-rights-defenders-targeted-with-nso-groups-spy ware/. 37.  Laura Feliu, “La apropiación de la temática de los derechos humanos por los regímenes Marroquí y Tunecino: Retórica y realidad” [The appropriation of human rights issues by the Moroccan and Tunisian regimes: Rhetoric and reality], Papers: Revista de Sociologia, no. 46 (1995): 077–094; Laura Feliu and Maria Ángeles Parejo, “Morocco: The Reinvention of a Totalitarian System,” in Power and Regimes in the Contemporary Arab World, by Ferran Izquierdo Brichs (London: Routledge, 2013); and Brahim Saidy, “Perceptions de sécurité nationale au Maghreb et au Moyen-Orient” [Perceptions of national security in the Maghreb and the Middle East], [no publisher], n.d., 12.



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38. “Morocco Whistleblowing Overview,” Transparency International, 2015, https://images.transparencycdn.org/images/Morocco__Whistleblowing_overview .pdf. 39.  In 2014, however, the Ministry of Interior issued a lawsuit in a French court against three people and the French NGO Action by Christians for the Abolition of Torture (ACAT), who had sued in their turn the DGST and its director, Abdellatif Hammouchi, for torture (http://www.rfi.fr/afrique/20140326-maroc-contre-attaque -justice-paris-affaire-hammouchi). In 2015, Hammouchi was awarded the Légion d’honneur by the French minister of the interior, Bernard Cazeneuve. 40.  The Pegasus affair is not however the first known case of Morocco purchasing surveillance technology. See “Morocco,” Privacy International, 2021, https://privacy international.org/state-privacy/1007/state-privacy-morocco. 41.  Gérald Arboit, “Affaire Ben Barka: Le point de vue des services de renseignement” [The Ben Barka case: The intelligence services perspective], [no publisher], 2015, https://doi.org/hal-01152723.

35 Mozambique Intelligence in the One-Party Culture of a Democratic State Luca Bussotti and Laura António Nhaueleque

This

chapter focuses on the intelligence service in Mozambique, a Lusophone African country located on the Indian Ocean, which obtained its political independence in 1975 from Portugal.1 Mozambique adhered to Marxism-Leninism starting in 1977, building a one-party regime led by the Mozambican Liberation Front (Frente de Libertação de Moçambique, FRELIMO). This changed following the approval of a new Constitution in 1990, the signing of the 1992 General Peace Agreement with the National Resistance of Mozambique (Resistência Nacional Moçambicana, RENAMO) that ended a sixteen-year civil war, and the subsequent first free elections in 1994. This chapter argues that the Mozambican intelligence services had unique characteristics due to the overlapping interests of the incumbent party, FRELIMO, and the state institutions that have been part of Mozambique since independence. To understand these characteristics, this chapter uses a historical perspective in exploring the political aspects of the Mozambican intelligence services’ work. Since the national political framework largely did not change despite the institutional reforms of the 1990s because FRELIMO has always governed the country, the intelligence services’ approach also did not change significantly. Moreover, this continuity created an incapacity in the Mozambican state to address some new threats, such as the Islamic terrorism in the north (Cabo Delgado Province). This chapter is divided into two parts. The first focuses on the intelligence services from the First Republic to 1991. The second part explores the Second Republic since 1991 before ending with final remarks. This chapter uses a qualitative methodology based on document analysis, complemented by a bibliographical analysis of difficult to obtain texts. Informal conversations

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with State Intelligence and Security Services (Serviço de Informaçao e Segurança do Estado, SISE) members have also broadly informed this research. INTELLIGENCE FROM 1975 TO 1991 National security institutions are a significant aspect of Mozambique’s government. In May 1975, during the transition government led by Joaquim Chissano following independence, a Police Corps of Mozambique was created through Law 54/1975.2 It was reformed in 1979 with the establishment of the Popular Police of Mozambique. Concurrently, the first nucleus of an intelligence service was being implemented. In October 1975, just four months after independence, Decree no. 21/1975 was approved by the Council of Ministers, establishing the National Service of Popular Security (Serviço Nacional de Segurança Popular, SNASP). In particular, article 3 defined the specific duties of this new organization: to prevent and neutralize all actions against the Mozambican Constitution, the main representative of Mozambican State; to prevent and neutralize all actions that could threaten the financial stability of the country, including economic sabotage; to help the Mozambican government combat illicit trafficking in drugs, women, and other activities considered criminal; and to prevent and neutralize all espionage activities directed toward subverting the national unity of the country. To accomplish these tasks, SNASP was given police powers, a large arbitrary power to act, and a close relationship to the president of FRELIMO. The president was responsible for SNASP’s organizational plan as well as the modalities of hiring its agents and establishing their salaries. The other prominent institutional figure who cooperated with the president of FRELIMO was the minister of security affairs. Specifically, this was Jacinto Veloso from 1975 to 1983, a former Portuguese military pilot who joined FRELIMO’s liberation struggle in 1963.3 SNASP’s structure was solidified in 1978 under Decree no. 28/78, when the National Direction of Migration under the umbrella of the Ministry of Interior was put under SNASP’s authority to effectively control the frontiers. Mozambique’s approach to intelligence was common among other African countries immediately after countries gained independence. Yet the situation in Mozambique changed dramatically only one year after its political independence: in 1976 a civil war was triggered by international forces against the socialist Mozambican state, which used RENAMO, a local movement initially supported by Rhodesia’s Central Intelligence Organization (CIO), and grew to have strong bases in the country’s center and north. This was due to the Cold War, when the United States recognized the government led by FRELIMO, the opposite of what it did with the People’s Movement for



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the Liberation of Angola (Movimento Popular de Libertação de Angola— Partido do Trabalho, MPLA) in Angola. It was in collaboration with South Africa’s Bureau of State Security (BOSS) to sustain the National Liberation Front of Angola (Frente Nacional de Libertação de Angola, FLNA) of Holden Roberto and then the National Union for the Total Independence of Angola (União Nacional para a Independência Total de Angola, NITA) of Donald Savimbi, which destabilized the country for decades. The US recognition of Mozambique’s government allowed intense activity and presence by Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) officers in the capital, Maputo. From Mozambique, they could influence not only the Mozambican situation but other African movements, such as the Zimbabwe African National Union (the socialist party of Zimbabwe) and African National Congress in South Africa.4 The hostile climate induced Mozambique to shift toward an explicit Marxist-Leninist regime in 1977. National legislation reflected this change with new laws that accentuated measures to confront risks related to Mozambique’s national security. In 1979 the Law of Crimes against the Security of People and Popular Security aimed to defend national security against attacks from “imperialist states.” It expanded the list of crimes against state security, applied to Mozambican citizens abroad and to foreign citizens living in Mozambique. Furthermore, the law provided harsh punishments, such as the death penalty, for the most serious cases.5 In addition, article 8 introduced the obligation for Mozambican citizens to denounce all those situations that could be related to such crimes and encouraged informers to engage in arbitrary, widespread, and indiscriminate activities. Consequently, this caused SNASP to dramatically change, acting to limit the growing power of national and international enemies. At the time, SNASP played a decisive role in capturing political opponents and immediately transferring them to “reeducation camps” in the north of the country (especially in Niassa Province). In many cases, they were executed as “enemies of the people.” Additionally, torture that led to death was regularly used and reported on by Amnesty International.6 The new enormous and widespread security apparatus gave SNASP significant results, including the identification and expulsion of CIA officers in Maputo. This news was announced by the Ministry of Security Affairs under Jacinto Veloso, in the only newspaper of the country, Notícias. At the same time, Minister of Foreign Affairs Joaquim Chissano sent a démarche to the US Embassy in Maputo, informing the United States and warning that espionage carried out in Mozambique could negatively affect the cordial relations between the two countries. The newspaper also reported on the collaboration between the vigilante security and SNASP. It informed the public about relations between the CIA and BOSS in Maputo that aimed to identify ANC members

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in southern Mozambique and capture and return them to South Africa.7 This relationship is best illustrated by a brutal episode on January 30, 1981, in Matola, a town near Maputo, where sixteen ANC members who lived in houses provided by the Mozambican government were identified and eliminated by BOSS. A Portuguese citizen was also killed after being confused with Oliver Tambo, the ANC’s leader at that time.8 The news of CIA officers’ expulsion from Maputo went around the world. In November 1980, Ronald Reagan was elected US president and intensified US support for BOSS specifically and South Africa in general.9 As a measure of retaliation, Reagan withdrew an initial aid program of US$6 million to Mozambique that had been negotiated by the Carter administration and lessened US pressure for political change in Pretoria.10 SNASP’s enormous power and arbitrariness in the early 1980s provoked a political reaction from the Mozambican government. Mozambique’s president, Samora Machel, launched an initiative to limit SNASP’s abuses. In 1981 he promoted an “Offensive for Legality” to “clean up” SNASP’s practices, especially in the reeducation camps. Machel found some former combatants in the camps who were involved in the liberation struggle and imprisoned for two or three years because they had drunk half a liter of whiskey from the bottle of their direct chief. Others were imprisoned because they wanted to marry Mozambican nonblack women. Machel was shocked at the violations of basic constitutional principles, especially affecting his “comrades.” According to some sources, Machel ordered the release of about three thousand inmates as a first step in the “Offensive for Legality.”11 On November 5, 1981, Machel made a public speech in Maputo that denounced SNASP’s abuses and imposed a moratorium on arbitrary detentions and other abuses.12 The “Offensive for Legality” was rapid and resulted in the unprecedented measure of removing about four hundred SNASP agents. The Ministry of Security expelled them for “laziness,” “indiscipline,” and “infiltration,” while exalting the work of the new Cabinet of Control and Discipline created in 1980 by Machel.13 Nevertheless, these measures did not introduce legal mechanisms to protect people accused of threatening national security, and many extrajudicial executions continued against alleged RENAMO members. The rift between the Mozambican government and SNASP had the immediate consequence of weakening intelligence work. For example, the 1981 attack organized by BOSS in Matola killed ANC members. In 1982, Ruth First, an anti-apartheid South African militant serving as a research director at the African Studies Center of the University of Eduardo Mondlane in Maputo, was killed in her office by a bomb placed by Jerry Raven on orders from South African police major Craig Williamson.14 Also in 1982, the director of SNASP, Jorge Costa, applied for political asylum in South Africa while the military offensive of RENAMO was advancing in many parts of Mozambican territory.



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In 1983, FRELIMO’s fourth congress adapted the state’s institutions to new challenges. On the one hand was the need to continue the fight against RENAMO; on the other was the need to initiate diplomatic action that would lead to the 1984 Nkomati Agreement with Mozambique’s historical enemy, South Africa. All the diplomatic work that resulted in the Nkomati Agreement was carried out by the FRELIMO political representatives, such as then minister of foreign affairs Chissano and President Machel.15 It seems that Chissano had received the draft of the Nkomati Agreement from Chester Crocker, the assistant secretary of state of the United States, a key figure in the Reagan administration’s “constructive engagement.”16 Meanwhile, the state’s security sector was one of the most affected by the government reshuffle. Minister of State Security Veloso was replaced by Sérgio Vieira, while Oscar Monteiro became minister of interior.17 At the same time, Fernando Honwana was the de facto head of SNASP’s counterintelligence department (known as D-13), although his official position was that of special assistant to the president.18 He collaborated closely with another sector of SNASP, the Anti-Bandit Struggle Department (DLCB).19 This national security team suffered the worst defeat in Mozambique as an independent country when President Machel and other members of FRELIMO, such as Honwana and Aquino de Bragança, died in a plane crash in Mbuzini, South Africa, on October 19, 1986. SNASP’s duties remained focused on identifying, capturing, and if necessary, eliminating RENAMO members; these did not change until the beginning of the 1990s. Evo Fernandes’s murder was one of the most internationally known cases involving SNASP. He was a prominent representative of RENAMO and was killed near Lisbon, Portugal, in April 1988 by two SNASP agents, Alexander Chagas and Joaquim Messias. They both confessed to the crime, ordered, according to them, by SNASP. They were sentenced to eighteen years in prison, despite the Portuguese judge not being able to prove SNASP’s involvement.20 After the Soviet Union’s fall and the waning of civil wars in Africa, an avenue for peace between FRELIMO and RENAMO was established, and peace was formally made in 1992. The new peaceful atmosphere was preceded by some important transformations in the Mozambican state. First was a new democratic constitution approved in 1990 by a parliament that consisted only of FRELIMO representatives. Second was a shift from socialism to a free-market economy and encouragement of private enterprise. Third was the reform of all the security services, including the police, national army, and intelligence. SNASP was replaced by SISE in 1991 with a mission to safeguard democracy and constitutional principles.

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INTELLIGENCE FROM 1991 TO THE PRESENT The decision to dissolve SNASP was taken in 1989 during the fifth FRELIMO congress. FRELIMO sought to go beyond the cosmetic reform of a simple name change from SNASP to SISE. Rather, the goal was to eliminate the brutal practices that had characterized SNASP’s activities since its foundation. SNASP had to be transformed into a professional intelligence service that could provide state security. The transformation also removed controversial figures, such as the ad interim SNASP director José Carlos Esteira, who allegedly was involved in brutal operations, such as Evo Fernandes’s murder.21 The reorganization of Mozambique’s intelligence service must be contextualized in the broader strategy of reforming security and police sectors. The Mozambican Popular Police was transformed into the Police of the Mozambican Republic (Polícia da República de Moçambique, PRM) under Law 19/92 with the approval of a new statute and was further modified in 2013. The national intelligence service was transformed with a specific law in 1991, while the national security and the armed forces were reformed in 1997 (Law 18/97). The foundational document for understanding SISE is the 1990 and then the 2004 Mozambican Constitution. In both constitutions, SISE’s main objective is the defense of independence and sovereignty. In the 1990 Constitution, Mozambican citizens (article 61) are encouraged to participate with civil defense agencies, recalling the activity of the Popular Vigilance. The 2004 Constitution maintained the principle of national defense as a priority for the Mozambican state in its article 11, but the idea of an active, popular vigilance was replaced in favor of a more general principle in article 46 about the possible contribution of popular vigilance. The most relevant innovation can be found in article 266, which mandates that the defense and security forces and their members be nonpartisan. Two basic laws that laid the foundation for the institution of the new SISE were approved in 1991. Law 19/91 focused on the classification of crimes against state security along with penalties. Law 20/91 dissolved SNASP and created in article 6 a new intelligence service, SISE. Nevertheless, the institutional framework that regulated SISE’s activity was not completely defined due to the ongoing uncertainty of the negotiations with RENAMO. An important change in Law 19/91 declared the taking up of arms against Mozambique a serious crime; this was directly linked to the situation with RENAMO, which was forced to deliver its weapons to ONUMOZ, a special peace force that supported the peace process between 1992 and 1994. The Mozambican government needed to demilitarize RENAMO’s soldiers. The General Peace Agreement was based on the prerogative of a special, autonomous body led by the leader of RENAMO, Afonso Dhlakama



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(today Ossufo Momade). Meanwhile, RENAMO’s demobilization remained largely incomplete, which left the group with a significant armed force in the country’s center that could aid its electoral efforts. Indeed, this turned out to be the case in the 1994 and 1999 general elections. This scenario forced FRELIMO to consider a new threat, namely the “risk” of losing political power to RENAMO. FRELIMO developed new strategies to maintain power formally and within the principles of the new Constitution.22 SISE became a prominent actor in this strategy to limit the political action of RENAMO by all possible means. The government approved a legislative framework compatible with the new constitution, but it was characterized by secrecy and the centralization of security issues under the chief of state. Presidential Decree no. 8/93 created the National Committee for the Implementation of the Norms on Secrets of State (CPISE), whose president was the general director of SISE, with subcommittees in the Ministry of National Defense, the Interior, and the State Administration. CPISE was an organism to watch over all the public entities that directly dealt with state security, including SISE. The new Mozambican intelligence services’ legislative framework was completed by two laws approved by a multiparty parliament. Law 12/2012 represented a revision of Law 20/91, and Law 13/2012 reformulated the status of the intelligence services’ members. These two laws have to be understood in light of another important document, the Strategy for National Defense (Resolução 42/2006). This strategy pointed out possible new threats, such as terrorism and religious radicalism. Other risks were identified, such as poverty, a lack of access to formal education and public health, natural disasters, human immunodeficiency virus (HIV), malaria, a weak capacity to control the maritime as well as land frontiers, and organized crime. Finally, the Southern African Development Community (SADC), previously not workable because of its association with South African apartheid, was defined as a desirable geopolitical space. The strategy represented a transformation from previous state security conceptions. While the government noted a vast array of new threats, the Mozambican state was still too weak to confront all of them. SISE’s concrete work did not take into account the full range of threats elaborated by the government’s strategy in 2006. Rather, it focused on intense intelligence against RENAMO and other opposition representatives and opinion leaders. To carry out its work, SISE was constituted as a state agency with near total administrative autonomy and directly responsible to the chief of state (article 1, Law 12/90). Its mission was to guarantee state security through the production of useful intelligence (article 3) in a series of public and private companies were required to collaborate with its members (article 5).

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The general director of SISE had to present an annual report to the Committee for the Defense and Security of the State. SISE was structured under a general director and their vice, a Council of Direction, and a Consultative Council. A Coordinating Council planned and controlled SISE activity and held an annual obligatory meeting (article 14). SISE was organized into divisions, national directorates, central departments, provincial departments, and distinct departments (article 13). All Mozambican territory was covered by SISE, with each province having a department of the intelligence service. SISE member recruitment and career progression and special rights were also defined (articles 20–23). Independent observers noted that the two laws approved in 2012 represented a change from the past but were still probably unconstitutional. According to the Center for Public Integrity, the powers of the chief of state were excessive in relation to SISE, with the requirement that public and private companies must collaborate and the ability to wiretap both being considered illegal.23 Nevertheless, the Mozambican government’s main concern remained holding onto power, and it used various measures. This was accomplished by excluding international partners from electoral monitoring, through SISE’s special powers, by the political and military neutralization of RENAMO, and by influencing public opinion.24 This control and, in some cases, direct intervention against RENAMO or opposition members inside and outside Mozambique, were the SISE’s main tasks. There are numerous reports about SISE’s strength and persecution of RENAMO members. For example, in 2007 a district delegate of RENAMO in Panda (Inhambane Province), Amosse Filipane Neves, declared that local representatives of his party had been persecuted by SISE members.25 In 2010 Machado da Graça, one of the most reputed Mozambican journalists, stressed that the annual budget for SISE was higher than that for the whole Ministry of Education and Health. He calculated that SISE had more than eleven thousand members and questioned why so many employees were necessary.26 There are also questions about abuses. In 2013 some bodyguards of Dhlakama captured SISE members in Santunjira (Sofala, where Dhlakama was living at that time) and accused them of trying to poison him. One of the captured men, Jonas Gerente, confessed that he had poisoned water Dhlakama was expected to drink.27 At the end of 2017 the Portuguese information agency, Agência Lusa, published a list of RENAMO members, journalists, and academics who had been assassinated in Mozambique, probably by SISE members, for political reasons, and investigations into whose deaths were still at the starting point.28 Since 2015 public outrage against journalists and independent media organizations, such as Ericino de Salema or Matias Guente, is said to have been fomented by SISE.



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Activities that help the intelligence services control and persecute have also been carried out outside Mozambique. The former Mozambican ambassador in Lisbon, Gregório Leão, was named by Guebuza as a general director of SISE in 2005 and held this office for eleven years. In addition, many SISE members generally completed their training at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, indicating that Mozambican diplomatic missions are strategic. Moreover, it appears Lisbon is a high priority, as there are reports that SISE members work there with the aim of monitoring and influencing FRELIMO’s opponents. Information too has been a prominent focus, especially under Guebuza’s government, and SISE has played an important role here. In fact, SISE members began to work in private and public universities. For instance, Sérgio Nathú Cabá, named vice general director of SISE in 2017 by President Nyusi, was an assistant lecturer in the Department of History at the University of Eduardo Mondlane. Additionally, the G40 group, a team of about forty SISE members with advanced academic training, was instructed to intervene in mass media as influencers in Guebuza’s favor. Among these SISE members, thirteen scholars and researchers have been identified by the opposition as repeatedly appearing in mass media, as TVM, RM, or in the daily newspaper Notícias and in the weekly Domingos, part of the G40.29 Finally, under Guebuza’s government from 2004 to 2014 SISE increasingly became an economic and financial institution that founded and controlled many public companies in the security sector. This was not completely successful because it provoked the most serious financial scandal of the country and led to the arrest of Gregório Leão, the former minister of finance, Chang, and harsh criticisms against the same chief of state, Nyusi, at that time minister of national defense. As the preceding discussion demonstrates, the political continuity in the Mozambican government prevented SISE from operating as an independent and unbiased organization. Its focus on RENAMO impeded its ability to identify emerging threats, such as Islamic terrorism in Cabo Delgado.30 For instance, the first terrorist attacks, which occurred on October 5, 2017, were not considered serious and were dismissed as common crimes. CONCLUSION This chapter focused on the Mozambican intelligence services, showing a high level of continuity in Mozambican history. The chapter argued that the overlapping of FRELIMO with the Mozambican state prevented a change in the intelligence culture that many people were waiting for. SISE continues to

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be seen by local Mozambicans as one of the most terrible tools of control and repression, despite fundamental principles established in the current Mozambican Constitution. Because SISE’s activity largely focused on RENAMO’s threat to FRELIMO’s power, it left the intelligence services without the ability to deal with other, modern threats, such as terrorism and drug trafficking. Consequently, an intensive intelligence reform process to improve training and strategy is necessary for SISE. The question remains whether a government under FRELIMO’s control is willing and able to change its priority from political concerns about RENAMO’s power to other security threats. NOTES   1.  The English text of this chapter has been revised by Sidney Pratt.   2.  Laura António Nhaueleque, “Os direitos humanos na polícia moçambicana: Surgimento e fortalecimento do modelo autoritário; Da independência ao regime democrático (1957–2019)” [Human rights in Mozambican police: Emergence and strengthening of an authoritarian model; From independence to democracy (1975– 2019)], Debates Insubmissos3, no. 8 (2020): 62–91, https://periodicos.ufpe.br/revis tas/debatesinsubmissos/article/view/243948/35092.  3. Jacinto Veloso, Memórias em voo rasante [Memories in low flight] (Lisbon: Papa Letras, 2006).   4.  Roy Pateman, “The Role of Western Intelligence Services in Nation Building: Africa, 1952–1984” (presented at Eighth Annual Conference, African Studies Association of Australia and the Pacific, August 24–26, 1985).  5. Popular Republic of Mozambique, “Law of Crimes against the Security of People and of the Popular State,” Tempo, March 4, 1979.  6. Amnesty International, Relatos da prática de tortura na República Popular de Moçambique [Stories of practice of torture in the Popular Republic of Mozambique] (Maputo: Amnesty International, 1985).  7. Ministry of Security, “Security Ministry Announcement Informing on the Dismantling of the Network of CIA,” Notícias, March 4, 1981.   8.  Gil Filipe, “Ataque do “Apartheid” à Matola: Uma fatalidade que uniu dois povos” [Attacks of “apartheid” to Matola: A fatality that united two peoples], Notícias, September 11, 2015, https://www.jornalnoticias.co.mz/index.php/politica/42998 -ataque-do-apartheid-a-matola-uma-fatalidade-que-uniu-dois-povos.html.   9.  Robert Fatton, “The Reagan Foreign Policy toward South Africa: The Ideology of the New Cold War,” African Studies Review 27, no. 1 (1984): 57–82. 10.  Carlye Murphy, “U.S. Disputes Spy Allegation By Mozambique,” Washington Post, March 6, 1981. 11.  “Purge of Security Force,” Africa, no. 124, December 1981. 12.  Albino Magaia, “Ofensiva da legalidade: Somos mais Livres,” Tempo, November 15, 1981. 13.  “Purificação de fileiras na Segurança,” Notícias, February 22, 1982.



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14.  “The Murder of Ruth First, Maputo, August 17, 1982,” http://www.mozam biquehistory.net/ruth.php. 15.  Rufino Gujamo, “A Transição Democrática e a Manutenção da Paz em Moçambique entre 1992 e 2004” [The democratic transition and the peace management in Mozambique between 1992 and 2004] (PhD thesis, University of Lisbon, 2016), https:// repositorio.ul.pt/bitstream/10451/26319/1/ulsd730210_td_Rufino_Gujamo.pdf. 16.  Chester Crocker, High Noon in Southern Africa (New York: W. W. Norton, 1993). 17. Presidência da República, “Announcement,” Boletim da República, series I, no. 24 (June 16, 1984), https://gazettes.africa/archive/mz/1984/mz-government -gazette-series-i-supplement-no-2-dated-1984-06-16-no-24.pdf. 18. Allen Isaacman, “Fernando Honwana,” Southern Africa Report, December 1986, 7, http://www.mozambiquehistory.net/history/mbuzini/8_victims/19861200 _isaacman_on_fernando_honwana.pdf. 19.  “Machel Wanted Vieira Out,” Africa Confidential, no. 14 (January 1987): 10. 20. “Assassino de Evo Fernandes condenado a 18 anos de prisão” [Killer of Evo Fernandes condemned to 18 years prison], Século de Johanesburgo, July 24, 1989, 17–18, http://www.mozambiquehistory.net/people/evo_fernandes/4/19890724 _chagas_gets_18.pdf. 21.  “SNASP: Para já, a cosmética,” Informáfrica, July 22, 1989. 22. Luca Bussotti, “A gestão do ‘risco político’ na democracia moçambicana” [The management of “political risk” in Mozambican democracy], Estudos de sociologia 2, no. 20 (2014), https://periodicos.ufpe.br/revistas/revsocio/article/view/235557. 23.  CIP, “SISE regido por quadro legal de duvidosa constitucionalidade” [SISE regulated by a legal framework of dubious constitutionality], A Transparência Newsletter, no. 6 (2014). 24.  Marc de Tollenaere, “Apoio a democratização a Moçambique pós-conflito” [Support of the democratization of post-conflict Mozambique] (working paper no. 37, Netherland Institute of International Relations, June, 2006); and EISA, “Mozambican General Elections: Preliminary Statement,” https://www.eisa.org/pdf/moz2019com monwealth.pdf. 25.  “SISE Persecutes Renamo Members,” Tribuna Fax, May 7, 2007. 26.  Machado da Graça, “O que andará a fazer esta gente toda?” [What is going to do all these people?], Correio da Manhã, November 19, 2010. 27.  “SISE acusado de tentar matar homens de Dhlakama por envenenamento” [SISE accused of trying to kill men of Dhlakama by poisoning], O País, January 2, 2013. 28. Agência Lusa, “Assassinatos de figuras públicas sem punição em Moçambique” [Murders of public figures without punition in Mozambique], DW, October 10, 2017, https://www.dw.com/pt-002/assassinatos-de-figuras-p%C3%BAblicas -sem-puni%C3%A7%C3%A3o-em-mo%C3%A7ambique/a-40888872. 29. Moçambique Terra Queimada, “Lista do famoso G40” [List of the famous G40], https://ambicanos.blogspot.com/2015/04/lista-do-famoso-g40.html?m=1. 30.  Luca Bussotti and Charles Torres, “The Risk Management of Islamic Terrorism in a Fragile State: The Case of Mozambique,” Problems of Management in the 21st Century 15, no. 1 (2020): 9–22.

36 Namibia An Authoritarian Intelligence Culture in a Democratic State Lennart Bolliger

This chapter examines the intelligence culture of Namibia, one of the most

politically stable countries on the African continent, with a population of just 2.5 million inhabitants.1 Namibia is also one of the world’s youngest nationstates, having gained independence from South Africa only in 1990 after a decades-long armed struggle. In its 2020 report, Freedom House rates the country as “free” with “generally robust” civil liberties.2 Exploring the security sector and intelligence specifically, this chapter argues that the authoritarian culture of Namibia’s intelligence services developed during the liberation struggle against South African colonization (1966–1990). Most of the territory in what today is called Namibia was first colonized by the German empire in 1884 and called German South West Africa. After Germany’s defeat during the First World War, South African forces occupied the territory on behalf of the United Kingdom. In 1921, South West Africa was transferred to South Africa as a mandate by the League of Nations, the predecessor of the United Nations. After the National Party’s rise to power in 1948, the South African government began implementing the apartheid system. As in South Africa, the new regime enforced the system of racial segregation and discrimination through various violent measures, including the creation of “reserves” or “homelands,” land expropriation, and forced removals. By the 1960s, various nationalist organizations with different sociopolitical and ethnoregional bases had formed in South West Africa. Among them, the South West African People’s Organization (SWAPO) became the dominant movement after it won international backing, in part due to its willingness to take up an armed struggle against South African occupation.3 From the late 1960s onward, SWAPO and its armed wing, the People’s Liberation Army of Namibia (PLAN), fought against apartheid South Africa’s security forces in 473

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a war that was closely linked to different conflicts in southern Africa and the global Cold War. Due to its military weakness, SWAPO and PLAN fought the war primarily from bases in Angola. At the same time, they received support from different newly independent governments on the African continent, the Soviet Union, and other countries of the Eastern Bloc. Many members of SWAPO’s security apparatus, including the PLAN commanders responsible for intelligence and counterintelligence, were trained in East Germany and the Soviet Union. These commanders were given free rein to deal with matters of “security” both within PLAN and in SWAPO as a whole.4 During the independence war, they were responsible for the repeated purges of dissidents and SWAPO members accused of being apartheid spies. Following independence in 1990, SWAPO became the dominant political party, and former PLAN commanders assumed leading roles in the new police, military, and intelligence services. This chapter argues that, through these appointments, the SWAPO leadership’s authoritarian intelligence culture was carried over into independent Namibia. This intelligence culture has been characterized by three key aspects: a suspicion of democratic politics and opposition, an unclear mission in the context of Namibia’s long-term political stability and virtual absence of domestic and foreign enemies, and a sense of impunity because of limited oversight. Research on intelligence anywhere is restricted by the fact that intelligence services are by design secretive. In the case of Namibia, however, there is some academic research.5 As a result, this chapter uses Namibia’s relative media freedom and draws on material from newspaper archives. The rest of the chapter is structured as follows. First, it provides a brief history of Namibia’s intelligence services, focusing on three specific moments during and after the war of independence. Then it examines different issues and developments during the tenure of the three director generals of the Namibian Central Intelligence Service (NCIS). Last, it discusses the limited legislative oversight over the NCIS and the judiciary’s effectiveness in dealing with allegations of corruption within the agency. BACKGROUND There have been three impactful moments in the history of intelligence in Namibia: a series of crises within SWAPO in exile and the formation of the movement’s security apparatus during the independence struggle, the restructuring of national intelligence after independence, and the Namibia Central Intelligence Service Act of 1997.



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Throughout its armed struggle from exile, SWAPO was riven by a series of internal conflicts and purges, most notably the events at the Kongwa camp in Tanzania in the 1960s, the so-called Shipanga crisis in Zambia in 1976, and the “Spy Drama” in Angola in the 1980s. These crises were the result of conflicts along educational, linguistic, and ethnoregional lines; concerns over the infiltration of SWAPO by South African spies; and mounting military pressure by the apartheid regime and its allies, especially from the mid-1970s onward.6 At Kongwa in late 1965, English-speaking members of the Caprivi African National Union (CANU), a liberation movement from Namibia’s Caprivi region that had merged with SWAPO in 1964, rebelled against the SWAPO leadership because they felt unwelcome and unfairly treated by their Oshiwambo-speaking commanders. In response to the strike, two leaders of the group were arrested and detained in prison. Three years later in 1968, seven PLAN guerrillas at Kongwa were imprisoned, again, because they openly criticized the SWAPO leadership and accused officials of corruption, poor military strategy, and spying for the apartheid regime.7 In Zambia in the mid-1970s, yet another major conflict developed within SWAPO, which became commonly known as the Shipanga crisis in reference to the alleged central role of Andreas Shipanga, a senior SWAPO leader at the time. However, the conflict was primarily driven by the demands of a new generation of exiles, who came to fill SWAPO’s rank and file. They sought more democratic procedures, leadership accountability, and membership participation within the movement. In mid-1976, the conflict came to a head: with the help of the Zambian army, several senior SWAPO leaders, including Shipanga, and more than one thousand guerrillas were arrested. While many of them later rejoined the movement, some dissidents were killed or “disappeared.”8 From the late 1970s, the Soviet Union and its allies became increasingly involved in SWAPO’s armed struggle, including the organization and maintenance of the movement’s internal security. In 1980 the SWAPO leadership established a security apparatus at Lubango in southern Angola, reportedly on Soviet advice.9 Many commanders of this new organization received military training courses in Eastern Bloc countries. Upon their return, their responsibilities often extended beyond SWAPO’s armed wing to the entire movement.10 In the 1980s the security apparatus was responsible for the systematic imprisonment, torture, murder, and disappearance of SWAPO members, who were labeled South African spies and detained in prison camps in Angola, most notably those at Lubango.11 After independence in 1990, many senior PLAN members, including those who had been responsible for intelligence and counterintelligence during the

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struggle, assumed leading roles in the country’s new police, military, and intelligence services.12 The most notable and controversial example was the appointment of Solomon “Jesus” Hawala as commander of the new Namibian Defence Force. Also known as the “Butcher of Lubango,” Hawala led SWAPO’s security service during the Spy Drama and “was feared by everyone, including the [movement’s] leadership.”13 As head of SWAPO’s security apparatus, Hawala reported directly and exclusively to the president, like his successors in the intelligence service in independent Namibia.14 Referring to the appointment of Hawala and others, historians John Saul and Colin Leys argue that “the secret political culture of the Lubango detention centres [seems to have] been dangerously carried forward, unexamined and unchecked, into independent Namibia.”15 SWAPO has never issued an official apology for its abuses in exile and has dismissed any discussion of past injustices or official inquiry, such as the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission, as dangerous attacks threatening the “peace and stability” of independent Namibia.16 “Many SWAPO leaders,” as political scientists Bill Lindeke, Phanuel Kaapama, and Leslie Blaauw write, have “remain[ed] wedded to the liberation movement heritage of distrusting potential rivals [and] seem to have an obsession with control, and to fear civil society becoming a ‘shadow opposition’ to the ruling party.”17 During the first eight years after independence, Namibia officially did not have a national intelligence agency. In August 1990 the first de facto head of national intelligence, Peter “Tshirumbu” Tsheehama, was asked by media how he would explain his new role as deputy minister for state security. In his response, he admitted: “That’s a very difficult question, I must say. I know the title of my job and that is self-explanatory—state security. My department acts as the eye and ear of the country, an eye and ear of the nation against any threat, external or internal.”18 Tsheehama’s answer seemed to reflect a culture of secrecy as well as a sense of uncertainty as to the exact role and mission of national intelligence in independent Namibia. On June 5, 1998, the Namibia Central Intelligence Service Act (Act No. 10 of 1997) came into force. It included the following provisions: To define the powers, duties and functions of the Namibia Central Intelligence Service; to provide for the continued existence of an account for that Service and for the utilisation and control of moneys in such account; to regulate the administration and control of that Service; to provide for the issue of directions authorising certain actions to be taken by that Service if the security of Namibia is threatened; and to provide for incidental matters.19

The act also repealed the apartheid-era National Intelligence Act of 1987 and officially established the NCIS under a director general.20



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INTELLIGENCE LEADERS AND ISSUES Since independence in 1990, national intelligence has been headed by three former PLAN officers: Peter Tsheehama (1990–2005), Lucas Hangula (2005–2015), and Philemon Malima (2015–). During the independence war, all three were directly implicated in the suppression of democratic efforts within SWAPO and the violent actions by the movement’s leadership against “dissidents” and “spies.” Tsheehama was a senior PLAN commander and member of the SWAPO central committee. From 1974 until 1986, Tsheehama served as chief representative to Central Africa before he became chief representative to South America. Alongside Nujoma and several other future government ministers, Tsheehama was also a member of the leadership group responsible for the crackdown against the dissidents in Zambia during 1976.21 From 1990 until 2005, Tsheehama headed the new national intelligence service under various titles.22 At the time, the Namibian government signed bilateral defense and security agreements with several other countries, namely South Africa, Botswana, Angola, Zambia, Tanzania, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo.23 In 2005 Tsheehama was appointed the new minister of safety and security, overseeing the prison and police services. From 1990 until 2008, he also twice served as a member of parliament (1990–1994 and 2000–2008). In the eyes of many Namibians, Tsheehama’s tenure was primarily characterized by his low public profile, except for two incidents.24 First, Tsheehama and the NCIS were criticized for having failed to anticipate a brief armed secession attempt in the Caprivi region of Namibia in August 1999.25 Second, also in 1999, Tsheehama admitted that the NCIS was “monitoring” members of the Congress of Democrats, a new political party that had broken away from SWAPO that same year. In response to media inquiries, Tsheehama explained: “They shouldn’t be afraid. These people [NCIS agents] just want to hear what they are saying.”26 Yet the director general’s explanation likely did little to assuage the concerns of opposition politicians. In 2005 Tsheehama was succeeded by Lucas Hangula, another former senior PLAN commander. At the height of the Spy Drama in 1985, Hangula was appointed deputy chief and then later chief of personnel at the PLAN headquarters at Lubango, serving in that role until 1990.27 After independence, Hangula became “one of SWAPO’s most trusted members” with regard to security matters.28 He first served as a senior civil servant in the Ministry of Home Affairs before he became the inspector general of the Namibian police in 1995, leading the force for the next ten years. Unlike his predecessor and successor, Hangula was never a member of parliament.

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Under Hangula, legislation has sought to broaden the NCIS’s power to conduct surveillance operations without simultaneously increasing oversight, a trend that the Namibian researcher and journalist Frederico Links has called “securocratic creep.”29 In 2009 the SWAPO majority in the Namibian parliament passed the controversial Communications Act, also called the “Spy Bill.” Among other measures, part 6 of the act provides for the “interception of telecommunications” and the establishment of NCIS-run “interception centers” deemed “necessary for the combating of crime and national security.”30 Civil society organizations, media, and opposition politicians strongly criticized the act for violating article 13 of the Namibian Constitution, which guarantees the right to privacy.31 While the Communications Act came into force in 2011, part 6 has yet to be implemented. In April 2016, however, the United Nations Human Rights Committee noted “with concern that interception centres seem operational despite the fact that their legal basis, part 6 of the Communications Act, is not yet in force.”32 Two years earlier, in March 2014, the outspoken SWAPO parliamentarian Kazenambo Kazenambo, who had voted in favor of the Communications Act, accused the NCIS of “tapping [into] and bugging people’s phones,” including those of SWAPO politicians, and argued that this was only done “in a dictatorial, totalitarian and abusive regime.”33 In response, Minister of Information Jöel Kaapanda denied Kazenambo’s claims but also reminded him that “the law [i.e., the Communications Act of 2009] was passed in parliament [and] members of parliament participated in this law.”34 In another notable event, it was revealed in July 2015 that the previous year an employee of the president’s so-called Directorate of Auxiliary Services, Andreas Nekongo, had contacted an Italian company called Hacking Team, which sold surveillance malware to governments.35 According to email correspondence with Hacking Team, Nekongo was looking for software that could “track at least thirty targets at the same time” and was “able to infect all [smartphone] types,” adding that “budget is mostly not a big issue.”36 In 2015 the correspondence came to an abrupt end after Hacking Team itself was hacked and more than a million emails were published online, and the Italian government subsequently revoked the company’s corporate license.37 Nekongo’s contact with Hacking Team was neither the first nor the last time that the NCIS or the Namibian government sought to acquire surveillance technology abroad. Between 2015 and 2017, the NCIS bought or tried to buy various kinds of mobile phone surveillance technology from companies in Denmark, Switzerland, and the United Kingdom. Swiss authorities stopped the export to Namibia and several other countries, officially out of concern that the technology might be used for political repression. According to Admire Mare, a scholar at the Namibia University of Science and



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Technology, “many countries in southern Africa [including Namibia] have been expanding their surveillance capabilities as part of a growing wave of authoritarianism in the region.”38 In June 2015 Philemon Malima, another former PLAN commander, was recalled from political retirement to take over as the director general of the NCIS. During the independence struggle, Malima was a PLAN officer and SWAPO’s representative to the Soviet Union, from 1987 until 1989. According to Oiva Angula, a former PLAN member and SWAPO detainee, Malima staunchly supported the security apparatus’s purge of “spies” when the two met in 1984 while the latter was the political chief of SWAPO’s defense headquarters at Lubango.39 After independence, Malima first served as the deputy to the new minister of defense, Peter Mueshihange, a powerful member of SWAPO’s “securocratic arm.”40 Malima was subsequently appointed minister of defense (1995–1997) and then minister of environment and tourism (1997–2005). For the first fifteen years following independence, Malima was also a member of parliament.41 The transition of power from Hangula to Malima did not go smoothly and pointed to power struggles within the NCIS. In March 2018, it was reported that the NCIS effectively had two heads, as Hangula apparently not only refused to retire but was still receiving his full salary and benefits.42 In response to media inquiries, the president’s spokesperson explained: “This is an intelligence matter, but what I can tell you is that Hangula has been assigned specific tasks.” What these specific tasks involved was not explained.43 OVERSIGHT Legislative oversight of the NCIS is limited, for several reasons. First, the NCIS is located in the Office of the President, meaning that its director general reports directly to the president, and the agency’s operations are financed through the budget allocated to the president’s office.44 Between 2004 and 2019, the NCIS’s yearly budget increased more than fivefold, from N$40 million (about US$2.9 million) to roughly N$220 million (about US$15.2 million).45 In 2014 the agency was allocated an additional rolling development budget of N$1.3 billion (about US$93 million) for building construction and renovation, operational equipment and machinery, and unnamed projects abroad.46 Second, the NCIS is accountable to the legislature, primarily through the parliamentary Committee on Defence and Security, but section 32 of the NCIS act of 1997 outlines strict conditions under which requested information can be disclosed to the committee.47 The latter’s tasks also include

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reviewing the operations and expenditures of the NCIS, but the agency has apparently never submitted a report to or appeared before the committee.48 Third, legislative oversight is further complicated by the fact that many members of parliament are also directly or indirectly members of the executive branch. Notably, Tsheehama served simultaneously as a member of parliament and as director general of the NCIS.49 “Independent oversight by civil society agencies,” as political scientist Andre du Pisani notes, is “even more difficult.”50 Three decades after the end of the independence war, the men charged with intelligence and security functions may have become less obsessed with “dissidents” and “spies,” but they have remained hostile toward calls for greater transparency and accountability as they have maintained an authoritarian culture of secrecy that first developed during the anti-colonial war. In recent years, the director general of the NCIS and its legal representatives have repeatedly argued that, on the grounds of “national security,” the agency should not be subject to either parliamentary or judicial oversight. In contrast to the legislature, the Namibian judiciary has asserted its independence and legitimacy to review allegations of criminal wrongdoing by the NCIS and its members. In early 2018 the NCIS and the Namibian government applied for an urgent interdict to prevent the Namibian newspaper, the Patriot, from publishing an article about fraud and corruption within the NCIS. More specifically, the article alleged that the government had bought two farms and a house for a total of N$65.2 million (about US$4.7 million) for the so-called Association of Former Members of the NCIS. In addition, the NCIS allegedly donated a further N$1.1 million (about US$80,000) to the association.51 Invoking the apartheid-era Protection of Information Act of 1983, the NCIS argued that the information in the article “falls within the scope of sensitive and or classified information and its unlawful possession, circulation and or publication is prohibited by law.” In addition, the agency claimed that the publication would threaten “the national security of the state of Namibia” and “seriously jeopardise the ability and effectiveness of the service.”52 The Namibian high court rejected the NCIS’s application, stating: “The NCIS operates in the context of a democratic state founded on the rule of law, which rule subjects all public officials and all those exercising public functions, whether openly or covertly, in the interest of the state, to judicial scrutiny.”53 In August 2018 a high-ranking NCIS official, Paulus Tshilunga, was arrested and charged with multiple counts of fraud, money laundering, theft, and corruption, including the embezzlement of more than N$17 million (about US$1.2 million). While the court proceedings were not made public



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for reasons of national security, it was reported that the charges against Tshilunga were connected to a fishing company co-owned by the NCIS and its Mozambican counterpart. More specifically, the company received fishing quotas from the Namibian and Mozambican governments to generate funds for their operations.54 In response to media inquiries, the then minister of fisheries, Bernard Esau, explained: “These are issues that I cannot comment on. I don’t even want to know [about the joint venture.] . . . I don’t want to be involved in it. All I want is peace and stability.”55 (In late 2019, Esau and the Namibian minister of justice were arrested on charges of corruption, fraud, and tax evasion related to the so-called Fishrot scandal.) Tshilunga was granted bail but took his own life three weeks later, and the case was closed.56 Considering these scandals, the Namibian government’s decision to appoint a senior manager of the NCIS, Tylvas Shilongo, as the new executive director of the Namibian Anti-Corruption Commission (ACC) in July 2020 has raised further questions.57 Why was a “spy securocrat” chosen to head the ACC?58 Was Shilongo’s appointment yet another sign of the securocratic creep in Namibia? Or was the government trying to hinder the ACC’s investigation into the Fishrot scandal, as opposition parties claimed?59 CONCLUSION This chapter examined Namibia’s authoritarian intelligence culture by analyzing its history, leaders, challenges, and limited oversight. It argued that the origins of this culture are to be found in the development and organization of SWAPO’s security apparatus during the Namibian war of independence. During this period, the liberation movement’s leadership and its intelligence officers repeatedly went after political dissidents. With independence, not only was the party’s authoritarian intelligence culture carried over into the newly formed NCIS, but it has persisted to the present day. With SWAPO firmly in power since 1990, the intelligence apparatus is no longer cracking down on dissidents but has remained suspicious of democratic politics and oversight by other institutions. Since independence, the NCIS has been headed by three former senior PLAN commanders. Their respective tenures have been marked by spying on members of parliament, the apparent broadening of the NCIS’s surveillance powers without increased oversight, and a series of major corruption scandals. Put differently, a sense of impunity has been central to the secret workings of the NCIS. As a result, its representatives have maintained that the agency is not and should not be subject to either legislative or judicial oversight,

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ostensibly on the grounds of “national security.” The many Namibians striving for more accountability and transparency—whether journalists, judges, civil society organizations, opposition politicians, or even SWAPO members—have, however, remained unconvinced by such flimsy arguments.60 NOTES   1.  I would like to thank Maximilian Weylandt, Marc Howard, Nada Helal, Ryan Shaffer, and the anonymous reviewer for their helpful feedback.   2.  “Namibia,” Freedom House, 2021, https://freedomhouse.org/country/namibia /freedom-world/2020.   3.  For an excellent overview of the history of South West Africa/Namibia, see Marion Wallace, A History of Namibia: From the Beginning to 1990 (London: Hurst, 2011).  4. Colin Leys and John S. Saul, “Liberation without Democracy? The Swapo Crisis of 1976,” Journal of Southern African Studies 20, no. 1 (1994), 141; and Christian A. Williams, National Liberation in Post-Colonial Southern Africa: A Historical Ethnography of SWAPO’s Exile Camps (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 137n64.  5. See in particular Andre du Pisani, The Security Sector and the State in Namibia—An Exploration (Bonn: Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung, 2003); and Bill Lindeke, Phanuel Kaapama, and Leslie Blaauw, “Namibia,” in Security and Democracy in Southern Africa, ed. Gavin Cawthra, Andre du Pisani, and Abillah Omari (Johannesburg: Wits University Press, 2007), 127. See also Frederico Links, Spying on Speech: The Threat of Unchecked Communications Surveillance (Windhoek: Institute for Public Policy Research, 2019).  6. Williams, National Liberation in Post-Colonial Southern Africa, 134–137.   7.  Christian A. Williams, “Living in Exile: Daily Life and International Relations at SWAPO’s Kongwa Camp,” Kronos 37, no. 1 (2011): 60–86.  8. Williams, National Liberation in Post-Colonial Southern Africa, 94–122; and Leys and Saul, “Liberation without Democracy?,” 123–47. See also Paul Trewhela, “The Kissinger/Vorster/Kaunda Détente: The Genesis of the SWAPO ‘Spy Drama,’” Searchlight South Africa 5 (July 1990): 69–86; and 6 (January 1991): 42–58.   9.  Leys and Saul, “Liberation without Democracy?,” 145. 10. Williams, National Liberation in Post-Colonial Southern Africa, 134–137. Little is known about the actual ties, whether they were provision of equipment or training, between the intelligence apparatuses of Eastern Bloc countries and SWAPO; this warrants further research. Compare, for example, to Jacob Wiebel and Samuel Andreas Admasie, “Rethinking the Ethiopian Red Terror: Approaches to Political Violence in Revolutionary Ethiopia,” Journal of African History 60, no. 3 (2019): 457–475. 11.  For a personal account of the “Spy Drama,” see Oiva Angula, SWAPO Captive: A Comrade’s Experience of Betrayal and Torture (Cape Town: Penguin Random House South Africa, 2018).



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12.  William Heuva, “Namibia: A Critical Look at the First Three Months,” Namibian, July 6, 1990. 13.  Siegfried Groth, Namibia—the Wall of Silence: The Dark Days of the Liberation Struggle (Wuppertal: Peter Hammer, 1995), 100. See also Lauren Dobell, “Silence in Context: Truth and/or Reconciliation in Namibia,” Journal of Southern African Studies 23, no. 2 (1997): 376n17. 14. Groth, Namibia, 100. See also John S. Saul and Colin Leys, “Lubango and After: ‘Forgotten History’ as Politics in Contemporary Namibia,” Journal of Southern African Studies 20, no. 2 (2003): 336n6. 15.  Saul and Leys, “Lubango and After,” 338. 16.  Dobell, “Silence in Context,” 373, 379. 17.  Lindeke, Kaapama, and Blaauw, “Namibia,” 127. 18.  Quoted in Rajah Munamava, “Tsheehama on Security, Destabilisation and the Old Establishment,” Namibian, August 10, 1990. 19.  Namibia Central Intelligence Service Act of 1997 (Windhoek: Republic of Namibia, 1997). 20.  For a detailed discussion of the act, see du Pisani, Security Sector and the State in Namibia, 20–25. 21.  Leys and Saul, “Liberation without Democracy?,” 132; and Lauren Dobell, Swapo’s Struggle for Namibia, 1960–1991: War by Other Means (Basel: P. Schlettwein, 1998), 49n104. According to Angula, Tsheehama also verbally abused the children of SWAPO members detained in prison camps in southern Angola: Angula, SWAPO Captive, 68. 22.  The titles were deputy minister for state security (1990–1994), special adviser on national security to the president (1994–1999), and then director general of the NCIS (1999–2005). 23.  Lindeke, Kaapama and Blaauw, “Namibia,” 138. 24.  Graham Hopwood, Guide to Namibian Politics (Windhoek: Namibia Institute for Democracy, 2007), 274. 25.  For the history of the region and the secession attempt, see Bennett Kangumu, Contesting Caprivi: A History of Colonial Isolation and Regional Nationalism in Namibia (Basel: Basler Afrika Bibliographien, 2011); and Henning Melber, “One Namibia, One Nation? The Caprivi as Contested Territory,” Journal of Contemporary African Studies 27, no. 4 (2009): 463–481. 26.  Quoted in Tangeni Amupadhi, “The ‘Spooks’ Come Out,” Namibian, March 24, 1999. In 2003, it was reported that the NCIS was also spying on high-ranking SWAPO officials, including former prime minister and current third president of Namibia, Hage Geingob. “Spy Agency Denies Any Link to Geingob Dossier,” Namibian, June 18, 2003. 27.  Tileni Mongudhi, “Security Chiefs Mourn Former Intelligence Boss Hangula,” Namibian, June 22, 2021. See also Angula, SWAPO Captive, 79–80. 28. Hopwood, Guide to Namibian Politics, 147. 29.  Frederico Links, “The Rise of the Namibian Surveillance State,” Namibian, February 16, 2018. 30.  Communications Act 8 of 2009 (Windhoek: Republic of Namibia, 2009).

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31.  The Constitution of the Republic of Namibia (Windhoek: Republic of Namibia, 1990). For different critiques of the act, see John Grobler, “Spy Bill Spooks Experts,” Namibian, June 8, 2009; and Brigitte Weidlich, “‘Spy Bill’ Violates the Constitution, Says Ombudsman,” Namibian, September 15, 2009. 32.  Cited in Privacy International, Guide to International Law and Surveillance (London: August 2017), 48. 33.  Quoted in Shinovene Immanuel, “KK Accuses Govt of Spying,” Namibian, March 26, 2014. 34.  Quoted in Shinovene Immanuel, “Kaapanda Denies Spying Claims,” Namibian, April 3, 2014. 35.  In 2015, over four hundred gigabytes taken from Hacking Team was leaked by a “black hat” hacker online through BitTorrent and Mega and subsequently made available on Wikileaks. In 2016, the Italian government revoked the company’s license and it closed. See, for example, Alex Hern, “Hacking Team Hacked: Firm Sold Spying Tools to Repressive Regimes, Documents Claim,” Guardian, July 6, 2015, https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2015/jul/06/hacking-team-hacked -firm-sold-spying-tools-to-repressive-regimes-documents-claim. 36. The material was made available online through several means. See, for example, Andreas Nekongo, “Re: R: RE: Research Inquiries,” November 3, 2014, https://wikileaks.org/hackingteam/emails/emailid/546996. 37. Frederico Links, “The Rise of the Namibian Surveillance State: Part 3,” Namibian, March 15, 2018. 38.  Quoted in Ray Mwareya, “Is Namibia Walking a Fine Line between Chinese and European Spy Technology?,” Global Voices, July 20, 2020, https://advox.global voices.org/2020/07/20/is-namibia-walking-a-fine-line-between-chinese-and-europe an-spy-technology/. See also Admire Mare, Communication Surveillance in Namibia: An Exploratory Study (Media Policy and Democracy Project, 2019). 39. Angula, SWAPO Captive, 94. 40. Dobell, Swapo’s Struggle for Namibia, 136n98. 41. Parliament of the Republic of Namibia, “Malima N. Philemon,” undated, https://www.parliament.na/index.php/3rd-national-assembly-2000-2005/557 -malima-n-philemon. 42.  “Former NCIS Chief Refuses to Go—Venaani,” New Era, March 15, 2018. 43.  Jemima Beukes, “Tug-of-War over Spy Agency Job,” Namibian Sun, March 16, 2018. 44.  Du Pisani, Security Sector and the State in Namibia, 24–25. 45.  Lindsay Dentlinger, “New State House Gets Lion’s Share of the President’s Budget,” Namibian, April 21, 2004; and Shinovene Immanuel, “N$23 for VP, Former Presidents’ Offices,” Namibian, April 29, 2019. 46.  Shinovene Immanuel, “Spy Agency Gets N$217 Million over 3 Years,” Namibian, April 3, 2019. 47.  Du Pisani, Security Sector and the State in Namibia, 24–25. 48.  “Fraud Rocks NCIS,” Patriot, August 17, 2018.



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49. Between 2000 and 2003, the percentage of members of parliament being linked with the executive branch was 61 percent. Lindeke, Kaapama, and Blaauw, “Namibia,” 133. 50.  Du Pisani, Security Sector and the State in Namibia, 24. 51.  Werner Menges, “Spy Service Chief, Govt Lodge Appeal,” Namibian, July 26, 2018. 52.  Quoted in Werner Menges, “Judgement Reserved on Spy Chief’s Bid to Suppress Article,” Namibian, April 20, 2018. 53. Quoted in Werner Menges, “Media Freedom Trumps Secrecy,” Namibian, June 16, 2018. 54.  Werner Menges and Shinovene Immanuel, “Spy Fishing Partnership Hit by Fraud,” Namibian, August 21, 2018; and “Fraud Rocks NCIS,” Patriot, August 17, 2018. 55.  Quoted in Shinovene Immanuel, “Esau Confirms Intelligence Fishing Company,” Namibian, August 22, 2018. 56.  Shinovene Immanuel, “Top Spy Found Dead,” Namibian, September 12, 2018. 57. Ronelle Rademeyer, “Moving Spy to ACC ‘Sinister,’” Namibian Sun, July 31, 2020. 58. Andrew Kathindi, “Shipena’s Transfer Backlash Unfounded—Noa,” Windhoek Observer, July 24, 2020. 59.  Jemima Beukes, “ACC’s Noa Reacts to Flurry of Changes,” Namibian Sun, August 5, 2020; and Sakeus Iikela, “PM Denies Moves to Capture ACC,” Namibian, September 10, 2020. 60.  Fred Goeieman, “Court Reins in Spies,” Namibian Sun, June 19, 2018.

37 Niger Surveillance and “Seeing Things” in the Shadow of the Drone Mirco Göpfert

Surveillance

is on the rise in Niger, particularly high-tech surveillance.1 Since the onset of violent conflicts in neighboring Mali, Libya, and Nigeria, United States (US) drones and French surveillance aircraft have become visible in the skies over Niger and large portions of the Sahel. In close collaboration with their Nigerien counterparts, US and French security agencies intercept telephone calls by alleged members of criminal networks—whether Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb, Boko Haram, or “mundane” smugglers and traffickers. Nigerien officers are also receiving more and more US-led training on how to gather, process, and catalog pieces of intelligence. Despite all efforts to install and propagate sophisticated methods of surveillance, the street-level work by police and gendarmes, even of those primarily concerned with intelligence work, looks vastly different. Between 2009 and 2014, when I conducted ethnographic research, both police and gendarmerie had centralized intel-data repositories, or central registers (fichier central), where they were supposed to store all case files and information about offenders and suspects, their fingerprints, and sometimes even photographs. But they were highly inefficient. During my fieldwork in various units of the Nigerien gendarmerie (a rural police force) throughout the country, I found at least three reasons for this inefficiency. First, only a small percentage of the cases were transformed into written records and then sent for storage and cataloging.2 Second, these documents were hard copies and extremely difficult to comb through for any kind of information matching. And thus third, when a gendarmerie station requested help from a register to identify a given suspect, the central register replied weeks later, if at all. Niger, like most African countries, is a badly working “registering machine” and thus not a very efficient “knowledge apparatus” in Michel Foucault’s sense.3 The knowledge 487

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about the population collected in filing cabinets—to enable the identification of individuals, to support the functions of everyday bureaucratic governance, and in general to make society legible—was rather restricted and hardly accessible to the gendarmes. Herrschaft kraft Wissen, or domination through knowledge, as Max Weber put it, was rather shaky.4 So while high-tech surveillance is visibly on the rise in Niger, institutional knowledge is not. The gendarmes I encountered had only limited knowledge of the villages and communities in which they worked because they were transferred to a different region or town every three years. Thus, they have to maneuver through a landscape that they do not know and for which they have no map. And for this function—in order to “see things,” as they said—they desperately need help. What, therefore, is the meaning of state surveillance in a context in which both the state and the surveillants seem to know very little about those they want to monitor? The chapter’s main focus is the way in which the surveillants maneuver through unknown territory. This approach diverges from previous and predominant perspectives on surveillance in two ways: this chapter is neither about the objects of surveillance nor about the totalizing, subjectifying, and objectifying effects of surveillance as a mode of governing and exercising control over (at least specific segments of) the population. States and their surveillance apparatus are often described by means of the panopticon metaphor made popular by Foucault—a figurative prison in which the inmates can be the focus of the surveillant’s all-seeing but unseen gaze at any time; in which the inmates, as a consequence, become aware of their constant visibility and turn into their own surveillant; and in which power relations permeate and are reproduced in their subjects’ bodies.5 Yet in a context such as Niger, in which the panopticon seems to have more cracks than walls—more places to hide than to be seen—such an approach would be misleading. Rather, I present an account of surveillance that takes the surveillant’s perspective as a point of departure: the Nigerien gendarmes’ practices and often improvised “ways of operating” in an unknown terrain, particularly how they establish and manage relationships with potential informants.6 Taking up Michel de Certeau’s metaphor, I suggest that where a “map of knowledge” is missing, even the supposed cartographers’ walks turn into improvised and ambivalent moves.7 The gendarmes rely on guides in an unknown terrain (intelligence agents), on other cartographers who might show them their own detailed maps (chiefs), and on others’ eyes and ears on the ground (friends). Thus, the power relations between surveillant and person surveilled turn out to be much more fluid and indefinite than is generally assumed.



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SURVEILLANCE IN NIGER POST 9/11 After the September 11, 2001, attacks in the United States, alongside Chad, Mali, and Mauritania, Niger was counted among the West African “frontline states” in the global war on terrorism.8 Since the abduction of thirty-two Europeans in March 2003 by the Algerian Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat (GSPC), renamed Al-Qaeda of the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM) in 2007, the US military presence in the Sahara has been augmented significantly.9 From 2002 onward, Nigerien military and paramilitary forces have been assisted by foreign initiatives such as the US-led Pan-Sahel Initiative (renamed the Trans-Sahara Counterterrorism Partnership in 2005), which has mounted multinational military operations financed by the United States, trained by US Special Forces, and operating under US command.10 These operations have resulted in increased militarization in Niger, with a remarkable rise in army and gendarmerie personnel. In addition, since 2009 France and the United States have provided Nigerien security forces with high-tech surveillance assistance and training.11 The intelligence and surveillance apparatus has increased rapidly since the crisis in Mali triggered by the proclamation of the independent state by the National Movement for the Liberation of Azawad (MNLA) in 2012, and particularly since the Islamist group Ansar Dine and the Movement for Oneness and Jihad in West Africa (MUJAO) seized power. The French led a military intervention in northern Mali and have increased their intelligence operations throughout the Sahel; France and the United States have strengthened their surveillance apparatus in the region, have started training and equipping police and paramilitary units to gather and process intelligence more efficiently, and have intensified operational cooperation with local intelligence services. France is operating surveillance aircraft in the Sahel, and the United States is operating unarmed Predator drones from a base outside the capital, Niamey.12 Niger itself has also been making considerable investments to strengthen its surveillance capacities. As in most African countries today, since 2012 mobile phone users are required to register and provide personal identification details when purchasing a SIM card.13 This makes it much easier for Nigerien police and intelligence agencies, in close collaboration with the United States, to monitor mobile phone communications. In October 2014, Niger purchased a reconnaissance plane to be operated by its own intelligence service.14 High-tech surveillance is on the rise in Niger. But at the same time, lowtech surveillance by street-level, generalist police and gendarmes through personal contacts, although barely targeted by international initiatives, is still the most important means for collecting information. Even pieces of

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intelligence produced by wiretaps or airborne surveillance need to be verified on the ground. In addition, all these high-tech measures are not only of limited value in this vast, predominantly rural country, but are also beyond the reach of most street-level policing agents. The latter need to work with informants and particularly with ones they can trust. INFORMANTS AS KNOWLEDGE BROKERS The gendarmes whom I interviewed were strangers in the places where they worked, but communicating with locals was not a big problem. Most of the time, both sides spoke (or at least knew a little) Hausa or Zarma. Only on rare occasions—when the gendarmes were confronted with somebody who only understood a language (i.e., Arabic, Fulfulde, Tamasheq, or Tebu) that none of them understood—would they have to call for an interpreter, mostly a chief or his representative. But even if communicating was quite easy, knowing the identities of the people they talked to and gathering intelligence was far more difficult. Here they needed informants: to locate or identify a person, to understand the context of a particular complaint and the disputants’ relationships, to know their families’ previous history, and so on. I suggest that these informants can be thought of as “knowledge brokers”; I borrow the term “broker” from Giorgio Blundo’s studies of intermediaries in public bureaucracies, although I use it in a slightly different manner.15 Whereas Blundo focuses on the role of these intermediaries in the citizens’ access to bureaucracies, I focus on the bureaucrats’ access to citizens, or more precisely, knowledge about them. Administrative brokers help citizens deal with an administration that they don’t understand; knowledge brokers allow bureaucrats to deal with a population that they don’t understand. The gendarmes’ relationships with their informants were always a balancing act between suspicion and trust. As Sally Engle Merry argues, community intermediaries are “often distrusted, because their ultimate loyalties are ambiguous and they may be double agents. They are powerful in that they have mastered both of the discourses of the interchange, but they are vulnerable to charges of disloyalty or double-dealing.”16 This resonates well with the three golden rules of intelligence work, which a gendarme who had learned them from Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) instructors recited to me: Rule number one: Never trust an informant. Rule number two: Never trust an informant. Rule number three: Never trust an informant.



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But given these rules, what could a gendarme do with a piece of information from somebody he or she fundamentally distrusted? The gendarme could, of course, try to verify this information through independent sources—but in the tight social networks in the rural communities where the gendarmes work, the existence of independent sources is highly unlikely. In addition, every potential informant has good reasons to lie or say nothing at all, since being visibly friendly with the gendarmes, or appearing to be a “double-dealer,” could cause stigma and social exclusion and lead to threats and violent attacks on oneself and one’s family. This is why potential informants need to trust the gendarmes not to make the assistance publicly known and to provide protection in case of trouble. In short, whether the gendarmes are able to bridge the knowledge gap that separates them from the local population depends on their ability to establish networks of trustworthy relationships that involve particular forms of reciprocity. In the following sections, I describe the relationships the gendarmes establish with three types of potential informants: “intelligence agents,” chiefs, and ordinary acquaintances. INTELLIGENCE AGENTS One morning the commander of a brigade where I was conducting my research received a letter from headquarters. It contained a photo, the mobile phone number, and a description of a suspected terrorist’s supposed domicile. The brigade commander, Adjudant-Chef Souley, immediately called Issa, one of his intelligence agents (agents de renseignement). Souley had about ten intelligence agents dispersed throughout the department, he told me. About half of them were former prison inmates, some of whom Souley had personally jailed and kept in touch with since their release. The others were small-time offenders whom Souley had decided not to send to trial after reaching a settlement at the gendarmerie station. Some of these intelligence agents had already supplied him with information—for example, about drug trade networks that had led to arrests. Sometimes they were even operationally involved in Souley’s work. Men whom the gendarmes call “the gendarmerie’s children” are unofficial employees who work at the brigade as cobblers, errand boys, moto-taxi (kabou-kabou) drivers, or general handymen. They are often town natives and thus possess much deeper knowledge of the place and people than most gendarmes. Issa had been working at the gendarmerie for about twenty years when I met him in 2010. Now Adjudant-Chef Souley was giving Issa a specific task. He sent him out to search for the domicile of the alleged terrorist,

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to casually talk to neighbors and shopkeepers in the same street, and to listen in on conversations at the neighborhood mosque. A few days later I asked Issa if he liked his job. “I like it, and I don’t like it,” he said in Hausa. Many people from town think of him as a “secret agent,” as a “karen jendarmomi” (the “gendarmes’ dog” in Hausa), as somebody who spies on people’s private lives. The distrust with which people look at him complicates his life and limits his social contacts to his family, close friends, and the gendarmes. Issa asserted that he did not spy on others, but I often heard him talking to gendarmes about this or that neighbor or merchant, indicating who lived where, traveled where, and was acquainted with whom. Apart from the rare intelligence missions, his work was mostly to provide general information that was not available to the gendarmes who were constantly in transit, “de passage,” as Issa put it. These pieces of simple information therefore contributed to the gendarmes’ general knowledge of the civilian population. From the gendarmes’ perspective, the relationship between the gendarmes and their intelligence agents is pragmatic. The gendarmes often give them mobile phones that allow them to keep in touch, as well as money or clothes. They will also, if necessary, help them file their own complaints against another citizen, and they turn a blind eye to whatever dubious activities the agents themselves may have been involved in. It is a give-and-take relationship, sometimes with explicit and at other times more implicit terms of trade. And yet trust plays an essential role therein because the consequences of such a relationship could be terrible. Adjudant-Chef Souley told me about one of his former intelligence agents, a pharmacist, who had been arrested for forging documents and almost went to jail. Souley had negotiated an out-of-court settlement for the man and had then entered into a privileged relationship with him. The pharmacy was located on the premises of the town’s little bus station, and like any bus station, it was a “hotbed of vice,” as both gendarmes and civilians said. Several times the pharmacist had informed Adjudant-Chef Souley about criminal activities at the bus station, and some of these tips had led to an arrest. One day, however, the pharmacist was found dead in front of his shop with a bullet in his head. This weighed heavily on Souley’s conscience, he told me. According to Souley, in a town as small as the one he was working in, such crimes are rare. Souley knew that somehow information about the pharmacist’s working as an intelligence agent had gotten into the wrong hands. CHIEFS Right after Adjudant-Chef Souley sent Issa to town to search for information about the suspected terrorist, he took out his mobile phone and called



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Gado—a baruma (i.e., representative of a village chief) who was in charge of the neighborhood where the terrorist was supposed to live. Gado was a well-known guest at the gendarmerie brigade. He came there almost every other day. He greeted all the gendarmes with a handshake, knew everybody by name, and would sit down on the gendarmes’ benches, where no other civilians were allowed to sit. The hierarchy of chiefs in Niger parallels the overlapping territorial units of counties (départements), villages/towns, and neighborhoods. The corresponding chiefs are the chefs de canton, chefs de village, and chefs de quartier. In the case of pastoralist nomads (e.g., Tuareg), the smallest unit of reference is not the village but the group (i.e., a cluster of families), and the chief is the chef de groupement (even though the large majority of pastoralist families have become sedentary). The chiefs and baruma are administrative brokers in that they help civilians gain access to state institutions, help them make complaints at the gendarmerie station, or, if they are accused of an offense, negotiate in their favor. And they are knowledge brokers in that they know the people and the area under their influence more deeply than anyone else; their knowledge of local citizens proved invaluable to colonial administrators a century ago, and it is still invaluable to gendarmes today. The latter, for example, cannot rely on or access public registers, and most people in rural areas do not have identity cards. So the gendarmes rely on the chiefs’ cooperation when they need precise information about specific individuals in order to identify and locate a suspect: two necessary and crucial steps in any criminal investigation, whether it concerns a terrorist or a thief. In criminal investigations, chiefs were like a joker in a game of cards: if you had him in your hand, you would probably win. Chiefs were aware of the importance of their role, and so were the gendarmes, although not all gendarmes were entirely satisfied with this arrangement. One day in 2010, during Souley’s leave of absence, I accompanied Chef Tahirou, a noncommissioned officer second in rank under AdjudantChef Souley, the interim brigade commander, and two gendarmes on a mission to a remote village to arrest a man for financial fraud. It was market day, and Chef Tahirou had the driver pull up right on the market square. Instantly a group of agitated people gathered around the vehicle. Chef Tahirou got out and shouted that he was looking for a man named Ali Hassan. At first nobody replied, but then a man came forward and told us that we should come to his house and wait for him to call the man we were looking for. After waiting two hours, Chef Tahirou decided to leave and forced the host to pay for the gendarmes’ “travel expenses,” including the gas consumed on the drive to the village. While Tahirou was collecting the money, I talked to one of the

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gendarmes, Amadou, who was sitting under a thatched roof in the shade, shaking his head in disbelief. “With Souley we never returned home emptyhanded,” he told me. The chiefs and their knowledge were crucial to the gendarmes’ work. But winning over the chiefs demanded experience and tact, and Chef Tahirou lacked both these qualities. Amadou explained that on his arriving at the village and before going anywhere else, Chef Tahirou should have gone to the chief’s domicile. The chief would have felt respected, important, and proud to have the shiny blue gendarmerie truck parked outside his house and honored with the brigade commander’s visit before any other business was conducted. After a couple of minutes of casual conversation, Tahirou could have casually asked whether this or that person was around, and the chief would immediately have sent his people to deliver this man to the gendarmes. “But bursting in on the market, just like that? Never,” Amadou added. In fact, neglecting the chiefs could prove risky, even dangerous—because it jeopardized the whole investigation, and because the villagers’ noncooperation could easily turn into openly hostile opposition. Some chiefs refused to provide any kind of cooperation with the gendarmes and banned their subjects from talking to state officials altogether—under the threat of divine punishment. In such a situation, the gendarmes not only have no way of finding suspects, but often do not even hear of crimes. In areas where the chief has absolute control over the flow of information, the gendarmes are little more than the chief’s cavalry: active only when he wishes and then generously recompensed for their services. FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES After having called Gado, the baruma, Adjudant-Chef Souley learned that neither Gado nor his chief had any idea of the identity of the suspected terrorist, but that he had already moved to an unknown location. He had only lived there for a couple of months and was a nice person who distributed sacks of rice among his neighbors, but he was a bit strange too, because he did not pray with everybody else in the public mosque around the corner. That was all they knew. (And this was also the information Issa later brought back.) This information could have been helpful for Souley if he had learned it earlier. He told me that he needed to receive information about such occurrences in real time and from individuals providing it proactively, rather than just upon inquiry and, as in this case, after the suspicious man had moved away. “As a gendarme, you need to see things,” he said. You need to know what is happening around you. This is why the contact, the mingling with the popu-



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lation is strongly recommended. You need to know everything. You need to know everybody. This is how a gendarme can do his work well.” “Mingling” with the civilian population gives the gendarmes a general knowledge about the people they face in their everyday work and whom they rely on in order to contextualize the fragmentary and inconclusive information received during criminal investigations. Mingling also creates useful friends and acquaintances. When Souley was tired of sitting at his desk, he would often take an afternoon drive around town in the brigade’s Toyota. Often he would call me, “Come, let’s make a little trip,” and we would drive around the different neighborhoods for about an hour, just slightly faster than walking speed; often he would slow down and greet passersby or people sitting on the street; sometimes he would turn off the engine and chat with them for a couple of minutes about their families, their businesses, and casually about news or recent events in their neighborhood, sometimes giving them a small bill for another round of tea. On one level, strolling through the village was proactive police work, the prevention of crime by making the presence of the gendarmerie known, demonstrating the presence of the gendarmerie’s blue Toyota, and managing the gendarmerie’s visibility. But on another level, as Souley told me, his objective was to cultivate and maintain friendly relationships with civilians. One might say that this was part of what is called “community policing” in the Anglophone world.17 Adjudant-Chef Souley and all the other gendarmes I talked to agreed that to develop relationships with such acquaintances—and potential informants—they needed simply to be modest, open, and accessible—to be good people. Chef Hamza even went a step further in his effort to find informants. On several occasions, when I was with Hamza in his own fada or favorite bar, people told him about this merchant who had just bought ten plots of land with God knows what kind of money, about this soldier who received a big and suspiciously wrapped packet from a bus arriving from Libya, and about that suspicious-looking bearded man who had just moved into the neighborhood and did not pray in the little mosque just around the corner. Not in the abovementioned case, but in many others, these tidbits of information led to investigations, and sometimes to arrests. Some gendarmes argued that people readily and openly talk to gendarmes because they live in a “culture of denunciation” (culture de dénonciation). But I did not find that this community cooperation had anything to do with a particular Nigerien “culture” of telling on people. Even though rural Niger is characterized by very strong social control, and most actions are public and thus the object of other people’s commentary and judgment, many people are highly skeptical of state authorities and would choose not to approach them. But the willingness of some people to do so, I would argue, is the result of

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the gendarmes’ clever way of bonding with them, of opening up to them, of building relationships of trust and reciprocity—not necessarily with many people, but with enough people who can help them to “see things.” CONCLUSION When Adjudant-Chef Souley told me that “as a gendarme, you need to see things,” he was not talking about visually perceiving persons, objects, or practices. Drones and other high-tech surveillance techniques may be able to “see things” in this sense, but they cannot by themselves overcome the problem of knowledge caused by the weakness of Niger’s registering machine. Drones may see, but they do not know. This chapter shed some light on what the daily exercise of state surveillance can mean in a context where the state seems to know very little about its citizens. In other words: What does it mean for Nigerien gendarmes to “see things”? State surveillance in Niger has always depended on work with informants. Admittedly, high-tech surveillance is on the rise; the governmental knowledge apparatus is being built up; and the gendarmes’ hopes for quicker and better knowledge gathering, processing, and utilization are high. But in a situation in which this knowledge apparatus still functions badly, it is vital for the surveillants to have personal contacts to verify and contextualize specific pieces of intelligence. In this chapter I have described how the gendarmes maneuver through a landscape that they do not know and for which they have no map, how they establish and manage the web of relationships with particular knowledge brokers, namely intelligence agents, chiefs, and friends and acquaintances. The gendarmes’ relationships with all these individuals have elements of reciprocity; they always involve giving and taking, although neither the gendarmes nor their counterparts always have a clear idea of what they could glean from these relationships. Sometimes they do not even expect anything specific from them. Informants seem to fulfill several functions with regard to the gendarmes’ knowledge gap. Intelligence agents know the local terrain, and the gendarmes use them as guides, sometimes as one-man expeditions to check on particular events or persons. The chiefs are valuable to the gendarmes because they have their own detailed maps and a powerful position that allows them to maneuver through a terrain that they understand as their own. If clever enough in their dealings with the chiefs, the gendarmes can get a glance at this map and eventually be steered in the right direction. Friends and acquaintances potentially multiply the gendarmes’ eyes and ears on the ground. All these “knowledge brokers” help them to “see things.”



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In this context, and following de Certeau’s line of thought, surveillance appears not so much as a calculated action conceived of by a powerful surveillance dispositive—a strategy—but as a tactical way of operating: the improvised, localized, often spontaneous and makeshift practices of “make do.” The strategist conceives the map, controls the map; the tactician has to move through the foreign terrain. And without the map, the supposed strategist, now incapable of “panoptic practice,” is transformed into a tactician who needs to capitalize on forces and knowledge that are not his own. The drones in the skies over Niger may be the symbols of an all-seeing, allknowing strategist, triggering the highest hopes for some and the worst fears for others. In Niger, they are perhaps also symbols of artificial unintelligence and externally imposed technochauvinism.18 I am tempted to argue that Niger’s relative stability in an environment marked by conflicts and the threat of Boko Haram is not so much due to innovations in high-tech surveillance as to the gendarmes’ “seeing things”: to the efficiency of their often improvised and makeshift ways of dealing with the problem of knowledge. NOTES 1.  A longer version of this chapter was published as Mirco Göpfert, “Surveillance in Niger: Gendarmes and the Problem of ‘Seeing Things,’” African Studies Review 59, no. 2 (2016): 39–57. I am deeply grateful to the gendarmes in Niger who accepted me in their units, as well as to Jan Beek, Jan Budniok, Pauline Bugler, Carola Lentz, Lisa Schrimpf, and Carolin Schulz. The research for this article was made possible by the German National Academic Foundation, the Johannes Gutenberg University Mainz, and the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft, as well as by the generous support of the Laboratoire d’Études et de Recherches Sociologiques sur les Dynamiques Sociales et le Développement Local (LASDEL), Niamey. All translations from the gendarmes’ quotes are mine. 2.  Mirco Göpfert, “Bureaucratic Aesthetics: Report Writing in the Nigérien Gendarmerie,” American Ethnologist 40, no. 2 (2013): 324–34. 3.  Simon Szreter and Keith Breckenridge, “Editors’ Introduction: Recognition and Registration: The Infrastructure of Personhood in World History,” in Registration and Recognition: Documenting the Person in World History, ed. Keith Breckenridge and Simon Szreter (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 1–36; and Michel Foucault, Sécurité, territoire, population: Cours au Collège de France, 1977–1978 [Security, territory, population: Course at the Collège de France, 1977–1978] (Paris: Seuil, 2004). 4.  Max Weber, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft: Grundriss der verstehenden Soziologie [Economy and society: Outline of understanding sociology] (1921; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1980).

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 5. Michel Foucault, Surveiller et punir: Naissance de la prison [Monitor and punish: Birth of the prison] (Paris: Éditions Gallimard, 1975).   6.  Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life (1980; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984), xiv, xix.  7. Ibid., 129.   8.  John Davis, “Introduction: Africa’s Road to the War on Terror,” in Africa and the War on Terrorism, ed. John Davis (Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 2007), 1.   9.  Stephen Ellis, “Briefing: The Pan-Sahel Initiative,” African Affairs 103, no. 412 (2004): 459–64; and Jeremy Keenan, The Dark Sahara: America’s War on Terror in Africa (London: Pluto Press, 2009). 10.  Ellis, “Briefing,” 459. Members of the PSI were Chad, Mali, Mauritania, Niger, Nigeria, and Senegal; TSCTP added Algeria, Morocco, and Tunisia. 11.  Jeremy Keenan, “US Militarization in Africa: What Anthropologists Should Know about AFRICOM,” Anthropology Today 24, no. 5 (2008): 16–20; and Jeremy Keenan, “Al-Qaeda Terrorism in the Sahara? Edwin Dyer’s Murder and the Role of Intelligence Agencies,” Anthropology Today 25, no. 4 (2009): 14–18. 12.  Craig Whitlok, “Drone Base in Niger Gives U.S. a Strategic Foothold in West Africa,” Washington Post, March 21, 2013, https://www.washingtonpost.com/world /national-security/drone-base-in-niger-gives-us-a-strategic-foothold-in-west-africa /2013/03/21/700ee8d0-9170-11e2-9c4d-798c073d7ec8_story.html. 13.  Kevin P. Donovan and Aaron K. Martin, “The Rise of African SIM Registration: The Emerging Dynamics of Regulatory Change,” First Monday 19, no. 2 (2014), https://firstmonday.org/ojs/index.php/fm/article/view/4351/3820. 14.  “Niger Buys ‘Spy Plane’ to Combat Sahel Militants,” Reuters, October 22, 2014, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-niger-airplane-idUSKCN0IB2P720141022. 15.  Giorgio Blundo, “Dealing with the Local State: The Informal Privatization of Street-Level Bureaucrats in Senegal,” Development and Change 37, no. 4 (2006): 799–819. 16.  Sally E. Merry, “Transnational Human Rights and Local Activism: Mapping the Middle,” American Anthropologist 108, no. 1 (2006): 40. 17. Andrea Purdeková, “‘Even If I Am Not Here, There Are So Many Eyes’: Surveillance and State Reach in Rwanda,” Journal of Modern African Studies 49, no. 3 (2011): 488; and Mutuma Ruteere and Marie-Emmanuelle Pommerolle, “Democratizing Security or Decentralizing Repression? The Ambiguities of Community Policing in Kenya,” African Affairs 102 (2003): 587–604. 18.  Meredith Broussard, Artificial Unintelligence: How Computers Misunderstand the World. (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2018).

38 Nigeria Birthed by Decree, Struggling under Democracy Olasupo Thompson

Nigeria gained independence from the British colonial administration in October 1960. It is a heterogenous society with over 500 indigenous languages and 250 ethnic groups, but the majority of the people are Hausa-Fulani, Igbo, and Yoruba.1 The north is home to mostly Muslims, while the south is mostly Christian. These different religious and ethnic colorations play important roles in the country’s economic, political, and sociocultural makeup. This necessitated the government’s original federal character, in which appointments made by the president must reflect the various ethnic groups in the country.2 Religion and ethnicity also affected Nigeria’s intelligence culture, which includes the set of attitudes, beliefs, and sentiments. The intelligence culture of Nigeria is mostly cultivated by the State Security Service (SSS), the National Intelligence Agency (NIA), and the Department of Military Intelligence (DMI). This chapter focuses on the development of the SSS, also known as the Department of State Services (DSS) and its internal security mission. It argues that the lack of democratization in Nigerian intelligence has affected the operation of the SSS in spite of some documented intelligence successes. This chapter is divided into five parts. The first is the introduction, the second is the brief history of the agency, and the third highlights the factors that shape the SSS. The fourth describes the control, reforms, successes, and operational issues. Finally, the fifth summarizes the chapter and makes some recommendations.

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HISTORY AND FUNCTIONS OF THE STATE SECURITY SERVICES The SSS originated from the colonial era, when the British colonial government appointed an intelligence officer for the southern protectorate under British noncommissioned officers in 1906.3 Following the amalgamation in 1914, the government created the “E” Department of the Nigeria Police Force, which was established in 1948.4 The special unit was under the Office of the Inspector-General of Police and had the primary responsibility of procuring and disseminating intelligence on security matters in colonial Nigeria.5 This unit gathered intelligence on crimes and politics and to counter foreign intelligence such as the Soviet influence in West Africa.6 The unit reported to the Central Intelligence Committee (CIC) situated in Lagos, which gathered and analyzed intelligence emanating from all the intelligence officers from each region.7 After independence, the unit continued until the assassination of the former head of state, General Murtala Mohammed, in February 1976.8 The incident highlighted lapses in the country’s domestic intelligence and the need to overhaul the Special “E” Unit to focus on intelligence gathering in the form of coup plots, assassination among others. General Olusegun Obasanjo, Murtala’s successor, swiftly constituted an intelligence organization, known as the National Security Organization (NSO), through Decree No. 16 of 1976. It was set up as an independent agency to gather intelligence for government. Its other purposes were a.  “the prevention and detection of any crime against the security of Nigeria”; b.  “the protection and preservation of all classified matter concerning or relating to the security of Nigeria”; and c.  “such other purposes, whether within or without Nigeria, as the Head of the Federal Military Government may deem necessary with a view to securing the maintenance of the security of Nigeria.”9 The NSO objectives were essentially to investigate the reliability of persons who might have access to classified information or material and who might be employed in sensitive or scheduled posts, as well as to provide personal security to very important persons.10 However, the NSO was used by the regime of Major-General Muhammadu Buhari to victimize critics. The decree was subsequently reviewed by General Ibrahim Babangida, who wanted to gain popularity among the populace after taking over from General Buhari in December 1985. By Decree No. 19 of June 5, 1986, the NSO was reorganized into three agencies: the Defence Intelligence Agency (DIA), the National Intelligence



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Agency (NIA), and the SSS.11 The DIA was responsible for military matters, detecting and preventing crimes of a military nature against the security of Nigeria within and outside the country. The NIA was responsible for Nigeria’s security outside the country and thus was engaged with external intelligence issues. The SSS was charged with the task of crime detection and prevention, as well as the preservation of all nonmilitary classified matters relating to Nigeria’s internal security.12 However, in 1999, during the regime of General Abdusalami Abubakar, the SSS was further mandated to act on the following: i. Prevention, detection, and investigation of: Threat of Espionage; Threat of Subversion; Threat of Sabotage; Economic crimes of national security dimension; Terrorist activities; Separatist agitations and inter-group conflicts; Threat to law and order[;] ii. Vetting of: Prospective appointees to public offices; Vital and sensitive corporate organizations before their incorporation in Nigeria and continuous covert monitoring of their activities to ensure that they are in line with national security interest; Applicants for Nigerian nationalization and naturalization in Nigeria; iii. Provision of timely advice to Government on all matters of National security interest; and iv. Profiling etc.13

It also became responsible for protecting persons of interest and those whom the state perceived to be under threat. These people include the president, vice president, governors, candidates of political parties, party chairmen, foreign heads of government, and ambassadors. Furthermore, there was no provision in the law that prevents SSS subordinates from disobeying their superior’s orders when such orders would lead to abuse of human rights. But operatives tend to execute all orders emanating from their superiors notwithstanding their impact on rights and freedoms.14 Scholar Basil Ugochukwu has explained: The fluidity of the term “state security” has, however, become a catchall, making every act of political opposition or dissension a security issue. While laws purporting to guarantee “state security” are widespread, what constitutes state security has never been defined or explained.15

Aside from the preceding, secrecy is a pervasive factor in SSS activities, and major aspects of its functions are not open to public scrutiny. Even the organization’s website is not available for public view.16 Training of its personnel is held at various intelligence centers across the country, such as the SSS training school; National Defence College; Institute of Security Studies (ISS); Abuja; and the National Institute of Policy and Strategic Studies

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(NIPPS), Jos, Plateau State. Although staff are both male and female, the organization is male dominated. FACTORS THAT SHAPE INTELLIGENCE CULTURE The colonial history of Nigeria is the most important factor that has shaped the country’s intelligence culture. Although Nigeria’s intelligence culture has transformed since independence, most of the agencies are modeled along Western lines; more importantly, the training and support are from either Western countries or allies. In particular, the United Kingdom has continued to render aid in terms of funding, technical expertise, and logistics to Nigeria’s intelligence agencies. In addition, the long years of military rule also influenced the intelligence community. The country and the organization’s leadership in particular shape the operations of the SSS. During the military regime, the SSS was notorious for gross human rights violations, and this trend did not change after the return to democracy in 1999. Indeed, there was a perception that the organization was used by every leader for personal reasons. Human rights abuses and violations have continued under the leadership of successive directors general of the organization since its creation (see table 38.1). This is often due to the nature of the leaders, who are usually retired army officers or others with a military background. Furthermore, those who have been civilians are enmeshed in that power. For instance, when the SSS under Lawal Daura laid siege to the National Assembly, the reply some of the personnel gave to those who queried them was that they were acting on “orders from above.”17 Ethnicity and religion affect Nigeria broadly, and the country’s intelligence culture particularly.18 These twin factors play a vital role in the selection, recruitment, and policies of the presidency. While the country’s constitution provides an avenue for the federal character principle, whereby appointments must reflect the ethnic complexities of the country, leadership choices at the SSS and in Nigeria usually consider ethnicity and religion. For instance, there were allegations that the tenure of Matthew Seiyefa, who headed the SSS in an acting capacity, was short-lived because he was from a different ethnic and religious enclave than President Muhammadu Buhari. It was also reported that the next six most senior persons in line for succession at the SSS after Seiyefa were southerners, but the president picked Yusuf Magaji Bichi, a northern Muslim of Hausa-Fulani ethnicity, who was already retired.19 During the military regime, the director general was under the military head of state, an arrangement that has continued under democratic rule. The SSS was an instrumental part of the former authoritarian regime, in which

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Table 38.1.  Directors General of the State Security Service, 1986–2020

Director General

Gender Male (M)/ Female (F)

Tenure

Ethnicity

Alhaji Ismaila Gwarzo

M

June 1986– September 1990

HausaFulani

Chief Albert Korubo Horsfall Chief Peter Nwaoduah Colonel Kayode Are (Rtd)

M

September 1990– October 1992

Ijaw

M

October 1992– June 1999 May 1999–August 2007

Ibo

M

Yoruba

Afakriya Gadzama

M

August 2007– September 2010

HausaFulani

Ita Ekpeyong

M

Ibibio

Lawal Musa Daura

M

September 2010– July 2015 July 2015–August 2018

Matthew Seiyefa*

M

August 2018– September 2018

Ijaw

Yusuf Magaji Bichi

M

September 2018– present

HausaFulani

HausaFulani

Head of State/ Type of Government General Ibrahim Babangida (Military) General Ibrahim Babangida (Military) General Sanni Abacha (Military) Olusegun Obasanjo (Civilian) Alhaji Shehu Umaru Yar’Adua (Civilian) Goodluck Jonathan (Civilian) General Muhammadu Buhari (Rtd) (Civilian) General Muhammadu Buhari (Rtd) (Civilian) General Muhammadu Buhari (Rtd) (Civilian)

*He was appointed in an acting capacity by Professor Yemi Osinbajo (acting president) when General Muhammadu Buhari (retired) went on a ten-day vacation to the United Kingdom; after his return, he was not confirmed.

espionage, surveillance of citizens, and detention of political dissidents were commonplace. Though the SSS is under the Office of the National Security Adviser (ONSA), all orders flow directly from the president. This structure has also shaped its operations, making it a tool for the executive. The National Assembly has not been able to amend the law to change this. Since the SSS was created through a decree, no attempts have been made by successive civilian administrations to amend it. This constitutional lacuna has further shaped the activities of the SSS in such a way that it rarely acquiesces to civilian control, particularly from the judiciary, the National Assembly, and the civil society organizations.

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The president of the Federal Republic of Nigeria nominates the director of the SSS, but the office is coordinated by the Office of the National Security Adviser in the presidency (see figure 38.1). However, the modus operandi of the SSS is exclusively undertaken by the president. At the national level, there are assistant directors general of the SSS as well as national directors, who are in charge of different directorates such as Intelligence, Operations, Security Enforcement, Administration and Finance, Technical Services, Inspectorate, Training and Staff Development, and Economic Intelligence.20 Other strategic departments at the national level are the Base Command, Lagos, National Assembly Liaison, Simulation and Crisis Management Centre, National War College, and Independent National Electoral Commission Liaison. At the state level, the agency has thirty-six state commands and the Federal Capital Territory (FCT) command headed by state directors, assisted by three assistant directors, who are in charge of operations and intelligence, security and administration, and logistics, respectively. The service personnel are posted to all 774 LGAs as well as to all the travel and alien controls (TACs), including the undergoverned and governed areas.21 This is aimed at achieving core mandates, such as prevention and detection of crimes of national security interest, protection, and preservation of the economy against acts of economic sabotage, carrying out an advance in-depth threat assessment of area of coverage (AOC), among others. The type of government and domestic politics have also shaped the operations of the SSS and its intelligence culture. Since the SSS leaders are appointed by the president, they usually do the bidding of their benefactor. While the military is notorious for human rights abuses, civilian intelligence has not been much different due to the nature of Nigerian politics and democracies in particular. The incumbent also uses the SSS to attack critics, dissent, and other forms of internal opposition. For instance, reports from local and foreign observers have revealed how members of the SSS and Nigerian Armed Forces intimidated voters and officials of the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) in the 2019 general elections.22 The media have also influenced the activities of Nigeria’s intelligence agencies. The revolution in mass media through information and communication technology has exposed some SSS activities. For instance, some of its controversial operations that may generate public uproar are now carried out at night to escape media scrutiny.23 Foreign countries, particularly Western democracies, have also influenced the activities and operations of the SSS to some extent through their constant criticism. Of particular note is the United States, which releases an annual report on human rights abuses in Nigeria.24 This report, as well as other statements from the United States, influences SSS operations. US officials have



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Figure 38.1.  Structure of the SSS

over the years threatened that some activities of the SSS could jeopardize Nigeria–US relations.25 The United Nations (UN), Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), and African Union (AU) also have shaped how the SSS carries out some of its operations through charters and conventions on human rights and intelligence. For example, some cases of human rights violations brought against the SSS have been settled or reported at the regional level. Notably, a former national security adviser (NSA), Colonel Sambo Dasuki (Ret.) took the Nigerian government and the SSS to ECOWAS court after the government disobeyed several domestic court judgments.26 International nongovernmental organizations, such as Amnesty International, Transparency International, and Human Rights Watch, have shaped SSS activities through their reports.27 For example, while the United States provided technical and logistical aid in the fight against insurgency, it has refused to sell weapons to Nigeria since President Jonathan’s administration in 2014 due to reports about the human rights abuses of Nigeria’s armed forces against suspected Boko Haram members. This refusal hinged on the US Leahy Law, which scrutinizes armed forces’ human rights records; this has continued under the current administration of President Muhammadu Buhari.28

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CONTROL, REFORMS, SUCCESSES, AND OPERATIONAL ISSUES While the SSS statutorily falls under the Office of the National Security Adviser (ONSA), which is under the presidency, there is a need for it to be accountable to other organs of government, including civil society organizations. Yet due to the nature of Nigeria’s democracy, only the president can exert control over the SSS. Democratic control has also been challenged due to the fact that the SSS can blackmail most of the members of these agencies because it usually does a background check on most of them, particularly their finances.29 There has not been any reform in the SSS since its transition from the NSO in 1986. An attempt to initiate some reorganization would have started under Seiyefa, but his tenure was short-lived. Moreover, there has been no constitutional amendment to the decree that set up the agency, which means any reform would have to be done at the constitutional level. While most leaders promise to reform the agency, these promises have not been implemented. Oversight issues aside, the SSS has recorded successful operations from its inception. Examples include the arrest of Egyptian bomber Omar Mohammed Ali Razaq in 1993 while he was trying to enter Nigeria through Nigeria–Benin border and the interception of large amounts of arms and ammunition originating from Iran at the Lagos port in 2010. Moreover, the SSS has arrested Boko Haram members, spies, and other criminal elements, including kidnappers and bandits who are a security threat. In December 2016, US president Barack Obama praised Nigeria’s SSS for preventing an attack on US soil by some members of a splinter group of the Boko Haram known as Ansaru.30 In 2017 the SSS arrested ISIS–Boko Haram members planning to attack American and British embassies in Nigeria.31 Nevertheless, it has encountered some operational challenges in the course of discharging its duties. Corruption, interagency rivalry, lack of equipment, gross human rights abuses, and inadequate funding are some challenges. Corruption is a major challenge to internal security agencies in Nigeria, including the SSS.32 Matthew Page has described as corruption in Nigeria as bribery, extortion, exchange of favors, nepotism, cronyism, judicial fraud, accounting fraud, electoral fraud, public service fraud, embezzlement, kleptocracy, and influence peddling.33 The SSS is not immune from any of these. No political appointees of the state or federal governments can be cleared without the SSS, and there is a high level of criminal intent and records that the SSS overlooks when vetting some corrupt politicians. There are allegations that politicians have been cleared by the SSS despite not meeting some of the requirements for office as mandated by Nigeria’s constitution. An example is some appointed ministers who were alleged to have skipped the one-year mandatory National Youth Service Corp (NYSC) discharge or presentation of exemption certificates.34



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Interagency rivalry is characteristic of most developing countries.35 This rivalry also has influenced the operations of the entire intelligence community, including the SSS. As scholar Osumah Oarhe has noted, the undue rivalry and suspicion among the sister organizations and a quest for personal glory at the topmost levels negatively affected the fight against insurgency in spite of the increase in Nigeria’s defense budget in 2012.36 In 2015, the SSS gave the National Assembly a damning report against the nomination of the acting chairman of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC), Ibrahim Magu. Though the presidency defied the report to nominate Magu as the acting chairman of the EFCC, the relationship between the SSS and the EFCC has not been cordial. This is also true of other security and intelligence services, such as the National Intelligence Agency (NIA), Counter-Terrorism Centre (CTC), and Directorate of Military Intelligence (DMI). This rivalry has manifested in the fight against insecurity and terrorism in Nigeria. The US Report on Terrorism 2016 states that the animosity between Nigeria’s security agencies and their unwillingness to share intelligence are hampering efforts at combating the Boko Haram insurgency in the northeast.37 There are other occasions on which the intelligence service has clashed with law enforcement agencies on jurisdiction. For instance, operatives of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) and the SSS clashed in 2017 when the EFCC sought to arrest Ita Ekpeyong, a former director general of the SSS, and the director of the NIA, Ayodele Oke, over allegations of corruption. In a Senate hearing, the NSA, Babagana Monguno, stated that the rivalry will continue until the decree establishing the SSS is amended because the 1986 decree stripped the NSA of the power to check the other security agencies, which have now become independent of his office.38 The rivalry also manifested itself when the EFCC wanted to arrest the Nigerian Football Federation (NFF) president, Amaju Pinnik, and several top officials for questioning in December 2019.39 Another issue affecting the SSS is inadequate use of technology. Most of the weaponry and equipment used by the SSS are imported. For example, in 2010 the Uzi—the primary assault weapon—was replaced with the Israeli Military Industries (IMI) Tavor Tar-21 assault rifle and the FN P90 personal protection weapon, the FN F2000 assault rifle, both manufactured by FN Herstal.40 The SSS possesses some equipment used in intercepting and tracking satellite communications, but the equipment is imported, with no local capacity to develop or maintain it. This has further affected the agency’s ability to obtain real-time intelligence.41 According to journalist Ogala Emmanuel, “none of the tools used by the intelligence community for (SIGINT) Signal Intelligence were made in Nigeria. And, as of 2019, Nigeria had run through at least 10 mass surveillance projects with hardware and software it had no

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absolute control over.”42 The report further stated that the “toolbox of Nigeria’s intelligence community is packed with software and hardware manufactured or owned by Israel, the United States, Bulgaria, and France.”43 Recently Nigeria’s trade relations have tilted toward China, and an intelligence pact with China may not be impossible. Such overdependence on foreign technologies no doubt exposes Nigeria’s data and intelligence and thereby affects its national security. This stems from the inability to tame the numerous insecurities across the country in their budding stages. Some of these insecurity challenges are the Boko Haram insurgency, banditry, ritual killing, kidnapping, baby factories, cult-related killings, and human trafficking. Additionally, the SSS has been synonymous with gross human rights abuses since its inception. The SSS has dwelling houses, prisons, torture centers, dungeons, and other forms of detention centers where perceived criminals as well as government critics are held.44 The SSS has been accused of denying its victims access to lawyers and families. Though there are no documented records of the number of victims under the SSS, there is evidence that the list of victims is long. A well-known incident is the alleged killing of Dele Giwa, a journalist, in 1986 through a letter bomb.45 Aside from the murders of popular figures, government critics, and journalists, others have also fallen victim to the disregard of court orders and judgments.46 These include the imprisonment of Ibrahim Yaqoub El Zakzaky, a Shia Muslim leader, and his wife since 2015; the detention of former NSA Sambo Dasuki;47 the home invasion and arrests of federal judges in 2016;48 the arrest of the convener of #Revolutionnow, Omoyele Sowore, and denial of that arrest until the SSS admitted it after a video of the raid went viral; the invasion of the National Assembly over alleged party switching in 2018;49 and the attack on court premises to arrest Omole Sowore.50 Femi Falana, a senior lawyer for some of the SSS suspects, described the SSS court invasion as extremely embarrassing because it had never happened before in Nigeria.51 There are several other operational challenges, including staff shortages, poor funding, the federal character principle, and interference by political elites or principal officers.52 For instance, while the annual budget of the SSS is classified, the security portion has decreased sharply, from more than $13.7 million (N2.5 billion) in 2015 to about $4.7 million (N1.7 billion) in the 2018.53 CONCLUSION This chapter traced the history of Nigeria’s intelligence community from the colonial period to understand its culture by focusing on the SSS. Dynamics



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of the period and the postcolonial state necessitated the formation of another agency independent of carrying out domestic intelligence and surveillance, which led to the birth of the SSS. Factors that have shaped the SSS culture are colonial and political history, leadership of the country as well as the intelligence agency, government structure, mass media, the global community, and nonstate actors. The chapter found that while control should be undertaken by other stakeholders such as the national assembly, judiciary, and the civil society organizations other than the presidency, the SSS has defied these regulatory agencies, thereby acting as a law unto itself. Attempts to reorganize the SSS have not produced any actual change. Meanwhile, the issues surrounding the SSS culture, such as corruption, interagency rivalry, poor funding, and lack of security, have continued. The chapter found that while the SSS has recorded some successes in intelligence for domestic security, these successes have been marred by a lack of democratization due to its militarized background and lack of legal framework. It is recommended that the intelligence agencies broadly, and the SSS particularly, should be nonpolitical, develop local solutions, and conform to the rule of law and human rights. Moreover, the government must engage in true reforms, develop a legal framework for the SSS that supports international best practices, entrench good governance, and create an enabling environment for the SSS to thrive without being politicized. NOTES 1.  “Full List of All 371 Tribes in Nigeria, States Where They Originate,” Vanguard, May 10, 2017; and Rafiu A. Mustapha, “Ethnic Structure, Inequality and Governance of the Public Sector in Nigeria” (CRISE Working Paper no. 18, 2005), 1–18, https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/media/57a08c97ed915d3cfd0014aa /wp18.pdf. 2.  Federal Republic of Nigeria, The Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria 1999 (Abuja: Government Printers, 1999), section 14(3). 3.  Colonial Reports-Annual: Southern Nigeria: Report for 1906 (London: Darling & Son, 1908), 85, para. 242. 4.  Jimi Peters, “Nigeria’s Intelligence System: An Analysis,” African Spectrum 22, no. 2 (1987): 183; and Oba Adetunji, “The Role of the State Security Service (S.S.S.) in Combating of Money Laundering and Counter Financing of Terrorism in Nigeria” (PowerPoint presentation, Abuja, 2013), 3. 5. Ibid. 6.  Martin Lynn, ed., Nigeria: Managing Political Reform, 1943–1953, pt. 1 (London: Stationery Office, 2001), xxxvii–liv. 7.  Ibid., liv.

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 8. Max Siollun, Oil, Politics and Violence: Nigeria’s Military Coup Culture 1966–1976 (New York: Algora, 2009).   9.  Basil Ugochukwu, “The State Security Service and Human Rights in Nigeria,” Third World Legal Studies 14, no. 5 (1997): 73. 10.  Ibid., 74. 11. Ibid.; Peters, “Nigeria’s Intelligence System,” 187. 12.  Ugochukwu, “State Security Service and Human Rights in Nigeria,” 74; and Structural and Institutional Mechanisms for Security Sector Oversight in Nigeria: Issues and Challenges (Abuja: DCAF & PPLAC, 2017). 13.  Adetunji, “Role of the State Security Service,” 9. 14.  Ugochukwu, “State Security Service and Human Rights in Nigeria,” 88. 15. Ibid. 16.  While it appears the website is offline now, it was previously online, for example, at http://dss.gov.ng/. 17.  Anthony Ogbonna, “Breaking (Video): Drama as DSS Takes over National Assembly, Deny Lawmakers access,” Vanguard, August 7, 2018. https://www.van guardngr.com/2018/08/breakingvideo-dss-takes-over-nass-deny-lawmakers-access/. 18.  John Campbell and Jack Mccaslin, “Conflict in Nigeria Is More Complicated Than ‘Christian vs. Muslims,’” Council on Foreign Relations, May 1, 2019. 19. Samuel Ogundipe, “Southern, Middle-Belt Leaders Condemn Buhari’s Removal of Matthew Seiyefa as SSS DG,” Premium Times, September 13, 2018. 20.  Muyiwa Afolabi, “Nigeria’s Major Internal Security Agencies and Their Statutory Roles,” in Unending Frontiers in Intelligence and Security Studies, ed. L. N. Asiegbu (Ado Ekiti: Intelligence & Security Institute, 2016), 235. 21.  Adetunji, “Role of the State Security Service,” 17–18. 22.  Unini Chioma, “We’ve Evidence DSS, Army Intimidated Others, INEC officials—US,” Nigerian Lawyers, March 15, 2020, https://thenigerialawyer.com /weve-evidence-dss-army-intimidated-voters-inec-officials-us/; and European Union, Election Observer Mission Nigeria 2019: Final Report (Brussels: European Union, 2019), 13. 23.  Unini Chioma, “CCTV Footage of Sowore’s Arrest by DSS,” Nigerian Lawyers, August 5, 2019, https://thenigerialawyer.com/cctv-footage-of-sowores-arrest -by-dss/; and Aare Afe Babalola, “DSS Midnight Arrest of Judges: Legal Issues and Recommendations,” Vanguard, November 9, 2016, https://www.vanguardngr .com/2016/11/dss-midnight-arrest-of-judges-legal-issues-and-recommendations-2/. 24.  US Department of State, Country Reports on Human Rights Practices (Washington, DC: Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights and Labor, 2000–2020). 25.  Tobi Soniyi, Adedayo Akinwale, and Alex Enumah, “Sowore: DSS Denies Re-arrest Inside Court, Two US Senators Warns of Consequences” Business Day, December 8, 2019. 26.  Evelyn Okakwu, “Special Report: How Buhari Administration Serially Disobeys Court Orders,” Premium Times, June 11, 2017. 27.  Amnesty International, “Nigeria: Sowore, Bakare and Jalingo Declared Prisoners of Conscience” November 20, 2019; and “Nigeria” in World Report 2019 (Washington, DC: Human Rights Watch, 2019, https://www.hrw.org/sites/default



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/files/world_report_download/hrw_world_report_2019.pdf; and Aniete Ewang, Nigeria’s Wavering Commitment to Freedom of Expression (Washington, DC: Human Rights Watch, 2019). 28.  Agency Report, “Stop Denying Us Weapons to Fight Terrorism—FG Tells World Powers,” Premium Times, August 13, 2020, https://www.premiumtimesng .com/news/more-news/408624-stop-denying-us-weapons-to-fight-terrorism-fg-tells -world-powers.html; “Transcript: Press Interview with Ambassador James F. Emntwistle in AUN Yola,” US Embassy & Consulate in Nigeria, October 10, 2014, https://ng.usembassy.gov/transcript-press-interview-ambassador-james-f-entwistle -aun-yola-october-10-2014/; and Olasupo Thompson, O. G. F. Nwaorgu, and F. I. O. Boge, “The Leahy Law, Nigeria’s Counter-Terrorism Measures and Foreign Policy Direction,” African Journal of International Affairs and Development 20, nos. 1–2 (2016): 61–85. 29.  Onyedika Agbedo, “Personality of the Week: Lawal Daura: When a Hunter Is Hunted Down,” Sun, August 12, 2018. 30.  Wale Odunsi, “Obama Hails Buhari, DSS for Foiling Attack on US,” Daily Post, December 28, 2016. 31.  Paul Obi, “DSS Arrests ISIS–Boko Haram Members Planning to Attack UK, US, Embassy,” This Day, April 12, 2017. 32.  UNODC & NBS, Corruption in Nigeria. Patterns and Trends: Second Survey on corruption as experienced by the population. (Abuja: UNODC, NBS & UK Aid, 2019). 33. Matthew Page, “A New Taxonomy for Corruption in Nigeria,” Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, July 17, 2018, https://carnegieendowment.org /2018/07/17/new-taxonomy-for-corruption-in-nigeria-pub-76811. 34. Festus Adedayo, “Shittu, Adeosun and the NYSC,” Scroll, September 23, 2018. 35. O. I. Eme, “Inter-Security Agency Rivalry as an Impediment to National Counter Terrorism Strategy (NACTEST)” (African Heritage Research Working paper, November 19, 2018). 36. Osumah Oarhe, “The Responses of the Nigerian Defense and Intelligence Establishments to the Boko Haram Security Challenge,” E-International Relations, November 6, 2013. 37.  US Department of State, US Country Report on Terrorism 2016 (Washington, DC: Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights and Labor, 2016). 38.  Jafar Jafar, “NSA Monguno Speaks on Continuous Clashes between EFCC, NIA, SSS,” Daily Trust, April 17, 2018. 39. “EFCC, DSS Operatives Clash over Invitation of Pinnick, Other Top NFF Officials,” Score Nigeria Reporter, December 13, 2019, https://scorenigeria.com.ng /efcc-dss-operatives-clash-over-invitation-of-pinnick-other-top-nff-officials/. 40.  Charles Omole, “The SSS & Law Enforcement in Nigeria: Its Origins, Excesses and Solution,” Twitter, November 16, 2019, https://twitter.com/drcomole/stat us/1195733309302681600?lang=en.

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41.  Ngboawaji D. Nte, “An Analysis of Intelligence Support to Security Operations in Nigeria: A Review of Some Joint Task Force Operations,” Peace and Security Review 5, no. 9 (2013): 1–23. 42.  Ogala Emmanuel, “Nigeria: Understanding Nigeria’s Intelligence Gathering Attitude and Its Flaws,” Premium Times, October 28, 2019. 43. Ibid. 44.  Ugochukwu, “State Security Service and Human Rights in Nigeria,” 94. 45.  Ibid., 88–89, 94. 46.  U. C. Kalu, “Separation of Powers in Nigeria: An Anatomy of Power Convergences and Divergences,” NAUJILJ 9, no. 1 (2018): 116–126; Eniola Akinkuotu, “DSS Arrests Student over anti-Buhari Articles,” Punch, January 26, 2020; Sonnie Ekwowusi, “Obadiah and Southern Kaduna Carnage,” This Day, August 19, 2020; and Nicholas Kalu, “Why DSS Invited Me for Questioning, by Na’Abba,” Nation August 19, 2020. 47. Okakwu, “Special Report: How Buhari Administration Serially Disobeys Court Orders.” 48.  Ade Adesomoju, “DSS Operatives Invade Judges’ Houses in Abuja, Arrest One,” Punch, October 8, 2016. 49.  Ogbonna, “Breaking (Video)”; see “DSS Operatives Invade National Assembly,” video, August 8, 2018, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mgIuzpn0z7I. 50.  Halimah Yahaya, “Falana Speaks on Court Invasion, Sowore’s Re-Arrest by SSS,” Premium Times, December 6, 2019. 51. Ibid. 52.  “Stop Leaking NIA’s Secrets, Ex-Minister, Warns,” Sun, May 17, 2017. 53.  Matthew T. Page, “Camouflaged Cash: How Security Votes Fuel Corruption in Nigeria,” Transparency International, (May 1, 2018b, 7, https://carnegieendowment .org/2018/05/01/camouflaged-cash-how-security-votes-fuel-corruption-in-nigeria -pub-77297.

39 The Republic of the Congo Intelligence on the River Side Madison Scholar

This chapter argues that the intelligence culture in the Republic of the Congo

(ROC) is predominantly shaped by political corruption stemming from the president’s desire to stay in power. It also argues that Congo-Brazzaville’s long history of disappeared persons and torture by intelligence officers has affected the culture and society by creating an atmosphere of fear. The intelligence services focus on protecting President Denis Sassou-Nguesso’s regime, with the overarching goal being to protect the president’s political agenda and position. This chapter begins by outlining the country’s history, predominantly focusing on the regime and the emergent political climate. It also briefly mentions the economic situation. Then it discusses the intelligence entities of the ROC, including the Central Intelligence and Documentation Center and the Directorate of Military Intelligence. It focuses on key aspects of each entity while also discussing its reputation among Congolese citizens. Next, the chapter analyzes the key influences of intelligence culture, particularly explaining the degree to which politics influences intelligence activities. It also discusses foreign influences and Congo’s involvement in joint operations. The subsequent section examines how intelligence influences the culture and society as a whole, with fear and distrust of the government being at the core. Finally, it concludes by highlighting the argument about the inextricably combined nature of the ROC’s intelligence services and politics. BACKGROUND In 1891, France expanded its rule by colonizing the Middle Congo (presentday ROC, not to be confused with the Democratic Republic of the Congo).1 513

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The early colonial rule was characterized by malicious conduct and exploitation of the local people and land.2 Nearly two decades later, France combined Middle Congo with present-day Chad, Gabon, and part of the Central African Republic, forming French Equatorial Africa.3 The city of Brazzaville was then founded and deemed the capital of the federation.4 Soon after, the start of the Congo Ocean Railway project cost nearly twenty thousand Africans their lives and helped spark a liberation movement to break from colonial rule.5 Nearly ten years later, Congo became a republic under the French Community; it officially declared its independence in 1960.6 Subsequently, it experienced three decades of political turbulence, with coups and uprisings.7 It was not until the collapse of the Soviet Union that the Congo established a democratic system, in 1992. This created new opportunities for politicians, who escalated ethnic tensions.8 The ROC’s first democratically elected president, Pascal Lissouba, held office until elections in 1997.9 A confrontation between military troops and rival Sassou-Nguesso resulted in Lissouba’s loss of power, and Denis SassouNguesso of the Congolese Workers Party (Parti congolais du travail, PCT) taking control. He appointed his own thirty-three-member cabinet, which marked the end of one of many Congolese civil wars.10 An attempt to transition leadership was interrupted by conflict, as fighting between Sassou-Nguesso’s military and armed Lissouba supporters erupted.11 This conflict caused the displacement and loss of life of thousands of Congolese people, until a peace agreement was enacted in 1999.12 Shortly after, Sassou-Nguesso opted for national dialogue to mend the relationship between rebel groups and the government; however, Lissouba refused and was exiled.13 Lissouba’s rebel groups, known as the Ninjas and Cocoyes, continued to resist, while some of the other smaller militant groups made efforts to reintegrate back into society.14 In 2002, President Sassou-Nguesso was reelected even as the European Union and other international organizations reported election irregularities occurring throughout the voting process.15 Shortly after the announcement of his reelection, Ninja militia members revolted and caused the displacement of over fifty thousand citizens to neighboring countries throughout the year.16 Sassou-Nguesso offered safe passage as an incentive to any Ninja member who wished to lay down arms and return to civil society. In response, an estimated 2,300 fighters out of approximately 3,000 surrendered by the time of the 2003 peace agreement.17 Congo adopted a newly revisited constitution that established longer terms for elected presidents and later allowed the president to serve for more than two terms.18 Sassou-Nguesso was reelected in 2009 and 2016 and still rules Congo-Brazzaville after winning again in 2021.19 Each election has been marked by periods of civil unrest in which intelligence and security services played a role.



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Sassou-Nguesso has maintained power for over three decades by utilization of carefully executed military strategies, counter-coups, and force against any threats to his leadership. The regime has historical ties with Russia, Germany, and neighboring Angola. At the time of the country’s formation, this external support fostered an environment enabling authoritarianism to thrive.20 Scholars attribute his success to manufactured consensus, “the perception of democratic practice is more important to competitive yet durable authoritarian regimes than its empirical reality.”21 Thus, the government is essentially held together by the population’s belief that it is legitimate. Additionally, regulation of dialogue in the country plays a key role in controlling its society. By manipulating the agenda of political events and discussions led by other parties, the regime directly shapes events and thwarts opposition to its agenda.22 Since the military and other state agencies largely back the regime and actively work to subdue opponents, Sassou-Nguesso has not truly encountered a viable elective or civil threat to his power. In the 2016 presidential election, Sassou-Nguesso won with over 60 percent of votes cast.23 A wide vote margin for Sassou-Nguesso had characterized previous elections in 2002 and 2009. Notably, in 2002, Sassou-Nguesso won by nearly 90 percent of votes cast.24 Those elections were largely characterized by fraud and inconsistencies. The PCT holds a large majority of seats in the National Assembly and dominates political decisions, originally banning all other political parties.25 As a result, rebellions have persisted throughout Congolese history, with individuals protesting the one-party system.26 In response, the Congolese government often turned to China or the Soviet Union for assistance in warding off civil unrest.27 Brazzaville and Pointe-Noire are the most populated cities in the country. Congo remains one of the least-populated African countries.28 While a majority of the land consists of thick forest, Congo maintains its status as one of the top ten oil producers on the continent.29 Following an economic crisis in 2014, higher oil prices in 2018 brought the industry back to positive gross domestic product growth.30 Despite having a successful oil sector, the country still remains in significant domestic and commercial debt, leading to the signing of a 2019 debt restructuring agreement with China.31 SECURITY INSTITUTIONS The Congolese security forces are comprised of the police, gendarmerie, and military, each being responsible for different aspects of security. The police are charged with maintaining order within city jurisdictions, while the

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gendarmerie patrols the outlying areas.32 The Ministry of Interior and Decentralization oversees police and gendarmerie operations.33 Under the Ministry of Defense, the military is tasked with territorial security, with special details protecting the president, government centers, and diplomatic affairs.34 Reports mentioning security forces members often cite venality, with instances of sworn personnel robbing refugees and displaced persons, taking bribes, and committing human rights abuses.35 Notably in 2005, more than a dozen members of the gendarmerie were arrested and taken to the central prison after being suspected of stealing weapons from the Bifouiti Gendarmerie.36 These types of acts might be attributed to the saturation of the forces with prior militiamen, including individuals previously associated with the Cobra, Ninja, and Cocoye militias who have been reintegrated into the armed forces.37 The Central Intelligence and Documentation Center (Centre de Reneignement et de Documentation, CIDC) was formerly known as the General Directorate of Territorial Surveillance (Direction Générale de Surveillance du Territoire, DGST), which is the title that many institutions still formally use; they are used interchangeably throughout this paper.38 There is little public information regarding the official mission directives of the CIDC.39 Based on news and international organization reports, it appears the CIDC often carries out duties assigned by political leaders to counter competing political motives of persons acting or speaking against the current regime. Human rights groups have reported that the CIDC’s headquarters is located in Pointe Noire.40 There are published reports about CIDC officers being physically violent, beating and threatening to kill captives to compel confessions as well as accepting bribes from imprisoned individuals.41 Those who have survived encounters with the CIDC have repeatedly testified about being arrested by men in plain clothes, taken to a room measuring approximately two meters, and prevented from having outside communication.42 In addition, prisoners are often held by officers for unreasonable amounts of time without being informed of the charges against them or being put on trial.43 Physical conditions of Brazzaville’s regular prisons far exceed the number of inmates that the buildings are designed to house.44 The government’s intelligence services utilize their own secret prison buildings, which have even less oversight and are not inspected by outsiders or Congolese judicial authorities.45 Human rights organizations describe CIDC operations as consisting of “the systematic persecution of former civilian and military collaborators, even parents and sympathizers, fallen authorities, and political leaders now in exile. The active members, real or supposed, of the parties of the later are also targeted by this repression.”46 Political motivation has the most influence on CIDC actions. Historically, commonalities between arrestees have been political affiliations with the regime’s rival parties, such as the Congolese



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Movement for Democracy and Integral Development or the Pan African Union for Social Democracy.47 The Central Directorate of Military Intelligence (Direction Centrale Des Renseignements Militaires, DGRM) is the military intelligence service, and its headquarters’ location is not publicly reported.48 Although not much is publicized regarding military intelligence, various news sources describe events that the military is likely involved with. There are many cases of young men being arrested based on physical appearance because they resemble stereotypes of men with certain features associated with militia groups opposed to the government.49 Typically in arrests, detainees are often “put on a military helicopter and never seen again.”50 It is possible that political officials have utilized the military to create distractions during elections. Notably, tensions began to rise during the years preceding the 2016 election. Attacks in the Pool region on the morning of the election results involved government helicopters that suddenly began bombing villages in search of the leader of the previously dormant Ninja militia, in response to an attack on government facilities in southern Brazzaville.51 Ninja fighters and government soldiers clashed, resulting in a large number of civilian casualties.52 Local sources explained that “people believe the government lost the presidential election and needed to create a mass security alert to prevent resistance.”53 There is evidence that the scorched earth tactics targeted civilians.54 In addition, citizens throughout the country suddenly lost connection to the internet, and Sassou-Nguesso claimed the outage was caused by a broken fiber optic cable.55 An information blackout resulted, simultaneously occurring at the exact time of potential civil unrest and protest against election results.56 Human rights organizations and locals do not believe the timing of the blackout was coincidental. Leading up to the 2021 election, the Organized Crime and Corruption Reporting Project disclosed the government’s discreet importation of over five hundred tons of weapons into the ROC from Azerbaijan.57 Opposition political parties expressed concerns over Sassou-Nguesso’s willingness to “use force if necessary to maintain power as the country’s March 21 election nears.” There were similarities between the types of weapons used in 2016 and the ones imported in 2021. WHAT SHAPES INTELLIGENCE CULTURE Lack of legitimate checks and balances in the Congolese government has resulted in skewed elections and susceptibility of all government institutions to political interference. In 2015, Sassou-Nguesso passed a referendum

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removing the presidential two-term limit from the constitution, allowing him to run for office indefinitely.58 Oppression targeting political opponents often occurs after elections, with accusations of “threatening state security” being the common charge.59 Shortly after the 2016 elections, Sassou-Nguesso’s political rival and former military general Jean-Marie Michel Mokoko was sentenced to twenty years of imprisonment, followed by opposition candidate André Okombi Salissa, who also received twenty years.60 Both of these former candidates were arrested by agents and held without trial.61 The government also implemented rules and regulations that make campaigning extremely difficult for competing political parties. Denial of official party status and banning private campaign contributions force smaller parties to resort to using limited public funds if they continue to run for office.62 These are just some of the many tactics supported by intelligence services that are used to prevent other parties from taking office. The regime utilizes intelligence services to further its political agenda. Surveillance of private electronic communication has been prevalent. Those suspected of affiliation with opposing parties or former rival militias are often arrested without trial.63 Gathering intelligence on individuals showing any degree of hostile attitude toward the regime appears to be the CIDC’s highest priority. Individuals have often been reported as missing and later found to have been arrested and held by the agency without being told of their charges.64 In the past, arrestees have been questioned by the Directorate, then put before a commission that “specialized in tracking down political opponents and displaced citizens from Pool, Niari, Bouenza, and Lekoumou” at the agency’s headquarters.65 Many publicly available reports on the CIDC focus on cases of individuals being arrested for speaking out against the regime. Journalists are also popular targets, who would often return from the CIDC’s undisclosed prison with physical marks from mistreatment while incarcerated. Local journalists often self-censor in fear of being persecuted, while foreign reporters are often detained in lieu of not holding a press visa.66 Reporter Ghys Fortuné Bemba was arrested in 2014 after writing an article describing inconsistencies in presidential support that implied election fraud.67 He is one of many journalists suddenly arrested after reporting criticism of the presidential agenda. The regime derives much of its legitimacy from its foundations in military governance. Fear tactics used against the people have created an atmosphere of compliance and self-censorship with military and police forces at the core of intimidation operations. After the 2016 election, the regime used the military to divert attention away from corruption, using political opposition as a justification for government operations.68 The aggressiveness of the government crackdown on prior militia groups since the beginning of



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Sassou-Nguesso rule demonstrates a posture that the state is willing to use force against groups not supportive of the Congolese government.69 While the government cracked down on militia groups and youth activists, it intentionally allowed the growth of violent nonstate actors supportive of the regime.70 Unconventional work done by regime-supporting militia groups is condoned by the government because it insulates the regime from accusations about extralegal activity while resulting in the state’s desired outcomes.71 Indeed, militant members operating in the southern region have appeared in unmarked vehicles to harm protestors rallying against the Congolese government.72 Since they are not state actors, they are more likely to slip under the radar of international humanitarian groups while still creating an environment of terror and intimidation.73 The regime’s tolerance for these types of groups doubles as another strategy to avert political dissent. The intelligence culture is also influenced by external security institutions, particularly those from Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), Angola, and Rwanda. With the DRC being directly across the Congo River and Angola as one of the countries’ prominent regional allies, there is a lengthy history of joint operations. In the context of intelligence, the DRC maintains a strong presence in both countries, with a particular focus on refugees.74 Due to their close physical proximity, often refugees cross borders in search of asylum.75 The DRC exhibits similar characteristics to the ROC in terms of corruption. Indeed, former military members, political figures, and other leaders of nonstate militias are often charged with threatening state security and quickly flee across the river to Brazzaville.76 In the early 2000s, nineteen agents from the DRC’s National Intelligence Agency accused of being associated with a prior armed political group leader, Anselme Masasu, crossed the border into the ROC.77 After being interrogated by Congo-Brazzaville’s DGST and several months of imprisonment, DRC and ROC officials negotiated to forcibly return the nineteen asylum seekers in exchange for forty ROC refugees who had been housed in DRC.78 This level of cooperation signifies the relationship between the two governments as well as the like-minded behavior of agents toward civilian life, as both countries have been accused of major humanitarian violations. HOW INTELLIGENCE SHAPES CULTURE The fear of becoming one of the thousands of disappeared citizens in the ROC looms over the heads of both civilians and government officials in the country. A disappeared person is someone who has been taken by agents of the state and barred from any form of communication with the outside

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world and whose whereabouts and fate are unknown.79 Witnesses from the 1990s described incidents that have scarred the country. Survivors recalled being forced by Congolese, Angolan, and Rwandan soldiers to pile hundreds of bodies and burn them in the Congo River behind the President’s Palace, which accounts for some of the disappeared persons.80 Others reported watching DGRM soldiers open fire on groups of captives being held at headquarters and later overhearing the same soldiers boast about their ability to kill.81 Disappearances remain one of the most prevalent issues, but they occur in smaller numbers. Post–civil war politically motivated disappearances take the form of individuals or small groups rather than mass executions.82 Nonetheless, disappearances have continued to instill fear of government entities, particularly the intelligence services because of the mysterious fate of those who are arrested by them. Additionally, those who work for the government are also under extreme pressure to not question or oppose the regime, as they will experience the same repercussions. Several high-ranking military officers have been arrested and disappeared after speaking out, which undoubtedly deters others from doing the same. In addition to disappearances, torture is persistent throughout the ROC. After being arrested by masked intelligence officers and taken to a nearby police station, professor and opposition activist Augustin Kala Kala was beaten and electrically shocked over a period of two weeks, later to be found barely alive in front of a morgue.83 Another man was strapped down, beaten, sodomized, and electrocuted in 2015, only one case of the thousands of survivor stories about torture tactics being used by agents of the state.84 In many cases, victims were assumed to be intentionally left alive so that they would tell their stories and warn others against provoking the government’s hand. Arbitrary arrests, defined as arrests occurring without evidence or likelihood that an actual crime has been committed, are continually carried out by members of the security forces.85 Arrests typically occur secretly at night by masked intelligence officers, with hundreds occurring annually.86 Some 60 to 70 percent of those being held in prisons have not been to trial, and the entire process of a trial often lasts longer than the actual sentence.87 More significantly, those who are arbitrarily arrested and tortured are not told why they are being arrested, and agents of the state often pressure victims to falsely admit to crimes.88 The monitoring of private electronic communication, unlawful access to personal data and employment information, and entering to search homes without proper authorization prompt concern in the community over who will be targeted and why.89 The public’s distrust of the justice system and its ability to protect the community from human rights abuses forces citizens into a cycle of obedience to the state.



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CONCLUSION This chapter argued that intelligence culture in the ROC is predominantly shaped by politicization stemming from the president’s desire to stay in power. It also argued that Congo-Brazzaville’s long history of disappeared persons and torture by intelligence officers has affected the culture and society by creating an atmosphere of fear. Indeed, the ROC has a long history of coups and military intervention in politics due to resistance to the oneparty system. Current president Sassou-Nguesso has remained in power for decades. As a result, the intelligence and security services answer to him and carry out operations against opposition parties, making it extremely difficult for others to challenge him in elections. Security forces include the military, gendarmerie, and the police, each playing a different role in the government. The CIDC/DGST is the agency that appears to be largely responsible for disappearances, with the help of the military, police, and foreign governments. As a result, the main mission for the intelligence and security services is to gather intelligence on individuals and groups who might undermine the president’s power and agenda. Military intelligence has been utilized in postelection settings, using large military operations often to distract the population and prevent civil unrest. The military is also used in a show of force to dissuade militia groups or opponents attacking the regime. Political interference is the main factor that influences intelligence operations. The intelligence and security services have developed a reputation for operating against political rivals and gathering intelligence on anyone considered hostile toward the regime. Thus, the intelligence services’ prioritized threat is internal, and the intelligence agencies have not focused nearly as much of their energy on external issues. Moreover, targeting journalists and youth activists has silenced the majority and created a censored environment in which citizens are afraid to voice their political opinions. Additionally, the regime takes advantage of its military power to use it against internal opponents and distract the public from government problems or corruption. More recently, using neighboring countries such as Angola and DRC and allowing armed nonstate actors to carry out tasks without repercussions demonstrates the government’s willingness to control the population using all means necessary. All of these factors greatly affect Congolese society. In particular, the DGST’s reputation for making individuals disappear overnight perpetuates fear of the government. The high probability of facing an unfair trial following an arbitrary arrest deters civil society from voicing dissent. Anyone who has even a slight connection to militias or President Sassou-Nguesso’s

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opponents risks being arrested by the intelligence and security services. The intelligence agencies focus on protecting President Sassou-Nguesso’s regime, agenda, and position. In carrying out this duty with violence, arbitrary arrests, and disappearances, intelligence has a major influence on government and civil society. NOTES   1.  Denis Cordell, “Republic of the Congo,” in Encyclopædia Britannica, September 11, 2020, https://www.britannica.com/place/Republic-of-the-Congo.  2. Ibid.  3. Ibid.  4. Ibid.  5. Ibid.  6. Ibid.  7. “Background Note: Republic of Congo,” US Department of State, 2009, https://2001-2009.state.gov/r/pa/ei/bgn/2825.htm.  8. Ibid.  9. Ibid. 10. Ibid. 11. Ibid. 12. Ibid. 13. Ibid. 14. Ibid. 15.  “The Republic of Congo (Brazzaville),” Country Information and Policy Unit and Nationality Directorate of the Home Office, April 2004. 16. Ibid. 17. Ibid. 18.  “Congo, The Republic of The,” in The World Factbook, Central Intelligence Agency, November 24, 2020, https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world -factbook/geos/cf.html. 19. Ibid. 20. F. Akum, “The Republic of Congo: From Stalled Transition to Intractable Crises,” February 2018. 21. Ibid. 22. Ibid. 23. “Presidential Election: The Constitutional Court Confirms the Victory of Denis Sassou N’Guesso in the First Round,” Agence D’Information D’Afrique Centrale, April 5, 2016, http://adiac-congo.com/content/election-presidentielle-la-cour -constitutionnelle-confirme-la-victoire-de-denis-sassou. 24. “The Supreme Court of Congo Proclaims the Final Result of the Presidential Poll,” Les Depeches de Brazzaville, March 29, 2002, https://web.archive .org/web/20120226070154/http://www.brazzaville-adiac.com/index.php?action



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=depeche&dep_id=713&oldaction=liste®pay_id=0&them_id=0&cat_id=0&ss _cat_id=0&LISTE_FROM=60&select_month=0&select_year=0. 25. “31. Congo-Brazzaville (1960–Present),” University of Central Arkansas, https://uca.edu/politicalscience/dadm-project/sub-saharan-africa-region/congo-braz zaville-1960-present/. 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid. 28.  “The World Bank in the Republic of Congo,” World Bank, October 21, 2019, https://www.worldbank.org/en/country/congo/overview#1. 29. Ibid. 30. Ibid. 31. Ibid. 32.  2016 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices—Congo, Republic of the (US Department of State, March 3, 2017), https://www.refworld.org/cgi-bin/texis /vtx/rwmain?page=printdoc&docid=58ec8a4f25. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid. 36.  “Republic of Congo Political Detainees in Legal Limbo,” Amnesty International, December 13, 2006, https://www.refworld.org/cgi-bin/texis/vtx/rwmain?pag e=search&docid=45a251d02&skip=0&query=Republic%20of%20Congo%20Politi cal%20detainees%20in%20legal%20limbo. 37.  “The Republic of Congo (Brazzaville) Country Assessment,” Immigration and Nationality Directorate Home Office of the United Kingdom, October 2002. 38. “Congo: Human Rights Activist Arrested 10 Days before Election,” Africanews, March 12, 2021, https://www.africanews.com/2021/03/12/congo-author ities-arrest-top-human-rights-activist-10-days-before-presidential-election/. 39.  “Republic of Congo (Congo-Brazzaville): Information on the Territorial Surveillance Division (DST), and in Particular on Its Mandate, Activities, and Role in the Country’s Internal Security,” Research Directorate of the Canadian Immigration and Refugee Board, August 23, 2002, https://www.refworld.org/cgi-bin/texis/vtx/rwmain ?page=search&docid=3f7d4d732a&skip=0&query=cog39500.f. 40.  “Republic of Congo Political Detainees In Legal Limbo,” Amnesty International, December 13, 2006, https://www.refworld.org/cgi-bin/texis/vtx/rwmain?pag e=search&docid=45a251d02&skip=0&query=Republic%20of%20Congo%20Politi cal%20detainees%20in%20legal%20limbo. 41.  “Republic of Congo (Congo-Brazzaville): Information on the Territorial Surveillance Division.” 42.  “It’s Not Good to Criticize Congo-Brazzaville’s Regime,” Reporters Without Borders, March 22, 2017, https://rsf.org/en/news/its-not-good-criticize-congo-braz zavilles-regime. 43.  “Republic of Congo (Congo-Brazzaville): Information on the Territorial Surveillance Division.”

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44.  2018 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Republic of Congo (US Department of State, 2018), https://www.state.gov/reports/2018-country-reports-on -human-rights-practices/republic-of-the-congo/. 45. Ibid. 46.  “Republic of Congo (Congo-Brazzaville): Information on the Territorial Surveillance Division.” 47. Ibid. 48. “Human Rights in Congo,” Amnesty International, 2021, https://www.am nestyusa.org/countries/congo/. 49. Philip Kleinfeld, “Updated: Congo-Brazzavile’s Hidden War,” June 18, 2018, https://www.thenewhumanitarian.org/2018/06/18/updated-congo-brazzaville-s -hidden-war. 50. Ibid. 51. Ibid. 52. Ibid. 53. Ibid. 54. Ibid. 55. Brett L. Carter, “Something Is Happening in Congo-Brazzaville,” AfricanArguments, June 20, 2017, https://africanarguments.org/2017/06/something-is-hap pening-in-congo-brazzaville/. 56. Ibid. 57.  “Congo Republic Secretly Buys Weapons Trove from Azerbaijan,” Africanews/ AFP, February 26, 2021, https://www.africanews.com/2021/02/26/congo-republic -secretly-buys-weapons-trove-from-azerbaijan-occrp//. 58. “Freedom in the World 2020: Republic of Congo,” Freedom House, 2021, https://freedomhouse.org/country/republic-congo/freedom-world/2021. 59. Ibid. 60. Ibid. 61. Fonteh Akum, “Congo-Brazzaville Locked in Crisis by Its Military Governance,” Institute for Security Studies, March 9, 2018. https://issafrica.org/iss-today /congo-brazzaville-locked-in-crisis-by-its-military-governance. 62. “Freedom in the World 2020: Republic of Congo,” Freedom House, 2021, https://freedomhouse.org/country/republic-congo/freedom-world/2021. 63. Ibid. 64.  “Republic of Congo (Congo-Brazzaville): Information on the Territorial Surveillance Division.” 65. Ibid. 66.  “It’s Not Good to Criticize Congo-Brazzaville’s Regime.” 67. Ibid. 68.  Akum, “Republic of Congo.” 69. Ibid. 70. Ibid. 71. Ibid. 72. Ibid. 73. Ibid.



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74. “Republic of Congo: A Past That Haunts the Future,” Amnesty International, April 9, 2003, https://www.amnesty.org/download/Documents/100000 /afr220012003en.pdf. 75. Ibid. 76. Ibid. 77. Ibid. 78. Ibid. 79. Ibid. 80. Ibid. 81. Ibid. 82.  2016 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices—Congo, Republic of the. 83. Ibid. 84. Ibid. 85. Ibid. 86. Ibid. 87. Ibid. 88.  “Republic of Congo (Congo-Brazzaville): Information on the Territorial Surveillance Division.” 89.  2016 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices—Congo, Republic of the.

40 Rwanda The Rise of a Security Culture Timothy Nicholson

In May 2021 Paul Rusesabagina, the hotelier-hero highlighted in the 2004 film Hotel Rwanda, made international news when he claimed that he had been tortured and suffered from other human rights abuses while detained in Rwanda on terrorism charges. Constantin Niyomwungere, a pastor who also worked as an agent for the Rwanda Investigation Bureau (RIB), helped lure Rusesabagina to Kigali, where he was then arrested. Rusesabagina was then held in solitary confinement and tortured for eight months before he appeared for trial. The Rwandan government admitted to paying for the airplane that Niyomwungere tricked Rusesabagina into boarding. However, a spokesperson for the RIB “categorically denies the allegations contained in the affidavit, which contradict sworn statements by Mr. Rusesabagina.”1 This case illustrates the politicization of the Rwandan intelligence agency, which has taken on an active role in controlling information, suppressing dissent, and participating in extrajudicial proceedings intended to ensure national security aligns with protecting President Paul Kagame’s power. Various forms of intelligence services from the precolonial period through the rule of President Juvénal Habyarimana to the present have enabled regimes to consolidate and maintain their power. Under Kagame, Rwanda’s civilian intelligence service both took on a new importance and increasingly came under his sole authority, wherein Kagame wielded the intelligence service to maintain his singular rule. This chapter explores the growing importance of the intelligence and security apparatus in Rwanda as well as efforts to create what scholars have dubbed a “securocracy” that functions to preserve the intelligence service’s power and employ state intelligence to bolster the Kagame regime.2 It argues that since the genocide Rwanda has experienced the rise of a security culture, with the intelligence services that focuses on 527

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regime protection committing human rights abuses and providing few safeguards for the public. In six sections, the chapter explores the background of intelligence in the country’s history, provides an overview of the country’s intelligence and security services, discusses intelligence and the 1994 genocide, examines a case study of Rwanda’s foreign activity, analyzes intelligence oversight, and highlights contemporary issues. The rise of the Rwandan intelligence and security services has helped promote economic growth and ensure stability, but at the same time has limited citizens’ rights, stifled the emergence of any political opposition, and prevented the development of effective oversight of the intelligence and security apparatus. Rwanda’s gross domestic product (GDP) growth is one of the most impressive in sub-Saharan Africa, averaging an annual 6–8% growth since 2003 thanks to successful government efforts to control inflation. As a result, the percentage of the population living below the poverty line dropped from 57% in 2006 to 39% in 2015. The Rwandan government has also improved access to education, built roads, and encouraged the development of foreign and domestic businesses, especially in communication technologies.3 This economic growth has ensured that external aid from donor nations has remained strong, at times comprising up to two-thirds of the state budget.4 However, some outsiders, including donor nations, have overlooked the repression of the population by the security and intelligence services. This combination of economic growth and repression of opposition has secured the position of Kagame and his ruling party, who seem likely to stay in power. HISTORY During the nineteenth century, present-day Rwanda was characterized by the extreme militarization of the country under the rule of King Rwabugiri, along with the growing centralization of the royal court and the increasing importance of intelligence to defeat local enemies and understand incoming Belgian, German, and British colonizers. Subsequent Belgian rule contributed to the growing ethnic divide of the country by providing greater access to power, education, and economic opportunities to the Tutsi, a process that was embraced and furthered by the Tutsi elite themselves. The transition from colonial Belgian rule to independence was marked by fear and insecurity. The Belgians switched their support from Tutsi leaders to the Hutu majority, contributing to a growing sense of uncertainty and instability. Already postcolonial Rwanda was one of the most densely settled countries in Africa, wherein Rwandans had little space to flee or settle elsewhere to avoid notice from others or the state. The incoming Hutu elite



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fostered a culture of violence, intimidation, and imprisonment. The regime of the first postcolonial president, Gregoire Kayibanda, attacked Tutsis and sought to unify the regionally disparate Hutu population, many of whom were frustrated with the regime’s corruption and lack of progress, and set a precedent for ethnic discord. In 1973 Major-General Juvenal Habyarimana seized power in a bloodless coup, in part out of a desire to restrain the ethnic violence that ravaged the country. During the twenty-one years in which Habyarimana controlled Rwanda (1973–1994), the country remained relatively stable, and ethnic tensions lessened, due partly to increased intermarriage between Tutsis and Hutus. But these benefits came at the cost of a larger and more centralized state intelligence apparatus able to curtail citizens’ political freedom. Michela Wrong explains that Rwanda’s intelligence service under Habyarimana, the Central Intelligence Service (Service Central de Renseignements, SCR), transformed Rwanda into one of the world’s most intensely monitored societies, as revealed through files containing twenty-four-hour surveillance reports and transcripts from bugged phones and listening devices.5 Thus, state leaders increasingly relied on intelligence. INTELLIGENCE AND THE 1994 GENOCIDE Over the course of the 1980s and early 1990s, both state authority and ethnic tension increased.6 By the early 1990s, ethnicity and regional background divided the members of the intelligence service. Reports produced under the Habyarimana regime demonstrate how interregional tensions created conflict within the intelligence service. One report, for example, stated that those in the North “believe they should have more than they receive at the present.”7 In October 1990, the Tutsi-led Rwandan Patriotic Army (RPA), based in Uganda, invaded Rwanda but was defeated by the Rwandan government with support from Zaire and Belgium. The invasion also highlighted the distrust in the military and between the president and the army.8 Northern officers distrusted southern officers, and accusations of conspiracy and cowardice further undermined internal solidarity.9 Some officers were “sidelined, arrested or fired,” and these internal conflicts hampered the formation of a united front against the incoming RPA (with support from the corresponding political organization, the Rwandan Patriotic Front, RPF) prior to their first invasion in October 1990.10 Thus, Rwandan security broadly and the intelligence community particularly were impacted by a culture of distrust and internal paranoia.11

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During this period, Habyarimana also worked to reform Rwandan intelligence, with support from both the French government and private individuals such as Paul Barril, who was employed to reorganize the intelligence service.12 As was the case with neoliberal reforms in other countries, the changes promoted by Habyarimana sparked internal dissent, particularly within the military and intelligence services. These internal conflicts facilitated the RPF invasion, which increased the overall danger among those Hutus closest to the conflict.13 Forced by donor nations to embrace multiparty democracy and push through neoliberal reforms, Habyarimana began negotiations with the RPF. These negotiations fractured Habyarimana’s relationship with the military and ultimately enabled the rise of a Hutu extremist ideology with a strong following in military circles. The head of military intelligence warned Habyarimana of a possible military coup if he made concessions to the RPF and even predicted that political leaders responsible for the concessions would be overthrown and a genocidal anti-Tutsi ideology would come to dominate Rwanda.14 Upon the signing of the Arusha Accords, state ministers—including Prime Minister Agathe Uwilingiyimana—lost most of their authority.15 Moreover, as John Burton Kegel argues, “the groundwork for their [the Rwandan Armed Forces officers’] genocidal success was already laid by the Rwandan intelligence services.”16 The new power-sharing government alienated Hutu extremists and expanded the political and military power of the RPF, who accounted for half of all officers in the military.17 The intelligence officers were divided under the new regime, with external intelligence under the Ministry of Defense and internal intelligence under the prime minister’s office, which undermined intelligence collection and increased instability.18 These divisions were exacerbated when the head of military intelligence threatened to kill the minister of defense, who resigned and six months later fled to Switzerland.19 The 1994 genocide in Rwanda involved the slaughter of up to 800,000 Tutsis (70% of the entire Tutsi population in Rwanda) and approximately 1.1 million people total, including moderate Hutus. The genocide began with Habyarimana’s assassination on April 6, 1994. The assassination has been commonly attributed to Hutu extremists and “rogue Hutu elements of the military.”20 Many factors contributed to the genocide: few constraints; a general climate of political uncertainty that precipitated a power struggle; encouragement from Hutus in positions of power and on the radio; anger over the poor treatment of Hutus in Burundi; enjoyment of killing; and an array of other motivations, including “material opportunism, poverty, coercion, impunity, historical memory and ideological indoctrination.”21 All these elements contributed to a climate that made it possible for roughly 25 percent



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of the Hutu male population to attack and kill their Tutsi and moderate Hutu neighbors over a period of one hundred days. The RPA and RPF, increasingly controlled by Kagame, slaughtered Hutus, especially those associated with the genocide, but also civilians. The massacre of Hutu civilians enabled the RPF to secure land for their followers, exact revenge, and consolidate their own power and authority. The atrocities committed by Kagame were covered up by collaborators, largely ignored by Western governments and the media, and denied by the RPF. However, these massacres have been recently documented and brought to the attention of the international community. Intelligence services played a key role in reprisal attacks against the Hutu community, with educated Hutus being the first targeted.22 In 1999, a Special Investigation was launched to further examine the Rwandan genocide, particularly the RPA’s actions. The investigation took years to complete; it may have been infiltrated by the intelligence service, seeking to identify informers, and needed to conduct its work outside the country for the participants’ safety. When completed, the investigation shed light on the slaughter of Hutu civilians in the commune of Giti and in the Byumba Stadium. The military intelligence service was involved in identifying and rounding up victims, killing them, and then covering up the killings. The Special Investigation report concluded the Directorate of Military Intelligence was responsible for the disappearances of many victims. Another report found that the “RPA committed massacres on civilian populations,” which were described as “massive” and intensive.23 Reportedly military intelligence officers helped select victims by screening Hutus for disloyalty. Military intelligence proved essential to the RPF’s invasion and quick success, but intelligence officers also played a leading role in the killings of Hutus immediately following the genocide against the Tutsis. Once in power, the RPF reconstituted the intelligence services and brought them firmly under the control of Kagame. Under the RPF, the new intelligence service leaders exclusively promoted Tutsis and dramatically expanded its power and scope. OVERVIEW OF INTELLIGENCE SERVICES Rwanda’s state security apparatus came under the direct control of the High Command Council and the RPF Secretariat during the genocide and conflict, which was then passed to President Kagame in the post-genocide period. Subsequently, Kagame has increased his direct control over the security services and uses them to protect his individual power and the new Tutudominated state elite’s interests. Rwanda officially spends 1.2 percent of its

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GDP to support the military and the intelligence service, according to a 2019 estimate.24 This funding allows for an army of roughly thirty-three thousand, plus another two thousand paramilitary forces.25 The military and state security forces—including the Rwandan Defense Force (RDF), the National Intelligence and Security Services (NISS), and the Rwandan National Police (RNP)—officially report to civilian authorities, although in some instances elements of the security forces have acted independently of civilian control. Local defense forces, which comprise an additional twenty thousand people, perform basic domestic guard duties, including policing street vendors, petty criminals, and prostitutes (whom they chase out of public areas). Additionally, the Abakada (cadre) functions as an informal network of ground-level spies integrated into local communities. Although the precise number of informants is debatable and has fluctuated over time, somewhere between four and fifteen thousand civilians received training and authorization to spy on, monitor, and report on local populations to state representatives. One observer emphasized the all-encompassing domestic power of the intelligence service: “You wear two hats. You have your job, and you are a spy for the RPF.”26 Indeed, intelligence is used against civil society. The domestic power of Rwanda’s security and intelligence services arguably rivals that of communist-era Eastern European countries, with state intelligence and local informers working together to maintain Kagame’s power.27 After the victory of the RPF, the Directorate of Military Intelligence (DMI) transitioned into the National Intelligence and Security Service (NISS). This organization bears responsibility for the overall internal and external security of the Rwandan state. Initially under the leadership of Kayumba Nyamwasa, it passed to the control of Karenzi Karake, a figure linked to a number of atrocities. An official under Karake alleged that his boss excelled in organizing “abductions, targeted killings and mass killings.”28 The NISS is made up of six departments: Headquarters, Internal Security, External Security, Finance and Administration, the Directorate General of Immigration and of Emigration, and the National Intelligence Academy.29 The leaders are directly appointed by the president for single five-year terms and “serve at the discretion of the appointing authority” or the president. For support and training, Parliament created The National Intelligence Academy (dubbed the “College of Spies”) in 2016, with its chief officer also appointed by the president.30 The internal security service encompasses the counterintelligence unit run by Charles Karamba; the Criminal Investigations and Prosecution unit under Joseph Nzabamwita, known to have regularly fabricated evidence; and the Research, Records, and Registry unit under Charles Shema, which is involved in recruitment and record keeping as well as surveillance. Patrick Karegeya supervised the external intelligence wing until he fled to



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South Africa, where he was subsequently murdered. In 2020, Kagame appointed Lynder Nkuranga as head of the external intelligence service, the first woman to hold the position. ROLE IN THE CONGO Rwanda’s involvement in the Eastern Congo bolstered the regime’s ability to secretly fund the intelligence service. The RPF joined two interlinked conflicts in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) under the guise of battling Hutu génocidaires, but the real goal was to use the conflict to seize control of the Congo’s natural resources. Rwanda’s intelligence service played a highly visible role: each invading battalion had an attached intelligence unit. The first war (1996–1997) resulted in the overthrow of Mobutu Sese Soko by a rebel group supported by the intelligence service. Over the course of the second war (1998–2003), the army and intelligence services consolidated Rwanda’s control over the mineral wealth of the Congo. The RPF sought to block the flow of information about attacks on Hutu génocidaires and civilians in the Congo by employing the intelligence service to ban outsiders from the conflict, deny military attacks, and foster the development of local militias (covertly funded by Rwanda).31 Rwanda’s efforts to seize the resources of the Congo embroiled the country in the Great War of Africa, a conflict that resulted in the death of more than five million civilians and the collapse of the Congolese state. But it supported the security and economic goals of Rwanda’s Kagame regime. Control over Eastern Congo generated a lucrative source of funding for the Rwandan state, particularly its intelligence service, with no direct oversight. By the end of the first war, the United Nations estimated that Rwanda had profited by $320 million, most of which went toward the country’s defense budget.32 Moreover, the external intelligence department controlled Rwandan economic life and handled the exploitation of the DRC. The army, in conjunction with intelligence services, established the Horizon Group, which managed investments from the DRC to secure military funding and invest the profits of Rwanda’s sale of Congolese mineral resources, with profits of up to 317 percent.33 Rwandan military, intelligence, and political leaders employed a secret accounting system to collect and hide the funds appropriated from the DRC. Ultimately, Kagame was forced to choose between maintaining a strong relationship with donor nations, who wanted to end the conflict, and satiating the armed forces’ desire to continue exploiting their neighbor nation.34

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OVERSIGHT Government leaders, including the intelligence and security services, answer to the Office of the President. As such, the president has ultimate authority and oversight. The Rwandan Parliament exercises little control over the funding of the intelligence service and also has limited ability to provide direct oversight for intelligence. In theory, Parliament can place constraints on the power of the president in the security forces. Yet in practice, Parliament has been dominated by Kagame, which undermines the checks on other branches of government. Moreover, the NISS’s secretary-general, the deputy secretary-general, directors general, and head of the National Intelligence Academy are appointed by the president and maintain their positions with presidential approval.35 Meanwhile, according to Rwandan law, judicial police officers of NISS have the authority to investigate intelligence officers who have committed a crime in the course of official duties.36 By 2008, Rwanda effectively had no opposition party. The country’s disparate political parties developed an explicit or implicit alliance with the Kagame regime and ceased to oppose or even question the actions of Rwanda’s leader and ruling party. Since 1994, the RPF has been increasingly open in arresting and intimidating candidates challenging incumbents in parliamentary elections. Thus, opposition politicians do not provide intelligence or security oversight. The regime frequently calls for continued national unity as a means of justifying restrictions on political participation and debate. The alleged need for unification, stability, and a return to pre-genocide tranquility has served as the justification for Kagame’s actions, particularly his use of the intelligence service to stifle political opposition and restrict freedoms. These actions have helped Kagame remain president and maintain control over the state’s security apparatus. On November 17, 2015, the Rwandan Senate unanimously endorsed constitutional amendments that would allow President Kagame to stay in office for another two decades, which were ratified with 98% of the popular vote. With his right to govern constitutionally assured, Kagame ran for a third term in 2017. After a campaign marked by intimidation, imprisonment of dissidents, and numerous other irregularities, he emerged victorious, winning over 98 percent of the vote.37 International support has proved crucial to maintaining the strength of Rwanda’s intelligence and security services. Kagame himself has worked hard to secure international aid. Indeed, the international donor community has backed Kagame due to their own failure to prevent genocide in Rwanda.38 Kagame also has connections abroad. He worked with the chief of intelligence in Uganda and helped Ugandan president Yoweri Museveni come to



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power, although the subsequent involvement of both countries in conflicts in the Congo created tensions between them.39 Rwanda has been involved in peacekeeping in Africa and frames itself as crucial to regional stability. Furthermore, Rwanda receives over US$100 million dollars in international aid from the United States alone and over US$1 billion from the entire international community.40 Many politicians, civil servants, judges, and military officers who remained in Rwanda through 1994 or returned after the RPF’s victory became increasingly disillusioned; some have even been actively threatened by the government. As a result, starting in 1995, educated and experienced members of the opposition increasingly left the country. Under Kagame’s government, some dissidents were assassinated at home and abroad. Infamously, the intelligence service has also been accused of direct involvement in the killing of Patrick Karegeya and attempts on the life of General Kayumba Nyamwasa, former high-ranking members of Kagame’s government and subsequent founders of an opposition party.41 Directed assassinations have continued. Since 2014, those targeted by the Kagame regime have included Theogene Turatsinze (former head of the Development Bank), military officer Camir Nkurunziza (killed in South Africa), Kagame’s personal physician Emmanual Gasukure, and financial backer Assinapol Rwigara.42 The opposition has claimed a segment of the NISS referred to as the “Intervention Group” is working to infiltrate and monitor the Rwandan diaspora abroad.43 Dissidents believe they will be subjected to surveillance even outside Rwanda and that they need to either be careful in their actions or stay silent. International nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) provide relative oversight on extreme government actions, including assassinations, by exposing and documenting abuses. The International Federation for Human Rights, Amnesty International, and the Human Rights Watch have highlighted the Rwandan government’s targeting and murder of Hutus and Tutsis and brought international attention to specific events, like the massacre at Mahoko market. However, Kagame has banned some NGOs from the country, which limits human rights work and investigations.44 Nevertheless, NGOs have managed to produce important reports condemning the regime, and they continue to monitor abuses in Rwanda. International workers who carry out investigations in Rwanda face danger. After the genocide, Tutsi intelligence and armed forces targeted Spanish aid workers who had witnessed he slaughter of Hutus.45 General Karenzi Karake, then a former secretary-general of the NISS, was arrested in the United Kingdom in 2015 on charges related to the murder of the Spanish nationals in Rwanda during the genocide. However, he was released and allowed to return to Rwanda when the courts cited a lack of “relevant laws” permitting

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extradition.46 Overall, these killings form part of a pattern of specifically targeting witnesses so abuses go unreported or unsubstantiated.47 Recent changes have further strengthened Kagame’s direct control over the military intelligence apparatus. In April 2010 Kagame pushed out Karake, who was accused of “immoral conduct” and rumored to have had disagreements with Kagame.48 As Kagame has continued to work to exert direct control over intelligence, regular turnover in commanders has helped to prevent any serious opposition to him emerging from within the NISS. The army has the potential to serve as a check on the NISS, due to its role in investigating allegations against the organization. However, the army operates under a similar culture, wherein it investigates enemies of the regime. For example, the army investigated an escape attempt made by Colonel Tom Byabagamba to further discredit him as an enemy of the regime rather than probe alleged NISS abuses.49 Indeed, the president maintains direct control over the NISS and other security services, using secret, external, and independent funding. The NISS carries out operations cloaked in secrecy and faces little in the way of organized political opposition. CONTEMPORARY ISSUES Control over the media has played a crucial role in the regime’s ability to maintain its authority. It also forms a key aspect of the work carried out by the intelligence and security services. Although article 34 of Rwanda’s 2003 Constitution supposedly protects the freedom of the press, the government has enabled security forces to intervene by targeting members of the media as “enemies of the state.” Under Kagame, journalists have been arrested, detained, and killed by the NISS.50 State attacks on the media ramped up prior to the 2015 election, as two of the three remaining independent newspapers in Rwanda were shuttered for six months by the High Media Council.51 The government’s growing control over the media ensures that journalists cannot constitute a meaningful check on intelligence abuses or Kagame’s actions. Technology has further enhanced the NISS’s ability to control and monitor the Rwandan population. The state has embraced the use of closed-circuit television cameras, which can be found throughout the city of Kigali. The government has also used Pegasus spyware to collect data from citizens’ smartphones; information transmitted through applications like Skype and WhatsApp has enabled the state to monitor citizens in exile.52 Such actions drew international attention when prominent gospel singer Kizito Mihigo



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died in police custody in February 2020 following his conviction for sedition based on his private WhatsApp and Skype messages.53 Technology has largely served to empower the government’s efforts to restrict free speech and monitor domestic opposition to Kagame’s rule. During the 2020 COVID-19 pandemic, Rwanda’s police and security services had a new excuse to exert control over the population. According to news reports, the police arrested dozens of people for violations of COVID restrictions and then detained them in stadiums.54 Human rights organizations have stated that “killings, rapes, and other serious crimes” carried out by the security forces have risen during the outbreak.55 Meanwhile, the government has proven slow to arrest or prosecute soldiers. None were prosecuted between 1998 and 2008, and soldiers are largely immune from arrest. Overall, Kagame’s leadership has reworked ethnic relations in Rwanda. Memories of the genocide are still strong, but overall, Hutus and Tutsis are increasingly living together. His government has actively worked to protect domestic and foreign Tutsis from harassment and has allowed the Tutsi elite to dominate the government, the armed forces, and the security apparatus of the state (reflective of society in general). However, Kagame’s authority is not as ethnically based as it was upon taking office, with access to state power now much more about personal loyalty. He has ordered attacks on wellknown Tutsi leaders and purged those threatening his rule without regard to ethnicity. The diasporic or once-exiled Tutsis dominate the positions of power, denying those that stayed in Rwanda and were victims of the genocide any positions of authority. Finally, the government has officially outlawed ethnicity and has spent considerable resources developing a national identity and works to limit “divisionism,” but in a manner that serves to protect Kagame’s power.56 CONCLUSION This chapter explored Rwanda’s intelligence culture by discussing the history, institutions, and role of ethnicity and the politicization of the Rwandan intelligence and security apparatus. Though important during the precolonial and colonial era, the intelligence and security services have worked to protect the holders of state power in the postcolonial era. Combined with ethnic tensions, politicization, and authoritarian practices, an ethno-security culture has emerged. Under Kagame, the NISS contributed to the political and economic stability of the country but also to the instability of the Democratic Republic of the Congo and Central African region in general. At the same time, the increasingly repressive nature of state authorities has limited the political

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rights of Rwandans, and dissidents, both domestically and abroad, have been targeted for assassination. The rule of Kagame will likely continue until at least 2024, but whether or not he remains in power, the current intelligence culture with its abuses and lack of oversight will likely persist. NOTES   1.  Morgan Winsor, “Jailed Hero of ‘Hotel Rwanda’ Claims He Was Tortured at ‘Slaughterhouse’ after Arriving in Kigali,” ABC News, May 25, 2021, https://abc news.go.com/International/jailed-hero-hotel-rwanda-claims-tortured-slaughterhouse -arriving/story?id=77748884.  2. Filip Reyntjens, Political Governance in Post-Genocide Rwanda (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 66.  3. “Rwanda,” in The World Factbook (Central Intelligence Agency, 2021), https://www.cia.gov/the-world-factbook/countries/rwanda/.   4.  Peter Beaumont, “‘We Choose Good Guys and Bad Guys’: Beneath the Myth of ‘Model’ Rwanda,” Guardian, March 19, 2021, https://www.theguardian.com /global-development/2021/mar/19/we-choose-good-guys-and-bad-guys-beneath-the -myth-of-model-rwanda.  5. Michela Wrong, Do Not Disturb: The Story of a Political Muder and an African Regime Gone Bad (New York: Public Affairs, 2021), 294.  6. Scott Straus, The Order of Genocide: Race, Power, and War in Rwanda (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2008), 45.  7. Quoted in John Burton Kegel, “The Role of the Forces armées rwandaises Intelligence Services and Parallel Power Structures During the Rwandan Struggle for Liberation,” in African Intelligence Services: Early Postcolonial and Contemporary Challenges, ed. Ryan Shaffer (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2021), 129.   8.  Quoted in ibid., 130.  9. Ibid., 130. 10.  Ibid., 131. 11.  Ibid., 133. 12.  Paul G. Pierpaoli, “Paul Barril,” in Modern Genocide: The Definitive Resource and Document Collection, ed. Paul R. Bartrop and Steven Leonard Jacobs (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2015), iv, 1701. 13.  Omar McDoom, The Path to Genocide in Rwanda: Security, Opportunity, and Authority in an Ethnocratic State (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020), 79. 14. Human Rights Watch, “The Rwandan Genocide: How It Was Prepared— A Human Rights Watch Briefing Paper,” 2006, https://www.hrw.org/legacy/back grounder/africa/rwanda0406/4.htm#_ftn8. 15. Kevin O’Halloran, Rwanda: UNAMIR 1994/1995 (Newport, Australia: Big Sky Publishing, 2012), 5. 16.  Kegel, “Role of the Forces armées rwandaises,” 132.



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17. McDoom, Path to Genocide in Rwanda, 77. 18.  Kegel, “Role of the Forces armées rwandaises,” 133. 19.  Ibid., 136. 20.  US Department of State, Bureau of Intelligence and Research, “SPOT Intelligence Report as of 08:45 EDT, 7 April 1994: Rwanda/Burundi: Turmoil in Rwanda,” https://nsarchive2.gwu.edu/NSAEBB/NSAEBB119/Rw4.pdf. 21. McDoom, Path to Genocide in Rwanda, 332. 22.  Judi Rever, In Praise of Blood: The Crimes of the Rwandan Patriotic Front (Toronto: Random House Canada, 2018), 97. 23.  General Report on the Special Investigations Concerning the Crimes Committed by the Rwandan Patriotic Army (RPA) during 1994 (International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, October 1, 2003), https://rwandadok.files.wordpress.com/2018/10 /ictr-report-special-investigations-concerning-rpa-crimes.pdf. 24. The World Bank, “Military Expenditure-Rwanda,” 2021, https://data.world bank.org/indicator/MS.MIL.XPND.GD.ZS?locations=RW. 25. International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Sub-Saharan Africa,” Military Balance 120, no. 1 (2020): 495. 26. Rever, In Praise of Blood, 144. 27. Judi Rever, “What the United Nations Knows about Rwanda’s Powerful Spy Chief,” Pambazuka News: Voices for Freedom and Justice, July 8, 2015, https://www.pambazuka.org/governance/what-united-nations-knows-about-rwanda %E2%80%99s-powerful-spy-chief. 28. Ibid. 29. “Summary,” Official Gazette no. Special of April 20, 2017, 24, https://police .gov.rw/uploads/tx_download/RNP_Law.pdf. 30.  Jean de la Croix Tabaro, “Lawmakers OK Creation of Training College for Spies,” KT Press, August 5, 2016, https://www.ktpress.rw/2016/08/lawmakers-ok -creation-of-training-college-for-spies/. 31. Rever, In Praise of Blood, 10. 32. Stean A. N. Tshiband, “Transnational Actors and the Conflict in the Great Lakes Region of Africa,” PCN Conflict Studies Journal (2009): 33. 33. Reyntjens, Political Governance in Post-Genocide Rwanda, 177. 34. Jonny Hogg, “Insight: Ethnic, Economic Interests Entangle Rwanda in Congo,” Reuters, October 18, 2012, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-congo -democratic-east/insight-ethnic-economic-interests-entangle-rwanda-in-congo-idUS BRE89G1EX20121018. 35. “Summary,” Official Gazette, 23. 36.  Ibid., 23. 37. Jean Bizimana, “Rwanda: Politically Closed Elections—A Chronology of Violations,” Human Rights Watch, August 18, 2017, https://www.hrw.org/news /2017/08/18/rwanda-politically-closed-elections. 38. McDoom, Path to Genocide in Rwanda, 181. 39. Wrong, Do Not Disturb, 145.

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40. “Net Official Development and Official Aid Received (Current US$)— Rwanda,” World Bank, accessed August 19, 2021, https://data.worldbank.org/indica tor/DT.ODA.ALLD.CD?locations=RW. 41. Wrong, Do Not Disturb, 66. 42.  Ibid., 432. 43.  Ibid., 43. 44. McDoom, Path to Genocide in Rwanda, 182. 45. Rever, In Praise of Blood, 172. 46. “UK Court Drops Extradition Case against Rwandan Spy Chief,” Guardian, August 10, 2015, https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2015/aug/10/uk-court -drops-extradition-case-rwandan-spy-chief. 47. Rever, In Praise of Blood, 172. 48.  “Rwanda Arrests Two High-Ranking Military Officers,” BBC News, April 20, 2010, http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8632986.stm. 49. Laure Broulard, “Rwanda: Arrests of Relatives of Tom Byabagamba, Suspected of Wanting to Escape from Prison,” Teller Report, April 24, 2020, https:// www.tellerreport.com/news/2020-04-25-rwanda--arrests-of-relatives-of-tom-byaba gamba--suspected-of-wanting-to-escape-from-prison.H1uphfZKU.html. 50.  Notably this includes the death of independent journalist Jean-Leonard Rugambage. Overall, under Kagame, attacks by state forces on the media ramped up in the run-up to the 2015 election, as two of the three remaining independent newspapers in Rwanda were shuttered for six months by the order of the High Media Council. 51. “Rwandan Adviser Must Retract Accusation against Editor,” Committee to Protect Journalists, December 16, 2010, https://cpj.org/2010/12/rwandan-adviser -must-retract-accusation-against-ed/. 52. Louis Gitinywa, “The Chilling Tale of Mass Surveillance and Spying in Rwanda: New Technologies Clash with Citizens’ Right to Privacy,” Global Voices— AdVox, August 7, 2020, https://advox.globalvoices.org/2020/08/07/the-chilling-tale -of-mass-surveillance-and-spying-in-rwanda/0/. 53.  “Rwanda: Freedom on the Net 2020,” Freedom House, 2021, https://freedom house.org/country/rwanda/freedom-net/2020. 54. “Rwanda: Lockdown Arrests, Abuses Surge,” Human Rights Watch, April 24, 2020, https://www.hrw.org/news/2020/04/24/rwanda-lockdown-arrests-abuses -surge. 55. Ibid. 56. Marc Lacey “A Decade after Massacres, Rwanda Outlaws Ethnicity,” New York Times, April 9, 2004, https://www.nytimes.com/2004/04/09/world/a-decade -after-massacres-rwanda-outlaws-ethnicity.html.

41 São Tomé and Príncipe Intelligence Culture on a Small Island Republic David Andrew Omona

São Tomé and Príncipe, officially named the Democratic Republic of São Tomé and Príncipe, is an archipelago in the Gulf of Guinea near the equator. Due to ancient volcanic activity, it has a “rugged relief” and mountainous summits over six thousand feet above sea level.1 Located off the central and west African coast, the country consists of the islands of São Tomé and Príncipe, and the country shares maritime boarders with Gabon, Equatorial Guinea, Cameroon, and Nigeria.2 With a population of over 210,000 people, São Tomé and Príncipe is the second-smallest country in Africa after the Seychelles and the smallest Portuguese-speaking country.3 According to Freedom House’s 2020 ranking, the country was rated “free” with a score of 84 out of 100 for political rights and civil liberties, with the organization describing it as holding “regular, competitive national elections” and liberties being “generally respected, but poverty and corruption have weakened some institutions and contributed to dysfunction in the justice system.”4 This chapter explores the intelligence and security services in São Tomé and Príncipe and argues that the intelligence culture is significantly impacted by the country’s small size, limited resources, geographic locations, and economy. Drawing from official publications as well as academic research and press reports, it describes the focus and history of the island nation’s security. The chapter begins by describing the country’s background as it relates to security and political history. Next it examines intelligence history with attention to transformations and key intelligence failures. Then the chapter discusses factors that have shaped the intelligence culture before turning to oversight issues and the country’s international partners. Last, the chapter concludes by describing intelligence culture characteristics and the limited hope for intelligence reform. 541

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BACKGROUND Claimed by Portugal in the 1470s, São Tomé and Príncipe’s formal colonization by Portugal started in the early 1500s, and it was settled by convicts, Jewish children separated from their parents who were expelled from Portugal, and African slaves who grew sugarcane on the island.5 It eventually became an “important staging post for [the] slave trade” and the world’s largest producer of sugar, though it was eventually overtaken by Brazil after the slave laborers under their leader Rei Amador rebelled, escaped to the mountains, and raided the sugar plantations.6 Given their strategic location and prosperity, the islands were constantly threatened by the French, English, and Dutch. Notably, in 1567 the French attacked and pillaged São Tomé. Subsequently, in 1597 the Dutch occupied Príncipe for four months and pillaged São Tomé in 1599, but on both occasions they were forced to leave due to tropical diseases. In spite of their earlier failures, the Dutch occupied the fort and harbors of São Tomé between 1641 and 1648 and controlled the lucrative sugar and slave trade.7 The Dutch occupation led to the coffee and cocoa economy, which remained key exports during the twentieth century.8 More recently, offshore oil has helped to diversify the economy, enabling investment and improvement in São Tomé and Príncipe’s intelligence and security services. After about five hundred years of colonialism, the wind of change that engulfed African countries also came to São Tomé and Príncipe. After the 1974 revolution in Portugal, São Tomé and Príncipe—as well as other Portuguese colonies in Africa—gained independence in 1975. Yet security threats continued. Following independence, the country adopted a socialist one-party state modeled on the Soviet Union and did not institute democratic reforms until the late 1980s.9 During much of the era of single-party rule, the socialist mode of intelligence was for regime protection. The first multiparty free elections were held in 1991, followed by regular elections, but the unstable political environment was marked by frequent changes in leadership and several nonviolent attempted coups in 1995, 1998, 2003, and 2009. Both one-party rule and the tumultuous democratic era necessitated capable intelligence services. Indeed, government instability could undermine not only the nation’s security but the state itself.10 With constant internal and external threats, São Tomé and Príncipe’s leaders relied on intelligence for decision-making. Since no single source is likely to provide enough information for a full understanding of a particular issue, São Tomé and Príncipe’s intelligence and security services used multiple sources to arrive at the most accurate picture of events.11 Although during earlier times leaders on the island nation had depended on human



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intelligence (HUMINT; intelligence gathered by informants who were strategically positioned), currently the country’s intelligence community likely employs HUMINT as well as more open source (OSINT) and some technical (TECHINT) means.12 KEY INTELLIGENCE ACTORS, EVENTS, AND FAILURES Currently, São Tomé and Príncipe lacks a single centralized intelligence agency but has intelligence and security service functions in the National Police (Polícia Nacional) and Armed Forces of São Tomé and Príncipe (Forcas Armadas de Sao Tome e Principe, FASTP), which includes the Army, Coast Guard of São Tomé and Príncipe (Guarda Costeira de Sao Tome e Principe, GCSTP; also called “Navy”), Presidential Guard (Guarda Presidencial) and National Guard (Guarda Nacional). The National Police (responsible for internal security) and military (responsible for external security) are under the Ministry of Defense and Internal Order, while judicial police report to the Ministry of Justice, Public Administration, and Human Rights.13 The number of intelligence and security services personnel is unknown, but a 2009 Voice of America article described the military as having “about 300 soldiers” with “most” appearing to “look barely 18” and a force that had only one working armored vehicle.14 Likely small in terms of personnel due to the relatively small population, the intelligence and security services’ focus on internal and external threats is centered on maritime trafficking, crime, political instability, and foreign subversion. During the era of Portuguese colonialism, the leadership of the state depended on using open source intelligence by positioning individuals around to monitor movements of strange ships on the high waters and within the state’s boundaries. The International Police for the Defense of the State (Polícia Internacional de Defesa do Estado, PIDE) were responsible for gathering and analyzing intelligence until 1969, when the Portuguese General Directorate of Security (Direção-Geral de Segurança, GDS) in São Tomé took over intelligence collection.15 The intelligence culture was shaped by longstanding stereotypes about Africans. For example, the GDS underestimated the ability of the Movement for the Liberation of São Tomé and Príncipe/ Social Democratic Party (Movimento de Libertação de São Tomé e Príncipe/ Partido Social Democrata, MLSLP) to take power and run the government. A GDS report in December 1973 noted, “Although there is not much information coming from abroad, we [the GDS] have the impression that the CLSPT [Comité de Libertação de São Tomé e Príncipe (Liberation Committee of São Tomé and Príncipe)] is inactive or disorganized.”16 Another GDS

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report opined: “We do not think that the indigenous people [the Sao Tomean people], lazy by nature, have either the capacity or the cunning to take any initiative.” This assessment was based “on ancient prejudices” that the locals “blindly believe in the spell calling it an effective weapon in the ruin or prosperity of any home.”17 The assessment proved wrong, as the MLSLP took power and set the country on a path where the indigenous people were in charge of the state. After gaining political independence from Portugal in 1975, São Tomé and Príncipe’s new leadership reorganized the services with intelligence functions. Just a few years after independence some Portuguese, perhaps with the intent to discredit the new leaders, returned to the country and began undermining the education sector, and then media, the health sector, agriculture, tourism, banking, and retail sectors.18 At the same time, independent São Tomé and Príncipe needed allies and fostered relations with African nations—including Nigeria, Equatorial Guinea, Taiwan, Brazil, South Africa, Libya, Morocco, and a number of others—for development. Poverty remained pervasive on the island, which in turn impacted security and was linked to two coups. In 1995 the country faced severe economic stress, and the military’s six-hundred-strong personnel launched a coup, only to stand down in exchange for not being prosecuted.19 Likewise in 2003, a coup launched by Fernando Pereira, a forty-eight-year-old major in the military who had trained in several foreign countries, arrested senior political leaders and cited grievances like “social and economic decline” as well as corruption.20 In both cases, the intelligence and security services failed to prevent the coup, and it was resolved through negotiations with the coup leaders returning power in exchange for amnesty. In contrast, a 2009 coup was thwarted when Arlecio Costa, an opposition leader, and others plotted to take over the government but were arrested by the security services (Costa was pardoned in 2010).21 Subsequently in 2014, “about 300 junior and noncommissioned officers” went on strike demanding better pay and living conditions, which resulted in the president replacing the military chief amid concerns about a coup.22 FACTORS SHAPING THE INTELLIGENCE CULTURE São Tomé and Príncipe’s intelligence and security community has evolved since independence due to four key issues: strategic maritime location, political instability, smuggling and illicit activities, and money laundering. The four issues have shaped the island’s intelligence culture, which is character-



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ized by a maritime and internal outlook with limited resources in a country plagued with corruption. First, São Tomé and Príncipe’s location requires that the intelligence and security entities have a maritime focus centered on piracy and armed robbery on the high seas. Although the maritime insecurity in the Gulf of Guinea is not a new phenomenon, the development of transport technology and weapons has fostered an increase in these acts.23 Lindskov Jacobean and Riber Nordby argued that “pirates are not born at sea,” but mostly are fishermen or former fishermen, persons from the public administration, and unemployed.24 Contentious issues such as governance and corruption, economic and sociopolitical exclusion, sea blindness, weak law enforcement, poverty, unemployment and densely populated urban centers, border disputes, oil discoveries, and scarcity of refined petroleum act as drivers for crimes on high seas in the area.25 More recently, pirates near São Tomé and Príncipe have used speedboats or pirogues, which are sometimes supported by mother-ships, when operating in larger areas for specific targets.26 The country’s maritime security and intelligence capabilities are poor, with a lack of speedboats and communication technologies to counter the advanced technologies and the pirates’ modus operandi.27 Furthermore, São Tomé and Príncipe’s maritime insecurity, compounded by illegal fishing and other maritime threats, such as ecological risks, is caused by foreign fishing trawlers in the Gulf of Guinea. Illegal, unregulated, and undeclared (IUU) fishing endangers rare and vulnerable species and undermines the coastal ecosystems and biodiversity.28 It also contributes to environmental problems through overfishing and toxic products.29 To contain such threats, São Tomé and Príncipe had to strategically boost intelligence both on- and offshore.30 Second, the country’s political turbulence required that leaders and law enforcement have intelligence to prevent threats to the government. As Gerhard Seibert explained, “The first three centuries of colonialism were marked by continuous political tensions,” including the distance from the central government in Lisbon.31 Additionally, “the frequent power vacuum caused by the early death of office-holders; the fragmentation of local political power between the Crown, the church, and the city council, and the heterogeneity of a hybrid society facilitated all kinds of conflict.”32 The current political uncertainty requires up-to-date intelligence. In addition to the coup attempts in 1995, 1998, 2003, and 2009, the discovery of oil in waters near Príncipe has facilitated opportunistic politicians agitating for Príncipe’s independence even though the people on both islands are tied by culture and blood.33 This has also manifested in long-standing corruption issues, and the government has made combating corruption a priority.34

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Third, trafficking in narcotics and fake and substandard pharmaceuticals, and organized transnational crimes involving oil, illegal migration, human trafficking, and weapons smuggling are other threats to the island.35 These issues require intelligence gathering and analysis to respond. Drug trafficking along the Gulf of Guinean waters originating from Colombia, Peru, Bolivia, and Brazil has caused problems in the area.36 This situation is also compounded by illegal activities at the international airports, with insufficient security to adequately secure the ports of entries and departures. According to a 2013 report, three customs officials were deployed to Príncipe for a scheduled landing, while there were only thirteen permanent National Police (NP) and two officers of the Criminal Investigation Police (CIP) in Príncipe.37 São Tomé and Príncipe customs had fifty-two staff, forty-eight in active service in São Tomé, four permanent staff in the autonomous region of Príncipe, and a delegation of customs officials for daily work.38 International observers have noted this is inadequate, necessitating intelligence sharing from international partners. Fourth, given its location off the African mainland and the economic activities taking place therein, São Tomé and Príncipe grapples with money laundering. While initially the country had an agro-based economy, the recent discovery of oil and the control of the banking sector by foreign investors from Angola, Cameroon, Gabon, Nigeria, and Portugal put the country at risk. Concern about organized crime using the country for money laundering and terrorist finance drew the attention of both national and international partners. In 2017 the global money laundering and terrorist financing watchdog Financial Action Task Force (FATF) expressed concern, as the law did not cover many offenses related to money laundering.39 Further, São Tomé and Príncipe does not criminalize terrorist financing and has no mechanisms to freeze and confiscate terrorist funds under the United Nations Security Council Resolutions. OVERSIGHT AND CONTROL In this semipresidential system with internationally recognized elections, civilian authorities have control over the intelligence and security services.40 In a country with a recent history of coups and instability and where intelligence appears mostly aimed at internal security, there are limitations on effective oversight. According to the US Department of State’s 2021 report, “government took some steps to identify, investigate, prosecute, and punish officials who committed abuses; however, impunity was a problem.”41



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The FASTP and the Presidential Guard and National Guard are under the Ministry of Defense and Internal Order and is under a cabinet-level minister. With the defense institution looming large over the country’s stability because of coups, the ministry plays an important part in the country’s security and is tasked with ensuring protection of senior officials. In 2020, for example, the minister claimed to have prevented a plot—involving an elected opposition politician and soldier—to assassinate the prime minister.42 The Criminal Investigation Police (Polícia de Investigação Criminal, PIC) is under the Ministry of Justice, Public Administration, and Human Rights, which collects intelligence and investigates crime. The PIC’s actions are subject to review by the ministry in accordance with Law no. 2/2008, the Organic Law of PIC.43 Empowered by article 3 of Law no. 2/2008, the PIC gathers intelligence and investigates crimes committed in the country, including murder, robbery, terrorism, money laundering, corruption, and actions against internal and external state security.44 Intelligence within the customs department is overseen by customs officers working under the Ministry of Internal Administration, Territorial Administration, and Civil Protection. The officers use their relationships and networks to carry out surveillance and enforce border protection laws and vessel inspections.45 They have the mandate to inspect and oversee all customs services in seaports and airports in collaboration with the police to combat customs fraud and evasion, illegal trafficking of merchandise, and control of related activities within the context of fighting money laundering and terrorist financing.46 To effect this, “Customs has established cooperation on issues relating to illicit trafficking in narcotic drugs with Customs authorities in all Portuguese speaking countries,” who are also faced with the same challenges.47 São Tomé and Príncipe’s government also collects financial intelligence. Article 1 of Decree No. 60/2009 (FIU Decree) of December 31, 2009, created the country’s Financial Intelligence Unit (FIU).48 Working under the oversight of the Ministry of Planning and Finance, the FIU is the central agency responsible for collecting, analyzing, and disseminating information relating to the crime of money laundering and financing of terrorism to relevant domestic and foreign entities. The FIU’s composition includes several ministries related to finance and justice whose objective is to provide strategic financial intelligence.49

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INTERNATIONAL PARTNERS Though not much is publicly known about intelligence relations, São Tomé and Príncipe has security partnerships with countries in Africa, the Americas, and Europe due to historical legacies, and its lengthy coastline is vulnerable to piracy, terrorist activities, smuggling, and other illegal activities that impact the region.50 With the country’s small size and limited security capabilities due to financial and human resource constraints, foreign partners have aided the country’s security sector. The partnerships can be categorized in terms of colonial and linguistic legacies and international strategic partnerships. Portugal, as a former colonial power, and other Portuguese-speaking countries, such as Angola and Brazil, have security partnerships with São Tomé and Príncipe. In 2013, it signed a cooperation agreement for maritime collaboration with Portugal that allows both countries to surveil and inspect the Economic Free Zone.51 In 2015, the same agreement incorporated an additional protocol that allows the Portuguese Air Force to inspect São Tomé and Príncipe’s waters.52 A subsequent agreement in 2018 included a new Defense Cooperation Framework with Portugal providing training for maritime security.53 Under this agreement, a Portuguese warship patrols the waters, while Portugal’s and São Tomé and Príncipe’s militaries carry out joint operations. Other countries have developed intelligence and security relations with São Tomé and Príncipe. Along with dozens of other countries, including Portugal and Angola, São Tomé and Príncipe takes part in the annual multilateral Obangame Express exercises in the Gulf of Guinea, which explicitly include “information-sharing practices.”54 Bilaterally in 2014, São Tomé and Príncipe and Angola signed a formal agreement to improve policing and counterterrorism relations by sharing intelligence.55 Brazil cooperates with São Tomé and Príncipe on naval defense, helping create the first maritime unit in São Tomé and Príncipe.56 As for the United States, it helped São Tomé and Príncipe train and equip “local security forces in counterterrorism and maritime security to build institutional capacity and knowledge.”57 This enabled the government to create regulatory and management bodies to improve border control. Consequently, it has built up the capacity of São Tomé and Príncipe’s immigration service, which can now terminate visas of or refuse them to individuals suspected of money laundering. It also facilitated the creation of a Maritime and Port Security Institute, funded the establishment of the Financial Intelligence Unit at the Central Bank, and supported the establishment of a radar and tracking systems program with the São Toméan Coast Guard.58 The United States also helped establish a naval base so São Tomé and Príncipe can protect its oil industry.59 In 2008, the United States helped establish a “surface surveillance



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system” for maritime intelligence.60 This system enables São Tomé and Príncipe to improve search and rescue capability in maritime accidents.61 The European Union also provides financial and logistical support for training and boosting operational capabilities of naval and coastguard personnel for the Gulf of Guinea countries, including São Tomé and Príncipe.62 To this end, “three major workshops have been successively held in Pointe Noire (Congo), Malabo (Equatoria Guinea), and Douala (Cameroon) to support the training of civilian and military personnel on State of Sea.”63 These training workshops have provided the country with improved security capabilities. For example, the internal security forces, navy, port authorities, customs authorities, and military have been equipped with improved intelligencegathering functions. As a result, they can “conduct surveillance operations and where necessary, intervene to protect trade routes, oil installations and disrupt illegal activities such as drug and human trafficking and smuggling of migrants.”64 Turning to Nigeria, in 2007 and 2009 the countries agreed to establish a joint military commission to protect their common oil interest in the Gulf of Guinea and organized a maritime military commission to protect offshore crude oil fields.65 This came after a meeting in Abuja at which the two countries expressed concern over “security developments in the Gulf of Guinea especially on the illegal trafficking of arms and ammunition have become serious concerns.”66 The joint security arrangement enables the two nations to share intelligence about piracy and other maritime threats concerning offshore oil fields. Last but not least, São Tomé and Príncipe has been a member of the International Police (INTERPOL) since 1988.67 Through the Evidence Exploitation Intelligence (EVEXI) Program, São Tomé and Príncipe can share information on international crimes. Funded by France and Norway, the program provides a “framework for the systematic and coordinated exploitation of piracy related information” with the goal of creating “a multinational approach to integrations related to international piracy as an organized crime.”68 This helps provide São Tomé and Príncipe’s intelligence and security services with relevant information for national security. CONCLUSION São Tomé and Príncipe’s small size, maritime location, and economic dependence on agricultural and now hydrocarbon exports greatly impact its intelligence culture. Indeed, the economy has been to linked to failed coups, which also impact the broader security environment.69 Oil wealth provided

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the government with more resources than it had previously had but also intensified economic and social challenges. While the maritime security concerns in the Gulf of Guinea brought international security aid, it remains to be seen whether this will be sufficient to address the threats. São Tomé and Príncipe’s intelligence culture appears to be largely insular and lean, taking into account the country’s small size and the reported strength of its military. Undoubtedly affected by the corruption that plagues other parts of the country, it does not appear that there is any political or social will to expand the island nation’s intelligence services. NOTES  1. Kevashinee Pillay and Nélia Daniel Dias, “São Tomé and Príncipe Legal System and Research,” GlobaLex, 2020, https://www.nyulawglobal.org/globalex /Sao_Tome_Principe1.html.   2.  Paulo De Araújo Ribe Iro De Ceita, “An Assessment of the Impact of Maritime (In)security in the Gulf of Guinea: Special Emphasis on Sao Tome and Principe” (PhD diss., World Maritime University, 2020), https://commons.wmu.se/cgi/view content.cgi?article=2382&context=all_dissertations.   3.  “Sao Tome and Principe,” in The World Factbook (Central Intelligence Agency, 2021), https://www.cia.gov/the-world-factbook/countries/sao-tome-and-principe/.  4. “São Tomé and Príncipe,” Freedom House, 2020, https://freedomhouse.org /country/sao-tome-and-principe/freedom-world/2020.  5. Kevashinee Pillay and Nélia Daniel Dias; update by Gerhard Seibert, “Update: São Tomé and Príncipe Legal System and Research,” GlobaLex, 2020, https:// www.nyulawglobal.org/globalex/Sao_Tome_Principe1.html.   6.  “Sao Tome and Principe Profile,” BBC News: Africa, May 14, 2018, https:// www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-14093670; and Gerhard Seibert, “Coup d’état in São Tomé e Príncipe: Domestic Causes, the Role of Oil and Former ‘Buffalo’ Battalion Soldiers,” Africa Portal, November 1, 2003, https://www.africaportal.org /publications/coup-d%C3%A9tat-in-s%C3%A3o-tom%C3%A9-e-pr%C3%ADncipedomestic-causes-the-role-of-oil-and-former-buffalo-battalion-soldiers/.  7. Gerhard Seibert, Comrades, Clients and Cousins: Colonialism, Socialism and Democratization in São Tomé and Príncipe (Leiden: CNWS Publications, Leiden University, 2006), 29.  8. Gary Youinou, “Sao Tome and Principe: Risk and Compliance Report,” KnowYourCountry.com, 2017, 4.  9. Human Rights Watch, An Uncertain Future: Oil Contracts and Stalled Reform in São Tomé e Príncipe (New York: HRW, 2010), https://www.hrw.org /report/2010/08/24/uncertain-future/oil-contracts-and-stalled-reform-sao-tome-e -principe; and Seibert, “Coup d’état in São Tomé e Príncipe.” 10. African Development Bank, “Democratic Republic of Sao Tome and Principe: Interim Country Strategy Paper 2010–2011” (Regional Department, West 2,



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ORWB, ADB, 2010), iv, https://www.afdb.org/fileadmin/uploads/afdb/Documents /Project-and-Operations/Sao%20Tome%20and%20Principe%20-%20CSP%202010 -2011%20doc.pdf. 11. Lauren Hutton, “Overseeing Information Collection,” in Overseeing Intelligence Services: A Toolkit, by Hans Born and Aiden Wills (Geneva: Democratic Control of Armed Forces, DCAF, 2012), https://www.dcaf.ch/sites/default/files/pub lications/documents/Born_Wills_Intelligence_oversight_TK_EN_0.pdf. 12.  Ibid., 89. 13.  2020 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: São Tomé and Príncipe (US Department of State, March 30, 2021), https://www.state.gov/reports/2020 -country-reports-on-human-rights-practices/sao-tome-and-principe/. 14. “Sao Tome Sparks American Military Interest,” Voice of America, October 28, 2009, https://www.voanews.com/archive/sao-tome-sparks-american-military -interest. 15. Albertino Francisco and Nujoma Agostinho, Exorcising Devils from the Throne: São Tomé and Príncipe in the Chaos of Democratization (New York: Algora Publishing, 2011), 29–30. 16.  Ibid., 30. 17.  Ibid., 30. 18.  Ibid., 30–31. 19.  “Tiny Nation Struggles with Democracy,” CNN, September 20, 1995, http:// www.edition.cnn.com/WORLD/9509/sao_tome/. 20. “Nigeria Urges Sao Tome and Principe Coup Leaders to Return Power to Civilians,” Voice of America, October 30, 2009, https://www.voanews.com/archive /nigeria-urges-sao-tome-and-principe-coup-leaders-return-power-civilians -2003-07-17; Sao Lima, “Profile: Sao Tome Coup Leader,” BBC, July 20, 2003, http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/3080981.stm. 21. “Freedom in the World 2011—São Tomé and Principe,” Freedom House, 2011, https://www.refworld.org/docid/4e3fa94823.html. 22. “Sao Tome Names New Military Chief amid Army Unrest,” Reuters, February 19, 2014, https://www.reuters.com/article/uk-saotome-army-idUKBREA 1I21C20140219?edition-redirect=uk. 23.  Augustine Betialikong Abohi and Nafiu Ahmed, “Understanding West Africa Maritime Security Threats: A Critical Appraisal of the Development of Piracy and Armed Robbery at Sea in the Gulf of Guinea,” Socialscientia: Journal of Social Sciences and Humanities 3, no. 2 (2018); and Fru Suh I Nobert, “Insecurity in the Gulf of Guinea (GoG),” Journal of Territorial and Maritime Studies 4, no. 2 (2017): 32–51. See also James J. F. Forest and Matthew V. Sousa, Oil and Terrorism in the New Gulf: Framing U.S. Energy and Security Policies for the Gulf of Guinea Book (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2007). 24.  Lindskov Jacobsen and Riber Nordby, Maritime Security in the Gulf of Guinea (Royal Danish Defence College Report, 2015); and de Ceita, “Assessment of the Impact of Maritime (In)security in the Gulf of Guinea,” 45. 25.  De Ceita, “Assessment of the Impact of Maritime (In)security in the Gulf of Guinea,” 13–31.

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26.  Ibid., 44. 27.  Ibid., 44. 28.  Raymond Gilpin, “Enhancing Maritime Security in the Gulf of Guinea,” Strategic Insights 6, no. 1 (2017). 29. Charles Ukeje and Wullson Mvomo Ela, African Approaches to Maritime Security: The Gulf of Guinea (Abuja: Frederic-Ebert Stiftung, 2013), 22. 30.  “Forcas Armadas de Sao Tome e Principe, FASTP,” GlobalSecurity.org, 2021, https://www.globalsecurity.org/military/world/africa/stp-fastp.htm. 31. Seibert, Comrades, Clients and Cousins, 35. 32. Ibid. 33.  Francisco and Agostinho, Exorcising Devils from the Throne, 23. 34.  “São Tomé and Príncipe,” European Commission, 2021, https://ec.europa.eu /international-partnerships/where-we-work/sao-tome-and-principe_en. 35.  De Ceita, “Assessment of the Impact of Maritime (In)security in the Gulf of Guinea,” 20; FY 2013 Congressional Budget Justification Foreign Operations Annex: Regional Perspectives (US Department of State, 2013), 159, https://www.usaid.gov /documents/cbj/fy2013/regional-perspectives. 36.  Ukeje and Ela, African Approaches to Maritime Security, 21. 37.  Mutual Evaluation Report—Anti-Money Laundering and Combating the Financing of Terrorism: São Tomé and Príncipe (Ponty Dakar: GIABA, 2013), https:// www.giaba.org/media/f/557_MER%20Sao%20Tome?%20and%20Principe%20Eng lish%20061213.pdf. 38.  Ibid., 20. 39.  Ibid., 20. 40.  2020 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: São Tomé and Príncipe. 41. Ibid. 42.  “Sao Tome: Armed Forces ‘Foil Plot to Assassinate PM, Overthrow Government,’” Club of Mozambique, June 22, 2018, https://clubofmozambique.com/news /sao-tome-armed-forces-foil-plot-to-assassinate-pm-overthrow-government/. 43.  Public Ministry in accordance with Law no. 2/2008, the Organic Law of PIC. 44.  Article 3 of Law no. 2/2008, 45.  GIABA, 32. 46.  Ibid., 35. 47.  Ibid., 83. 48. Ibid. 49. Ibid. 50.  Youinou, “Sao Tome and Principe.” 51.  De Ceita, “Assessment of the Impact of Maritime (In)security in the Gulf of Guinea.” 52.  “Portugal Supports Maritime Surveillance in São Tomé,” Economist, March 25, 2015, http://country.eiu.com/article.aspx?articleid=1933015177&Country=S%25 C3%25A3o%2520Tom%25C3%25A9%2520and%2520Pr%25_5. 53.  De Ceita, “Assessment of the Impact of Maritime (In)security in the Gulf of Guinea,” 29.



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54. “Obangame Express,” AFRICOM, 2021, https://www.africom.mil/what-we -do/exercises/obangame-express. 55.  “Parceria de segurança com São Tomé e Príncipe” [Security partnership with São Tomé and Príncipe], redeangola.info, June 24, 2014, www.redeangola.info /seguranca-vale-parceria-com-sao-tome-e-principe/. 56.  “Brazil Plans Naval Mission in Africa,” New York Times, December 3, 2014, https://www.nytimes.com/2014/12/04/world/americas/brazil-plans-naval-mission-in -africa.html. 57.  2009 Country Reports on Terrorism—Sao Tome and Principe (US Department of State, August 5, 2010), https://www.refworld.org/docid/4c63b62528.html. 58.  “Country Reports: Africa Overview,” in Country Report on Terrorism 2009 (US Department of State, August 5, 2010), https://2009-2017.state.gov/j/ct/rls /crt/2009/140883.htm. 59.  “Sao Tome and Principe Profile.” 60.  Jason Morris, “New Radar System Improves Sea Safety for Sao Tome and Principe,” AFRICOM, January 30, 2008, https://www.africom.mil/article/6096/new -radar-system-improves-sea-safety-for-sao-tome-. 61. Ibid. 62.  Ukeje and Ela, African Approaches to Maritime Security. 63. Ibid. 64.  Council of European Union, “EU Strategy on the Gulf of Guinea,” Foreign Affairs Council Meeting, Brussels, March 17, 2014, 10, https://www.consilium.europa .eu/media/28734/141582.pdf. 65. “Sao Tome and Principe Profile”; and Human Rights Watch, Uncertain Future. 66. “Nigeria, Sao Tome Agree Oil-Zone Maritime Security,” Reuters, December 21, 2009, https://www.reuters.com/article/nigeria-saotome-security-idUKLDE5B K1LG20091221. 67. “Sao Tome and Principe,” INTERPOL, 2021, https://www.interpol.int/en /Who-we-are/Member-countries/Africa/SAO-TOME-PRINCIPE. 68.  Ukeje and Ela, African Approaches to Maritime Security, 28. 69.  Human Rights Watch, Uncertain Future.

42 Senegal A Professionalizing Intelligence Culture Ryan Shaffer

Senegal is a small, stable country in West Africa. With a population of about sixteen million, the economy is largely dependent on tourism as well as agriculture and extracting natural resources.1 Since the country achieved independence in 1960, the government has instituted political, economic, and security reforms. The country’s domestic and international security challenges make intelligence services and a professional intelligence culture necessary. A majority Muslim country, Senegal does not face threats from international terrorist groups that other Africa nations do, and it has not experienced a terrorist attack. Some police-led intelligence issues are drug trafficking and illegal immigration.2 While political violence is not a serious concern, an active civil society regularly engages in protests and strikes, including prior to the 2019 general election and massive protests in 2020 following the arrest of a leading opposition figure.3 The country has also faced a separatist movement in Casamance, which is in the country’s south, since the 1980s, with reports about external involvement from Iran.4 There is little research written about Senegalese security broadly and intelligence specifically. Some notable contributions include work by Lamine Cissé, a former chief of staff of the armed forces of Senegal and minister of the interior of Senegal, who has written about security reform in the country.5 Muhammad Bathily, from Senegal’s National Gendarmerie, wrote an unpublished master’s thesis about reforming the intelligence services.6 Thomas G. Offerdahl, from Senegal’s Police, also wrote an unpublished master’s thesis about challenges of policing in Senegal.7 Building from this research, the chapter makes use of published secondary sources about Senegal’s political history and security as well as news articles and reports by nongovernmental organizations, including human rights organizations. 555

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Additionally, it draws from records available from the Senegal government’s websites, which describe the structure and institutions involving national security. This chapter argues that the intelligence culture has been professionalized with democratic development but is in transition, with reforms being instituted under a government that is a quasi-democracy. To do this, the chapter is divided into three parts. The first provides a brief history of the country to understand its security history and challenges. The second section examines specific intelligence and intelligence-related institutions. The third part explores oversight and international security relationships. BACKGROUND France remains an important influence in the country and shapes Senegal’s approaches to government and security. Senegal became a colony of France in 1885 when the latter established control and imposed French institutions. Yet French influence in modern-day Senegal is even older, dating from when France first established a fort and trading post at Saint Louis in 1659.8 Over the centuries, France expanded control, including building a military outpost in Dakar in 1857.9 By the late nineteenth century France had acquired a large empire in West Africa. In 1895 French West Africa was established with its capital in Senegal, which achieved prominence that the other colonies lacked.10 Peanut production was an important aspect of the expanding economy, making Senegal the wealthiest colony in French West Africa, but this should not imply that the African population all benefited.11 Following the Second World War, as the winds of decolonization blew through Africa, the local population was demanding reforms and self-government. In 1959 Senegal and France entered into discussions about independence, which resulted in the Mali Federation becoming independent on April 4, 1960. The federation quickly collapsed, in August 1960, and Senegal established its own constitution in September 1960.12 The newly independent state concentrated power under the president and was controlled by one party, the Socialist Party, from 1960 until 2000. Shortly after independence, the state and party were consolidated when the president, who was also the head of the party, revised the constitution in 1962 to abolish the Office of the Prime Minister and centralized “virtually all the executive power in the hands of the president.”13 Moreover, the Ministry of Interior was given more power in 1963 at the cost of limiting locally elected officials to administering municipal government.14 Though the courts were defined as an independent third government power in the constitution, the



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reality was that the judiciary supported the executive.15 Sheldon Gellar has argued: “While the emergence of a powerful centralized state apparatus in the 1960s and 1970s, and the rise of the civil-servant class facilitated the expansion of corruption, the specific patterns of behavior associated with corruption in Senegalese society also had roots in the cultural and social norms of the ceddo ethics in precolonial Senegalese society.”16 Though the Socialist Party was “undoubtedly” popular, the electoral support was also a demonstration of clientelist networks, election fraud, and intimidation.17 The economy was still heavily dependent on the peanut industry, which “employed over 80 percent of Senegal’s workforce in 1966.”18 The “semi-democracy” was marked by the ruling party passing laws that made it challenging for opposition parties to contest elections.19 An economic downturn and changed political climate during the 1980s saw popular protests that resulted in the government declaring a state of emergency in 1988 and arresting leaders in the opposition.20 During the 1980s, Senegal experienced violent and closer relations with neighboring countries. In 1982 a separatist movement in Casamance— a southern province that is separated from the rest of the country by the Gambia—emerged, which provoked a violent reaction from Senegal’s military and continues until the present day. That same year, Senegal and the Gambia established the Senegambia Confederation, with security being an overriding driving force for the union, but Senegal ended the confederation in September 1989 after the Gambia refused to agree to a customs union.21 Then in 1989 Senegal engaged in a border conflict with Mauritania following violence between Mauritanian herders on land owned by Senegalese farmers. Violence escalated, and the militaries clashed, resulting in “an estimated 75,000 Senealese and 170,000 Mauritanians” being “returned to their home of origins” in just two months.22 Tensions escalated, and the two countries broke off diplomatic relations in summer 1990.23 The political situation shifted in the 1990s under growing domestic and international pressure. The government began decentralizing power, moving some decision-making back to local officials, allowing political pluralism, and reforming the election code.24 By the 2000 election the ruling party’s support was in decline, while independent media were on the rise, free from constraints imposed on state media.25 In the second round of the 2000 elections, the Socialist Party was soundly defeated by the Senegalese Democratic Party led by Abdoulaye Wade, a longtime opposition figure.26 Wade became Senegal’s president, serving from 2000 to 2012. Michelle T. Kuenzi has argued that, “neopatrimonialism is at the core of Senegalese politics” due to a combination of colonialism as well as “traditional Senegalese culture,” which persisted throughout the country’s liber-

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alization and democratization reforms in the 1990s.27 She further noted that conflict “between individual interests and aspirations and party interests and aspirations has been nearly ubiquitous across time and space.”28 Political party changes by politicians in Senegal have been common but are often done for self-interest.29 Kuenzi concluded that what makes reform “so difficult is that it is not rational for any one party to repudiate clientelism when others continue to engage in it.”30 This should not imply that corruption is as severe as the worst African cases, because it is not. Transparency International’s Corruption Perceptions Index ranked Senegal 67 out of 180 in 2020, but the clientelistic approach no doubt impacts how the intelligence and security services are used and function, as well shaping the culture of the intelligence community.31 As for freedom in the country, Freedom House categorized Senegal as “partly free” in 2020, down from “free” in 2019 “because the 2019 presidential election was marred by the exclusion of two major opposition figures who had been convicted in politically fraught corruption cases and were eventually pardoned by the incumbent.”32 INTELLIGENCE CULTURE Senegal’s political culture undoubtedly shapes its intelligence culture. As an apparatus of the state, the country’s intelligence and security institutions reflect the head of state’s objectives. It is further shaped by resource and financial constraints that impact every other facet of government. Consequently, the head of state’s objectives and the rule of law and politics combine with the intelligence service’s capabilities, resources, and personnel in influencing the intelligence culture. The intelligence culture consists of a broad set of government institutions, missions, and norms. There are several intelligence services and other agencies that function with intelligence capabilities, which ultimately answer to the Office of the President. From border threats for the armed forces to the gendarmerie’s public security mandate to police-led intelligence, many government bodies are involved in collecting and analyzing intelligence. Lamine Cissé wrote, “Like the armed forces, the gendarmerie is renowned for its professionalism, competence and observance of republican values.”33 The police, in contrast, have an “image” that has been tarnished “with a part of the population that accuses it of corruption and inadequate professionalism.”34 Jahara Matisek likewise noted that “Senegal is an exceptional outlier in African politics, bucking the trend of a military being overly political or personalized by political leaders” and established an “institutional effectiveness” that opposed “politicization and personalization.”35



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According to Senegal’s constitution, national defense rests with the president, who appoints the cabinet and senior military posts.36 The Ministry of Interior and Ministry of Armed Forces serve different defense and security functions but have intelligence collection and analysis roles. Heavily influenced by the French colonial administration, there is overlap between the military, paramilitary, and police. Due to the small size of the country and its lack of domestic defense production capabilities, Senegal has developed relationships with foreign partners to more effectively use its resources and personnel. The military has long been an important feature of postcolonial Senegal. Under civilian rule, the military has never taken control of the government or overtly affected politics. The military is under the Ministry of Armed Forces, which answers to the Office of the President. The Senegalese Armed Forces has about 13,600 active personnel (the army with about 11,900, the navy with about 950, the air force with 750), while the gendarmerie has 5,000, according to the International Institute for Strategic Studies in 2020.37 Based on the limited size of the armed forces, one can draw the conclusion that the intelligence community is also relatively small. The Ministry of Interior answers to the Office of the President to develop and implement policy for civil defense, law enforcement, internal security, handling natural disasters, and organizing elections.38 A 2020 decree defined the ministry’s mission as being responsible for internal security, police, and civil defense, among other responsibilities.39 As for specific institutional authority, the ministry oversees the General Directorate of the National Police, which consists of the Directorate of Public Security (Direction de la Sécurité Publique, DSP), Directorate of the Judicial Police (Direction de la Police Judiciaire, DPJ), Directorate of Air and Border Police (Direction de la Police de l’air et des Frontiers, DPAF), Directorate of Foreigners and Travel Documents Police (Direction de la Police des étrangers et des Titres de Voyages, DPETV), Directorate of Territorial Surveillance (Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire, DST), Directorate of the Central Office for the Repression of Illicit Drug Trafficking (Direction de l’Office Central de Répression du Trafic Illicite des Stupéfiants, DOCRTIS), and Directorate of the Mobile Intervention Group (Direction du Groupement mobile d’Intervention, DGMI).40 These agencies engage in preventing criminal activity, aiding law enforcement operations, maintaining border security, and monitoring of threats, which includes terrorism and organized crime.41 The intelligence community is a more recent development. Previous intelligence services, such as the National Security Agency, were dissolved after the Socialist Party’s 2000 defeat, but a new community was not established for another decade. In November 2014 Senegal’s intelligence community

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was officially formed by decree; it comprises the General Delegation for National Intelligence (DRN), DST, and Directorate of Air and Frontier Police (DPAF).42 The community was organized under one body that answers to the Office of the President.43 According to Cissé, the reform consisted of protecting “individual liberties”44 and formalized the mission of each service to ensure efficiency and coordination.45 The DRN answers to the Office of the President and has the objective of collecting and analyzing intelligence about internal and external country issues.46 The DRN has three components, for internal, external, and technical services.47 In 2019, the DRN was appropriated 2,507,692,000 West African CFA francs (about US$4.5 million) for operational purposes.48 The DST focuses on internal security, while the DPAF is responsible for the movement of people in air, on land, and on the sea as well as drug trafficking and importation of weapons.49 With many intelligence components, Senegal’s government has a National Security Council to provide counsel to the head of state. Senegal’s National Security Council answers to the Office of the President and has an intelligence committee to ensure intelligence is used strategically; it includes leaders from services like the DGRE and gendarmerie.50 As for encryption to protect government communications, Senegal also has a National Cryptology Commission with representatives from across the government, including the Prime Minister’s Office and DGRI.51 In 2016 President Macky Sall established a legal framework to prevent abuses and protect constitutional rights.52 The framework provided the missions and delimitations of the services, including mandating that intelligence deal with preventing national security threats, cooperate internationally to advance state interests, and conduct investigations in special cases for foreign intelligence services or domestic prosecutors. As for personnel, the framework notes that intelligence officers include civilian, military, and paramilitary members who are selected for their skill and loyalty to the state. Additionally, an intelligence training center was established, intelligence officers’ identities are protected from disclosure, and intelligence personnel are allowed to carry weapons. While not officially part of the intelligence community, the National Gendarmerie has its own intelligence capabilities for law enforcement purposes.53 For police matters and public order, it is under the Ministry of Interior.54 The National Gendarmerie is also involved in defense-related missions, such as border security, guarding key government sites, and participating in military operations.55 Founded in 1960, the National Gendarmerie’s intelligence role is more “complementary,” as its personnel have not received “adequate training,” and there is an attitude in the “gendarmerie brigades” that the intelligence cycle does not apply to them.56 In terms of numbers, there are about



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twenty noncommissioned officers with the relevant training, while there are about ten at the officer level.57 According to Bathily, Decree 74-571 from June 1974 stated that the National Gendarmerie’s “general surveillance [is] mostly based on HUMINT, intelligence sharing with other administrative services, and dissemination of intelligence to all ministries concerned.”58 The gendarmerie has special units, which include intelligence and surveillance. It also has a documentation division (DIVDOC) for collecting, analyzing, exploiting, and disseminating HUMINT and open-source information as well as reports from within the gendarmerie.59 Thomas G. Offerdahl wrote that the gendarmerie “has an Investigations Bureau that gathers intelligence and performs criminal investigations” in its jurisdictions, which is “roughly equivalent to federal special agents in the U.S.”60 OVERSIGHT AND INTERNATIONAL LINKS Senegal’s government oversight and bilateral relations inform its intelligence culture. There is little information about specific instances and examples of oversight and foreign relationships. This requires one to make inferences from broader known aspects of security oversight and relations. First, one would expect government oversight over Senegal’s intelligence to not be stricter than other aspects of the Senegal’s government hierarchy. Second, one would also expect Senegal’s security and military relationships to inform intelligence relationships and training and to inject philosophies and methodologies into the intelligence culture. Consequently, one would expect intelligence to reflect security and military priorities and relations as well. This section uses these assumptions to draw conclusions about the broad contours of Senegal’s intelligence culture. As for oversight, the intelligence services ultimately answer to the Office of the President, as the president is responsible for ensuring national security. Yet it is the National Assembly that “has the power to control government activities,” which are carried out by “standing committees or when the budget is approved.”61 Parliament, in particular, could increase its involvement in these matters. Cissé pointed out that “parliament tends to show a certain natural reserve concerning investigations of any issues that are labelled ‘defence secret’ and indeed of any issues related to natural defence.”62 Moreover, Cissé noted that civil society also shapes public policy and is an “intermediary between government and citizens” that “plays a role as a facilitator and watchdog.”63 He also insisted that “increasingly” defense and security forces “are called to account for offences committed in executing their mission.”64 Cissé found that “oversight measures are usually effective, at least for the

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implementing echelons.”65 Drawing conclusions from the Casamance conflict, Cissé asserted that military officers “are competent and well trained and have real authority over their troops.”66 Senegal has bilateral relations with about seventy countries, with many having a physical diplomatic mission inside Senegal.67 Senegal has engaged in security cooperation with several countries. The United States is a key security partner for Senegal. Notably, Senegal participates in the US-led African Lion exercise along with seven other countries, with the goal of countering “malign activity” and improving interoperability.68 In February 2016 the United States began training West African police, including Senegalese, in forensics to improve counterterrorism capabilities.69 One member of AlQaeda in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM) escaped from Mauritania through Senegal, traveled 500 km (300 miles), and gathered weapons and supporters, until he was apprehended in Guinea. The United States sought to help with issues such as “intelligence, cross-border cooperation and reaction times.”70 Additionally, Senegal and the United States reportedly signed an agreement to allow the United States to create a base in the country for “emergency” US deployments.71 With France having been involved in Senegal for centuries, one would also expect France to have an important role in Senegal’s security. In June 2010 France closed its military base in Senegal and withdrew most of its troops, leaving several hundred French personnel to train local West African forces.72 In October 2016 France’s interior minister, Bernard Cazeneuv, announced that it was providing €42 million (about US$42 million) for counterterrorism training in G5 Sahel (Chad, Niger, Burkina Faso, Mali, and Mauritania) and Senegal.73 In May 2019 France donated two Socata TB 30 Epsilon airplanes, which are being used to train pilots at the Senegalese Air Force School.74 This was part of a larger French effort to aid Senegal’s Air Force, in which it had previously donated four airplanes that trained fifteen pilots.75 Though corruption in Senegal is not as bad as in some other African countries, intelligence is an important feature in the private sector as well. Cissé writes that there is a proliferation of private security companies in response “to a demand that is not satisfied by the national police force.”76 In a 2008 article, Cyrus O’Brien wrote that the country had over “150 private security companies that employ between 25,000 to 35,000 people, making Senegal’s private security sector relatively larger per capita than those of more violent countries like Nigeria and Kenya.”77 He credited the low crime rate to the political stability as well as the improved economic situation of the country in the 1990s. Though O’Brien noted that Senegal’s government did not have contracts with private security companies (other than security guards) because “all state security functions remain under the purview of the army and



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police,” two security companies are paid for by the US-trained Senegalese Armed Forces.78 The government attempted to regulate private security— requiring that such services “be owned and operated by Senegalese citizens or companies”—but in 2008 more than 80 percent were unregistered and did not pay taxes.79 How the private sector will contribute to the intelligence community and culture is unknown due to the its mostly informal role. CONCLUSION Senegal’s intelligence culture is influenced by the country’s stability and democracy. In contrast to African countries that lack democratic institutions, stability, and peace, Senegal has imposed frameworks to help intelligence services inform policy, protect liberties, secure the nation, and prevent abuses. The intelligence culture has improved its professionalism and strategic vision over the last twenty years. With Abdoulaye Wade’s successful election and the defeat of the Socialist Party, the country’s ruling party for forty years, the government instituted political and economic reforms. The legacy of a dominant political party and limited multiparty system means that patronage probably plays at least a small role in the intelligence culture. Despite the limitations of these reforms and the obvious imperfect democracy in the country, Senegal’s intelligence culture has been shaped with legal frameworks, structures, and oversight that have resulted in an improvement in tactics, strategies, and professionalism in the last twenty years. NOTES 1.  “Senegal,” in The World Factbook (Central Intelligence Agency, 2021), https:// www.cia.gov/the-world-factbook/countries/senegal/#economy. 2.  Country Security Report, (US Department of State, Overseas Security Advisory Council), April 7, 2020, https://www.osac.gov/Country/Senegal/Content/Detail /Report/fe523cc2-616c-4daa-a5dc-18638e098fa4. 3. Ruth Maclean and Mady Camara, “Senegal Erupts in Protests, with a Rape Charge Only the Spark,” New York Times, March 5, 2021, https://www.nytimes .com/2021/03/05/world/africa/senegal-protests-rape-charge.html; “Senegal Capital Erupts in Protest over New Election Law,” Reuters, April 19, 2018, https://www .reuters.com/article/instant-article/idCAKBN1HQ29M-OCATP; and “Senegal Police Detain Protesters amid Outcry over Gas Deal,” Reuters, June 14, 2019, https://www .reuters.com/article/uk-senegal-politics-protest-idUKKCN1TF2O0. 4. “Senegal Severs Ties with Iran over Rebel Weapons,” Reuters, February 23, 2011, https://www.reuters.com/article/ozatp-senegal-iran-20110223-idAFJO E71M01A20110223.

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  5.  Lamine Cissé, “Security Sector Reform in Democratic Senegal,” in Learning from West African Experiences in Security Sector Governance, ed. Alan Bryden and Fairlie Chappuis (London: Ubiquity Press, 2015), 117–138.  6. Muhammad Bathily, “Reform of Senegalese Gendarmerie Intelligence Services” (MA thesis, Naval Postgraduate School, 2018).  7. Thomas G. Offerdahl, “A Systemic Analysis of the Challenges of Policing Senegal: The Role of the Police in Democracy” (MA thesis, Naval Postgraduate School, 2016).  8. Sheldon Gellar, Senegal: An African Nation between Islam and The West, 2nd ed. (New York: Routledge, 2019), 5.  9. Ibid., 6. 10.  Ibid., 9. 11.  Ibid., 13. 12.  Ibid., 18, 19. 13. Sheldon Gellar, Democracy in Senegal: Tocquevillian Analytics in Africa (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 45. 14.  Ibid., 49. 15.  Ibid., 159. 16.  Ibid., 54. 17.  Linda J. Beck, Brokering Democracy in Africa: The Rise of Clientelist Democracy in Senegal (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 57. 18.  Ibid., 57. 19.  Ibid., 59. 20.  Ibid., 62. 21.  Arnold Hughes, “The Collapse of the Senegambian Confederation,” Journal of Commonwealth & Comparative Politics 30, no. 2 (1992): 203, 215. 22. Ron Parker, “The Senegal-Mauritania Conflict of 1989: A Fragile Equilibrium,” Journal of Modern African Studies 29, no. 1 (March 1991): 160. 23.  Ibid., 164. 24.  Beck, 63. 25.  Ibid., 66. 26.  Ibid., 67. 27.  Michelle T. Kuenzi, Education and Democracy in Senegal (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 31. 28.  Ibid., 18. 29.  Ibid., 49. 30.  Ibid., 52. 31. “Senegal,” Transparency International, 2021, https://www.transparency.org /en/countries/senegal. 32. “Senegal,” Freedom House, 2021, https://freedomhouse.org/country/senegal /freedom-world/2020. 33.  Cissé, “Security Sector Reform in Democratic Senegal,” 122. 34.  Ibid., 123. 35. Jahara Matisek, “An Effective Senegalese Military Enclave: The ArméeNation Rolls On,” African Security 12, no. 1 (2019): 80.



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36.  “Constitution du Sénégal” [Constitution of Senegal], Government of Senegal, 2021, https://www.sec.gouv.sn/lois-et-reglements/constitution-du-sénégal. 37. International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Sub-Saharan Africa,” Military Balance 120, no. 1 (2020): 496. 38. “Missions du Ministère de l’Intérieur” [Missions of the Ministry of the Interior], Ministère de l’Intérieur, 2021, https://interieur.sec.gouv.sn/missions-du -ministere-de-linterieur 39.  “Décret no. 2020-2196 relatif aux attributions du Ministre de l’Intérieur [Decree No. 2020-2196 relating to the powers of the minister of the interior],” Journal Officiel, 2020, https://www.sec.gouv.sn/d%C3%A9cret-n%C2%B02020-2196-rela tif-aux-attributions-du-ministre-de-lint%C3%A9rieur. 40. “Monsieur Antoine Félix Abdoulaye Diome,” Gouvernement du Sénégal, 2021. https://www.sec.gouv.sn/monsieur-antoine-f%C3%A9lix-abdoulaye-diome. 41. “Politique de Sécurité publique” [Public security policy], Ministre de l’Intérieur, 2015, https://interieur.sec.gouv.sn/securite-interieur/politique-de-securite -publique. 42.  Bathily, “Reform of Senegalese Gendarmerie Intelligence Services,” 21, 22. 43.  Cissé, “Security Sector Reform in Democratic Senegal,” 130. 44.  Ibid., 130. 45.  Ibid., 130; 131. 46. “Décret no. 2015-299 du 06 mars 2015 modifiant le décret no. 2014853 portant répartition des services de l’Etat et du contrôle des établissements publics, des sociétés nationales et des sociétés à participation publique entre la Présidence de la République” [Decree No. 2015-299 of 06 March 2015 amending Decree No. 2014-853 on the distribution of state services and the control of public establishments, national companies and companies with public participation between the Presidency of the Republic], Journal Officiel, 2015, https://www .sec.gouv.sn/d%C3%A9cret-n%C2%B0-2015-299-du-06-mars-2015-modifiant -le-d%C3%A9cret-n%C2%B02014-853-portant-r%C3%A9partition-des-services. See also Moustapha Boye, “Coup de Projecteur sur la DNR,” SenePlus.com, February 3, 2021, https://www.seneplus.com/societe/coup-de-projecteur-sur-la-dnr. 47. Ibid. 48.  “Le projet de loi de finances pour l’année 2019” [The budget bill for the year 2019], République du Sénégal, 2019, 100, https://www.sec.gouv.sn/sites/default /files/Projet_De_Loi_Des_Finances_2019_1.pdf. 49. “Decret no. 2003-292 du 8 mai 2003 portant organisation du Ministère de l’Intérieur” [Decree No. 2003-292 of May 8, 2003 on the organization of the Ministry of the Interior], Journal Officiel, 2003, http://www.jo.gouv.sn/spip.php?article770. 50. “Décret no. 2013-1152 du 20 août 2013 relatif au Conseil national de Sécurité (CNS)” [Decree No. 2013-1152 of August 20, 2013 relating to the National Security Council (CNS)], Journal Officiel, 2013, http://www.jo.gouv.sn/spip .php?page=imprimer&id_article=10066; and “Décret n°2020-2100 portant répartition des services de l’Etat et du contrôle des établissements publics, des sociétés nationales et des sociétés à participation publique” [Decree No. 2020-2100 on the distribution of state services and the control of public establishments, national

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companies and companies with public participation],” Journal Officiel, 2020, https:// www.sec.gouv.sn/actualit%C3%A9/d%C3%A9cret-n%C2%B02020-2100-portant -r%C3%A9partition-des-services-de-letat-et-du-contr%C3%B4le-des. 51.  “Arrêté no. 1038 en date 29 janvier 2016 portant création et fixant les fonctionnement et d’organisation du Comité de Pilotage du projet de mise en place d’une Infrastructure nationale de Gestion des Clefs publiques (COPIL-PKI)” [Order No. 1038 dated January 29, 2016 establishing and setting the functioning and organization of the Steering Committee of the project to set up a national public key management infrastructure (COPIL-PKI)], Journal Officiel, 2016, http://www.jo.gouv.sn/spip .php?page=imprimer&id_article=10780. 52.  “Loi no. 2016-33 du 14 décembre 2016 relative aux Services de renseignement” [Law No. 2016-33 of 14 December 2016 relating to intelligence services], Journal Officiel, 2016, http://www.jo.gouv.sn/spip.php?article10999. 53.  Bathily, “Reform of Senegalese Gendarmerie Intelligence Services,” 36. 54.  “Décret no. 2020-2196 relatif aux attributions du Ministre de l’Intérieur” [Decree No. 2020-2196 relating to the powers of the minister of the interior], Journal Officiel, 2020, https://www.sec.gouv.sn/d%C3%A9cret-n%C2%B02020-2196-rela tif-aux-attributions-du-ministre-de-lint%C3%A9rieur. 55.  Bathily, “Reform of Senegalese Gendarmerie Intelligence Services,” 18. 56.  Ibid., 17. 57.  Ibid., 17. 58.  Ibid., 18. 59.  Ibid., 21. 60. Thomas G. Offerdahl, “A Systemic Analysis of the Challenges of Policing Senegal: The Role of the Police in Democracy” (MA thesis, Naval Postgraduate School, 2016), 23. 61.  Cissé, “Security Sector Reform in Democratic Senegal,” 124. 62.  Ibid., 134. 63.  Ibid., 125. 64.  Ibid., 130. 65.  Ibid., 130. 66.  Ibid., 127. 67. “Ambassades et Consulats étrangers au Sénégal” [Foreign embassies and consulates in Senegal], Gouvernement du Sénégal, 2021, https://www.sec.gouv.sn /services-aux-usagers/ambassades-et-consulats-%C3%A9trangers-au-s%C3%A9 n%C3%A9gal. 68.  United States African Command, “African Lion,” 2021, https://www.africom .mil/what-we-do/exercises/african-lion. 69.  Emma Farge, “U.S. Training African Police to Counter New Jihadist Threats,” Reuters, February 24, 2016, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-africa-security-usa /u-s-training-african-police-to-counter-new-jihadist-threats-idUSKCN0VX15O. 70. Ibid. 71. Ibid. 72.  “French Army to Close Senegal Base 50 Years after Independence,” France24, June 9, 2010, https://www.france24.com/en/20100609-france-says-it-will-pull-most



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-troops-senegal-independence-anniversary; and “France Closes Senegal Military Bases,” BBC, June 9, 2010, https://www.bbc.com/news/10273849. 73.  Emma Farge, “France to invest $47 million in Sahel counter-terror training,” Reuters, October 7, 2016. https://www.reuters.com/article/uk-france-africa-security /france-to-invest-47-million-in-sahel-counter-terror-training-idUKKCN1272I2. 74. Marilda Kandéty, “France Donates Two Aircraft to Senegal Air Force,” APA News, Agence de Presse Africaine, May 24, 2019, http://apanews.net/en/pays /senegal/news/france-donates-two-aircraft-to-senegal-air-force. 75. Ibid. 76.  Cissé, “Security Sector Reform in Democratic Senegal,” 135. 77. Cyrus O’Brien, “The Dynamics of Private Security in Senegal,” Review of African Political Economy 35, no. 118 (2008): 655. 78.  Ibid., 658. 79.  Ibid., 658.

43 Seychelles A Maritime State’s Evolving Intelligence Culture Ashton Robinson

This chapter argues that the intelligence culture of Seychelles has been fac-

ing a difficult transition for several years. The intelligence culture seeks to leave behind the former dictatorship’s security and intelligence methodology, while reforming to address the strategic pressures arising from piracy, maritime competition, and threats to its critical financial sector. Seychelles’ recent past haunts ways forward on intelligence. In the small state, reform must be enacted carefully, and the past demonstrates what to avoid as well as what limited resources can achieve. The chapter highlights the transformations of the Seychelles intelligence culture in four parts. It begins by exploring the colonial legacy and intelligence under the early postcolonial dictatorship to explain how intelligence was used by the government against political opponents. Turning to the return of democracy during the 1990s, the chapter then describes reforms and international relations that have shaped the intelligence culture, with attention to the drivers of reform and a change in objectives. Next, it examines intelligence since 2016 with attention to the creation of a new intelligence service and implementation of intelligence structures demonstrating efforts to address domestic and international partners’ concerns. Last, it explores intelligence after 2020 by highlighting key issues and challenges the country has focused on and the new government’s priorities. The chapter concludes with a discussion about the still significant challenge of addressing public trust after decades of abuse by the intelligence services in circumstances where intelligence reform depends on new leadership priorities. Seychelles has experienced a convulsive evolution of its intelligence structure. A poorly functioning internal security system consisting of the Police Special Branch (SB) existed before independence in 1976. However, 569

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contemporary Seychelles still labors under the legacy of the long (twentyseven-year) authoritarian reign of the late France-Albert René (1935–2019) and the forty-three-year rule of his party, which only ended in 2020. René used intelligence internally and exclusively for repression and privatized it for related purposes abroad. Security and intelligence priorities intended to preserve a dictatorship have left Seychelles poorly placed to face problems that have developed since the mid-2000s. These include restructuring external intelligence to meet the maritime threats Seychelles faces, notably Somali pirates, and to recast a repressive secret police concept into something that addressed Seychelles’ transnational threats. The latter have been principally related to financial intelligence needed to protect the country’s Cayman Islands–style offshore financial sector from foreign racketeers and terrorists. Keeping track of Middle East–related political and extremist interference has been an additional concern. The current customers for Seychelles’s intelligence operations span government, national defense, and security services, but uniquely also its banking and business regulatory agencies. The government’s internal requirements address a brittle political climate and the low but not inconceivable threat of armed insurrection. The latter was a common feature of Seychelles’ recent past. Defense agencies dealing with especially maritime challenges comprise the Seychelles People’s Defence Force (SPDF), including its important Coast Guard and Air Wing components. According to the International Institute for Strategic Studies, SPDF land forces have around two hundred active personnel, the air wing has nearly twenty, and the Coast Guard about two hundred.1 Financial sector customers consist of policy and regulatory agencies, including the Seychelles Central Bank. Priorities for recasting Seychelles intelligence culture and structure have been thrown into doubt by the internal political developments and changes in international priorities brought about by the election in 2020 of President Wavel Ramkalawan. A longtime opponent of René’s party, Ramkalawan has shown an early disposition to remove officials he is doubtful of. He has shown himself to be unconvinced by the international security perceptions of René’s successors, including how the roles of India, China, and the West are viewed. THE COLONIAL INHERITANCE AND INTELLIGENCE UNDER DICTATORSHIP The Seychelles intelligence structure at independence was rudimentary and dependent on senior officers loaned from the United Kingdom. It consisted exclusively of the SB, numbering in the low dozens of personnel under an



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expatriate British commander. Notionally part of the police, the SB was subordinated to the Office of the President with a diminishing operational engagement with the police chain of command. The SB’s role was narrowly focused on internal politics. The intention by the country’s first president, James Mancham, was that it would ensure a watch over his political opponents, headed by Prime Minister France-Albert René, without the need to work through the police commissioner, another expatriate British officer. Mancham’s half-hearted attempts to manipulate SB personnel to his own partisan ends were inept. Instead, the SB was infiltrated by René’s men, and it played a key part in police acquiescence in the coup by René, which overthrew Mancham and the democratic order in June 1977. As president, René shared Mancham’s taste for centralizing security management. Intelligence operations were run directly from his office but with far greater efficiency, control, and focus. With competence came a greater measure of brutality and a narrow partisan focus on domestic opponents. An early René innovation was the creation of the State House Intelligence Unit (SHIU), which answered to René directly. He controlled it far more effectively than Mancham ever managed in his attempts to subordinate the SB to himself. The SHIU drew on co-opted police and SPDF personnel as well as some individuals effectively drawn from the ruling party. With time it superseded the police. “Everything was based at State House,” according to an army officer connected to the unit. Control was tight. Army members of the SHIU were not in the army chain of command.2 The unit was to have the misleading appearance of functioning under army control in a situation where the army itself assumed an increasing role in repressing dissidents. Technical capabilities for repression increased briskly. The regime became assiduous in its use of phone tapping, aided by the still rudimentary state of the Seychelles telephone system. By at least 1982, widespread phone-tapping capability was in place.3 The SHIU’s development went hand in hand with outreach to Soviet bloc countries for help in internal security. One police officer who joined the SHIU on secondment (job rotation) from the SB proceeded quickly to a seven-month course in Moscow. Following his return, he put his training to use as part of twenty-four-hour surveillance of dissidents.4 Some army secondees to the SHIU, barely out of their teens, proceeded to at least one course in the Soviet Union.5 Some of these individuals were involved in extrajudicial killings on the regime’s behalf.6 The standing of the SHIU, its strongly military composition, and the increasing use of the army as a tool of control often saw the SHIU referred to as “military intelligence.” This was a misnomer, as it had nothing to do with normal military intelligence duties but rather was a coercive instrument run

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from the Office of the President. It relied on an extensive network of civilian informants whose handlers reported straight to State House.7 In time, the SHIU surveillance system was comprehensive. It fed a “security clearance” system—in reality a gauge of political loyalty—that governed employment and blacklisting of opponents, barring their access to jobs. René’s long flirtation with the Eastern bloc did not translate into Soviet co-option of either the SHIU or SB. Absent from René’s development of intelligence capabilities was either embedding or integration with Soviet bloc intelligence services. Soviet bloc personnel were certainly present in considerable numbers. René had Cuban bodyguards, Cuban police served as advisers within the Seychelles police service, North Korean military personnel were operating in and with the SPDF, and Soviet and East German security personnel were on the ground. Collection targets were present, notably the US satellite tracking station staffed by US Air Force personnel on the main island of Mahé and the developing US base at Diego Garcia in nearby Chagos Archipelago. A Soviet bloc problem, though, was that there was little by way of Seychelles intelligence machinery to infiltrate or develop. The SB and SHIU were exclusively interested in pursuing regime opponents, a very low priority for Soviet bloc states. There was no Seychelles intelligence analysis and assessment structure to influence. In terms of external intelligence activity, Seychelles was in a league of its own. Altogether the regime’s approach to the collection and analysis of foreign intelligence was original and innovative. René’s particular target was the growing band of exiles actively plotting his overthrow. Their threat was serious. On several occasions they engaged with mercenaries to assist in their efforts, including the major incursion in 1981 led by Congo veteran Mike Hoare. Few African countries maintained an external intelligence collection capability and few anywhere of the size of Seychelles; in René’s day its population was under seventy thousand people. The René regime’s solution for the costs and skills deficit was to outsource external intelligence to the private sector. In December 1979, the Seychelles government moved to retain a private investigations agency from the United Kingdom, chosen from a list offered by the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. The firm selected was Priority Investigations, run by a Northern Irishman, Ian Withers. The firm was contracted to assist “on any matter relative to” Seychelles security and specifically to help counter attempts by the prominent exile Gerard Hoarau and his associates to overthrow René. René quickly valued Withers and developed sufficient confidence to give him the title National Security Adviser. Withers was issued with an ID card identifying him as a member of the “Seychelles Security Service” (an entity



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not noted elsewhere), and his company was referred to as the Overseas Unit of the Seychelles Security Service. In the mid-1980s, as René stepped up his battle with Seychellois dissidents in the United Kingdom, Australia, and South Africa, the Withers organization was to prove invaluable. In the early 1980s the Withers organization infiltrated the exiled opposition Movement for Resistance (Mouvement Pour La Resistance, MPR) in London, reported on MPR activity in South Africa and Australia, and embedded an operative within the internal MPR structure in Seychelles. The Withers organization assisted in the disruption of a major MPR conference in London in 1982 and conducted extensive telephone interception and bugging of exiles in London and dissidents in Seychelles. Its activities culminated in a major surveillance and telephone interception of MPR leader Hoarau in London immediately prior to his murder there in 1985. Apparently satisfied that effective opposition abroad had diminished with the death of Hoarau— and perhaps unsettled by the furor aroused by his spectacular demise—René ended the relationship with the Withers organization in 1986. No successor for overseas intelligence collection was put in place. RETURN TO DEMOCRACY After 1989, Seychelles began transitioning back to democracy with a new constitution, a democratically elected president, and a meaningful National Assembly in place by the end of 1993. René remained the president and his party in control of the National Assembly in one on the most successful selfrefurbishments of any Cold War–era dictatorship. The transition coincided with the emergence of two new intelligence challenges for Seychelles, one transnational and one external. These two challenges distinguish it from the rest of Africa. Seychelles’ distinct transnational interest derives from its place as an offshore financial center and third nation challenges from criminal and terrorist groups. The external challenge relates to out of area maritime, substate piratical operations and transnational drug smuggling in and through its exclusive economic zone (EEZ) of 1,374,000 square kilometers (about 854,000 square miles), one matched in size by few African states. Both strategic challenges greatly strained Seychelles’ capacity to build an intelligence picture of threats emanating from them. Seychelles’ transnational financial intelligence challenge derives from its ambition to craft itself as an offshore business and finance center. This ambition is openly modeled on the Cayman Islands. The number of foreign firms registered in Seychelles fluctuates, but since 1994 about 140,000 firms have

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been incorporated in the country, attracted by its low-tax and easy corporate administration environment.8 Whereas the Cayman Islands has largely been targeted by North American and European people and groups, the Seychelles’ focus is the new rich of India, the Persian Gulf, and East Africa. Yet Seychelles remains globally minded. As the finance minister observed in 2017, “money can be anywhere.”9 René as a young lawyer in the 1960s worked in the United Kingdom for the Westminster Bank on establishing tax-minimizing offshore financial structures in Jersey.10 That experience may have encouraged his moves while president to replicate the Channel Islands model in Seychelles. This process gathered pace after 2004 under the tutelage of several talented ministers and officials under Presidents James Michel and Danny Faure. Many are former senior staffers of the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund (IMF), including Faure. Seychelles’ offshore ambitions have brought intelligence problems. Highend criminals, money launderers, malign state actors, and terrorists exploit offshore jurisdictions as they try to covertly move or store money. They utilize technology and communications advances and modern business operations’ emphasis on speed. However, multilateral agencies, such as the Financial Action Task Force (FATF) established by the G7, and national actors, like the US Department of Treasury, pursue them. As a result, international standards have been developed to help address transnational criminal problems, and Seychelles must address these to stay in business. A Seychelles intelligence response was the creation of the Financial Intelligence Unit (FIU), subordinated to the Central Bank of Seychelles. It is responsible for ensuring compliance with anti-money-laundering laws and has brought dozens of cases to the courts. While it has a strong executive action role with arrest and seizure of assets powers, it also has a strategic intelligence function. It has an extensive overseas liaison capability through the Egmont Group and FATF partnerships and is an assessment asset for government on challenges and liabilities in global money movement. It has a good working relationship on skills development and intelligence with some foreign partners, including the Australian Transaction Reports and Analysis Centre (AUSTRAC). International pressure has forced Seychelles to keep the FIU robust. The country’s domestic interest in abuse of its offshore trusts and the gathering of financial intelligence has been complemented by international pressure to disrupt criminal financial activity, including high-end operators such as state-related rogue oligarchs and Chinese triads. The pressure to stop terrorist financing in the years since the 9/11 attacks has been intense.11 Seychelles has been pushed toward a more vigorous national financial intelligence capabil-



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ity by its own needs as well as growing international expectations to better understand, detect, prevent, and disrupt terrorist and criminal activities. The FIU has a huge task in monitoring and dealing with a large offshore financial sector. Much of it is opaque, given that effective money laundering seeks to approximate, as closely as possible, legal transactions. Seychelles’ external intelligence capability ends with the FIU. The FIU’s robust international liaison connections with other national financial intelligence units under the FATF umbrella are restricted to explicit financial issues. While the FIU probably discerns more strategic implications for Seychelles from some of its intelligence liaisons, it largely cannot pursue them outside a financial objective. A further challenge relates to the maritime approaches to Seychelles. The archipelago from which its EEZ extends is spread over 1,100 kilometers (about 680 miles), and maritime traffic is considerable. Seychelles has a clear vulnerability in its poor ability to detect or monitor covert foreign activity within its waters using indigenous assets. Surveillance capability is low. National intelligence support for maritime operations in the EEZ is rudimentary. Neighborhood help is negligible, as nearby better-resourced states, such as Mauritius, face similar dilemmas based on their small size, which limits their maritime domain awareness and effective responses to maritime security issues.12 The Coast Guard has a constrained tactical intelligence capability. It lacks an indigenous broad ocean, or even archipelagic, surveillance program.13 Seychelles’ tuna fishery is threatened by illegal fishing, but authorities can only infrequently independently gather intelligence by aerial reconnaissance or ship patrols to thwart such destructive activity. The Coast Guard consistently struggles to contain Gulf-originated narcotics smuggling through its waters and into the country.14 Instead, Seychelles relies on the (not necessarily impartial) Indian Ocean Tuna Commission, an international fisheries agency, to monitor foreign fishing vessels. Seychelles’ poor capability to collect intelligence on its maritime spaces has economic consequences. The dominant nonfinancial pillars of its economy, namely tourism and fisheries, require a stable maritime environment and safe littoral spaces, leaving Seychelles dependent on an ocean it has a constrained ability to manage.15 Seychelles’ limited number of maritime patrol assets means it has poor indigenously generated intelligence on undisclosed foreign naval movements in its waters. Seychelles relies on information proactively forwarded by external actors, such as Australia, France, and the United States.16 This asymmetrical situation is hindered by the patchy nature of diplomatic representation in Seychelles and consequent limits on the availability and accessibility of foreign armed service attachés. Australia’s defense attaché, for example, is based in Ethiopia.

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Management of intelligence in Seychelles is held hostage to its relationship with greater regional and out-of-area powers, made awkward by its position as a nonaligned nation. The complexities, shortcomings, and dependencies of Seychelles intelligence and liaison were highlighted in its tangled interactions with India over the proposed Assumption Island joint base agreement.17 In January 2018, India signed a revised version of its 2015 agreement with Seychelles to operate an airfield and naval jetty on Assumption Island, in the far west of the archipelago. The deal was always controversial in Seychelles. Any Seychelles involvement would be that of a junior partner in relation to personnel, operational awareness, and the base’s role. The bigger issue—and the crux of opposition to the agreement—was that it risked pulling Seychelles into the larger geo-strategic contest for influence in the Indian Ocean. The Assumption plan was shelved in June 2018 when President Faure announced that the project would not be ratified.18 It nonetheless highlighted the problem of how Seychelles would structure maritime intelligence if a nonaligned major power such as India became a close defense partner. It is hard to see that either side of Seychelles politics had clear ideas on the matter, where Seychelles intelligence interests actually lay, or how they should be managed internationally. A big problem is that Seychelles’ surrounding oceanic space is being increasingly disputed and contested. Competing naval activity in the northern and central Indian Ocean is intensifying. Seychelles now faces growing maritime activity by larger regional states such as India, Pakistan, Iran, and Gulf nations. Many of these are in direct strategic competition with each other in seeking to build political, economic, and military influence across the Indian Ocean. Littoral states’ activities are compounded by the operations of major more distant actors, such as the United States and Russia, alongside assertive newcomers like China. China signed a “Memorandum of Understanding on Defence Cooperation” with Seychelles in 2004.19 Yet Seychelles retains only a limited ability to make strategic adjustments to the arrival of a major newcomer like China, whose base in Djibouti has introduced new strategic pressure in Seychelles’ region with complex commercial, diplomatic, and political challenges. Seychelles’ intelligence capacity helps address the merits and implications of such developments and assist in policy making remains deficient. Similarly, a major western presence is the large US base on Diego Garcia in the British Indian Ocean Territory to the east of Seychelles. The ongoing activity of Western maritime forces that access Diego Garcia has contributed to the fight against Somali piracy and so has been to Seychelles’ direct benefit. Diego Garcia, however, complicates Seychelles’ broader strategic



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management. The base is a balance against pushy neighbors, such as India, Iran, and Gulf interests, but it undoubtedly attracts too much attention from China, Russia, and larger littoral states. The neighborhood has become more crowded since 2015. After the failure of the Assumption Island proposal, India has instead developed an airbase on the Mauritian island of North Agalega, immediately south of Seychelles.20 The combined effect of these strategic developments is that Indian Ocean waters will be crowded, remain a field of competition, and continue to complicate Seychelles’ strategic horizon. Greater foreign intelligence activity and espionage have probably accompanied the growing diplomatic representation in Seychelles’ capital, Victoria. Seychelles’ counterintelligence capability is probably overwhelmed. China, India, and the United Arab Emirates (UAE) each maintain substantial diplomatic premises in and around Victoria. By contrast, the former colonial ruler the United Kingdom maintains its High Commission in some offices above a minor bank. The United States and Australia accredit their diplomatic presence from their diplomatic missions in Mauritius. It is unlikely the Seychelles authorities have any independent and accurate measure of foreign intelligence activity on their soil. Seychelles has no tradition of stable foreign alliances. René conducted a misjudged courting of regimes, like Libya and Cuba, that only created a series of fragile and unreliable diplomatic and political relationships of no lasting intelligence value. Instead, with growing strategic rivalry in its region, Seychelles is now courted by out-of-area powers such as the United States and China. Its size and past insouciance mean it risks being taken for granted as strategic competition intensifies. In the absence of formal alliances, Seychelles is seen by other maritime powers as an expedient platform for access and power projection rather than as a genuine and consultative intelligence partner. France, with its presence in Reunion and Mayotte—constitutionally both are French departments—is perhaps the only exception to Seychelles’ deficiency of allies and remains its most persistent strategic courtier. The relationship between the SPDF and the French command on Réunion—and the maritime domain awareness that comes with it—is probably the most comfortable bilateral intelligence engagement that Seychelles maintains. Seychelles’ diplomacy prioritizes African Union (AU) solidarity, but AU membership does not bring any security or intelligence advantage. The AU lacks an Indian Ocean security concept. Seychelles’ neighbors Mauritius, Madagascar, and Comoros are also members, but the AU has been unable to respond to a variety of interconnected maritime threats to their interests. It failed to address Somali piracy beyond authorizing the land-based AU Mission to Somalia (AMISOM) intervention.21 Instead, Seychelles, like other regional victims of Somali piracy, was eventually driven to rely on non-AU

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maritime powers, including Australia and even New Zealand—Royal New Zealand Air Force (RNZAF) maritime reconnaissance aircraft transit the Seychelles AO—to provide a security response.22 Seychelles gains a degree of intelligence support from second-tier multilateral arrangements. The United Nations Office for Drugs and Crime (UNODC) has its regional headquarters in Nairobi, including its wellregarded anti-piracy unit. This unit’s capability building against Somali piracy has benefited Seychelles Coast Guard operations. Its intelligence assessment and analysis on developments in Somalia and the north Indian Ocean have helped Seychelles’ operational efforts and its diplomatic demarchés to persuade western and other contributor states of the scale of the threat.23 Intelligence links to multilateral agencies, such as UNODC, have been useful but lack permanence. They have the character of service provision rather than a commonly focused, nationally based partnership. The links have utility against subnational threats but none in terms of addressing major power interests. Of a similar character has been the intelligence relationship with the European Naval Force (EU NAVFOR) under Operation Atalanta. Atalanta is the counter-piracy operation that was conceived to disrupt high seas Somali piracy. EU NAVFOR sought to improve maritime capabilities of Indian Ocean regional partners. EU NAVFOR kept Seychelles apprised of its operations in and near its national waters, notably through the Regional Centre for Operational Coordination in Seychelles established in July 2017.24 Frequent port visits and air landings fostered positive interpersonal interactions and built professional networks between EU and Seychelles staff. At the same time, its warships have rescued foreign vessels in Seychelles waters attacked by pirates as recently as April 2019 and placed captured pirates in Seychelles custody.25 Somali pirate attack skiffs continued to be seized in waters north of Seychelles as recently as February 2021.26 CLEANING UP THE ACT Seychelles made considerable progress in regularizing its intelligence structure under the reforming president Danny Faure. Faure, in office from 2016 to 2020, was from René’s old party but interested in modernizing government procedures. Faure’s reforming instincts were focused by the oppositioncontrolled parliament’s establishing in 2018 the Truth Reconciliation and National Unity Commission (TRNUC). Modeled on a similar institution in postapartheid South Africa, the TRNUC has taken testimony on abuses under the René dictatorship, especially by the security services.



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With this background Faure and the parliament agreed on passing the Seychelles Intelligence Service Act in 2018.27 The act has been a watershed in reform and modernization of the Seychelles intelligence structures. In creating the new Seychelles Intelligence Service (SIS), the law replaced the personalized and ad hoc structures of the René period, such as the SHIU, with their ambiguous and overlapping roles with an organization resembling western models. The service reports to the National Security Council (NSC), a second structure introduced in 2019 by Faure. The NSC is chaired by the president and includes the attorney general, commissioner of police, and chief of the Defence Force. The act gives the SIS something of a transnational character, albeit operating onshore. Its business covers action against “espionage, sabotage, terrorism or subversion or . . . any such activity detrimental to Seychelles.” With some judicial oversight locked in, the SIS has bank access and telecommunications interception powers, capabilities that had been in place less formally under earlier Seychelles intelligence arrangements. A further Faure innovation was the creation within the National Assembly of a Defence and Security Committee. A major part of its functions is to oversee the budget of the SIS as well as the SPDF and the police. A helpful, transparent, and confidence-building aspect of the committee is that it includes the leader of the opposition. Seychelles has not had any dedicated external intelligence service since the cessation of the Withers organization’s activity. Except in terms of overseas liaison, there is nothing in the SIS role to conduct such work. There is no indication that the new Ramkalawan government has ambitions to rebuild such a capability. Seychelles has an ongoing vulnerability in its poor ability to detect or monitor covert foreign activity within its territory. The SB functions appear to have been partly subsumed within the Police National Intelligence Services Unit, while the SIS has taken over investigative functions of foreign covert activity. Yet the outlook shaped under René of monitoring the external allegiances of Seychellois has diminished. The SIS is challenged and may be poorly placed to address emerging foreign state influences in Seychelles. One security challenge relates to Arab states to the north, notably the UAE, Saudi Arabia, and Yemen. In the recent past, Seychelles officials have not shown themselves sufficiently politically or culturally empowered in engaging Arab interests in the country. Overawed during the 2015 Yemen crisis, they failed to vet Arab aircraft and personnel transiting Seychelles when it became a refuge for regime-associated figures during the fall of Yemen’s Hadi government.28

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This weakness risks placing Seychelles in unintended adverse international spotlights. In January 2017, Hamid al Mazrouie, the UAE intelligence chief, met Erik Prince and the Kremlin-linked Russian banker Kiril Dimitriev at a resort in Seychelles. Prince founded the US-based Blackwater security company and is the brother of Betsy DeVos, former president Donald Trump’s secretary of education. The meeting’s unusual profile was compounded by the attendance of Mohammad bin Zayed, the crown prince of Abu Dhabi.29 Prince later told a US congressional committee that he met the UAE personalities in a business meeting and was separately introduced to Dimitriev in a bar.30 There is no evidence that Seychelles authorities knew such an unusual meeting was underway. It is highly questionable whether even if immigration authorities had connected the arrival of these individuals to each other that there existed an intelligence capability to monitor their transactions or advise Seychelles’ leaders of any implications for the country. The challenges continue. Weaknesses in Seychelles’ domestic intelligence capabilities against transnational threats were highlighted in February 2021. Seychelles has been embarrassed and affected by adverse US regulatory attention due to the activities of rogue transnational, high-end derivative operators. The firm BitMEX operated a trading forum in cryptocurrencies worth about US$3 billion, part of whose operations were in New York. US regulators accused it of criminal and sanctioned state money laundering. BitMEX had moved part of its operations to Seychelles, where, BitMEX’s leadership alleged, it was cheap to bribe local authorities.31 Seychelles is the smallest sovereign jurisdiction supporting its own currency and independent financial policy. The BitMEX case is just the most recent instance of Seychelles’ difficulty in bringing intelligence capabilities to bear on complex transnational crime potentially by strategic and state-based players. Just as the FIU faces the risk of malign foreigners disrupting Seychelles’ interests, the SIS will need to get on top of the propensity of near neighbors to use Seychelles as a kind of contemporary Cold War Vienna. Meetings of the Prince-UAE variety are unlikely to be the last. The FIU remains in place alongside the SIS. In protocol terms, the heads of the SIS and the FIU have been treated as equals by both Faure and Ramkalawan, a mark perhaps of how important the work of the FIU is seen in terms of Seychelles’ credibility with international partners and priorities around stopping money laundering and countering terrorist finance. INTELLIGENCE UNDER A NEW ORDER Seychelles’ intelligence arrangements and objectives were thrown into flux in October 2020 with the election of opposition figure Wavel Ramkalawan



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as president. Ramkalawan undertook a shake-up of the country’s judicial and security structures and has long sought to distance himself from some of the international security settings of his predecessor Danny Faure. These may take a while to work through. Regardless of Ramkalawan’s policy tastes, changing international circumstances mean there will be problems in restructuring. The slow strengthening of the FIU and the advent of the SIS mean Seychelles is building an intelligence structure fit for purpose at home and abroad. Yet challenges continue to grow, and Seychelles for now remains in catch-up mode in developing intelligence culture and capabilities. A greater challenge is the maritime space in dealing with increasingly assertive international players and partners. Naval activity by out-of-area powers and big near neighbors, such as India, looks set to grow indefinitely. There is little Seychelles can do about this, but it needs to be aware of activity in or near its waters, and this will be a difficult intelligence task. CONCLUSION Seychelles has legitimate requirements for intelligence capabilities. An intelligence service, such as the SIS, is not an unnecessary indulgence. Seychelles faces likely indefinite foreign power pressures on its maritime spaces. There are real challenges and international expectations in Seychelles’ offshore business and banking sector. It is hard to see how Seychelles under any government can address the intelligence demands of these challenges going forward without international partnerships. Choosing these partners and solving these challenges will be a delicate matter, for which the country’s political culture and institutions are ill prepared. A major challenge will be maintaining public trust as intelligence reform progresses. Too many Seychellois have grim and fresh memories of “intelligence” being used for unjust and coercive political purposes. Ramkalawan’s many enemies will be suspicious of every development, and concerns about resuming old ways is justified. Much will depend on Ramkalawan’s priorities. He has not been regionally focused, and his views on maritime security are unclear. He has party adherents who question the need for the sort of rigorous financial controls the FATF expects. However, Seychelles’ external and transnational challenges are clear, and the best hope of continuing intelligence reform lies in clear demands driving organizational responses.

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NOTES  1. International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Sub-Saharan Africa,” Military Balance 120, no. 1 (2020): 497.   2.  The Truth Reconciliation and National Unity Commission (TRNUC), Hearing 3, October 18, 2019.   3.  TRNUC Hearing 50, pt. 2, February 14, 2020.   4.  TRNUC Hearing 42, pt. 3, February 4, 2020.  5. TRNUC Hearing 60, pt. 2, March 13, 2020, Comments by Commissioner Gabrielle McIntyre.   6.  Ibid., Testimony of Terence Labousse.   7.  TRNUC, Hearing 3, October 18, 2019.   8.  Edmund Blair, “Seychelles to Set up Company Ownership Registry in Transparency Drive,” Reuters, July 6, 2016, https://www.reuters.com/article/seychelles -economy/seychelles-to-set-up-company-ownership-registry-in-transparency-drive -idINL8N19R3VV.   9.  Peter Larose, Seychelles minister for finance, interview with author, Victoria, Seychelles, May 18, 2017. 10.  David Fischer, interview by Charles S. Kennedy and Robert S. Pastorino, Moments in U.S. Diplomatic History: The Seychelles—Gangsta’s Paradise (Washington, DC: Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training, 1998). 11.  Countries/Jurisdictions of Primary Concern—Seychelles (US Department of State, Bureau of International Narcotics and Law Enforcement Affairs, 2015), https://2009-2017.state.gov/j/inl/rls/nrcrpt/2014/supplemental/228003.htm. 12.  James A. Malcolm and Linganaden Murday “Small Islands’ Understanding of Maritime Security: The Cases of Mauritius and Seychelles,” Journal of the Indian Ocean Region 13, no. 2 (2017): 234–256. 13.  Seychelles People’s Defence Forces, 2021, https://www.spdf.sc/. 14.  Anonymous personal communication by Seychelles official to author, April 11, 2017. 15.  “The World Bank in Seychelles,” World Bank, October 12, 2017. 16.  Seychelles News Agency; and anonymous personal communication by Seychelles official to author, April 14, 2017. 17.  Abhishek Mishra, “Has India’s Plan to Build a Military Base in Seychelles Stalled?,” Diplomat, March 29, 2018, https://thediplomat.com/2018/03/has-indias -plan-to-build-a-military-base-in-seychelles-stalled/. 18. “Seychelles Parliament Blocks Planned Indian Naval Base on Remote Island,” Economic Times, June 22, 2018, https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/news /defence/seychelles-parliament-blocks-planned-indian-naval-base-on-remote-island /articleshow/64699838.cms. 19.  Betymie Bonnelame, “Seychelles, China to Explore New Avenues in Defence Cooperation,” Seychelles News Agency, November 23, 2016, http://www.seychelles newsagency.com/articles/6313/Seychelles%2C+China+to+explore+new+avenues+in +defence+cooperation.



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20. Samuel Bashfield, “Agalega: A Glimpse of India’s Remote Island Military Base,” Interpreter, Lowy Institute, Sydney, 2021, https://www.lowyinstitute.org/the -interpreter/agalega-glimpse-india-s-remote-island-military-base. 21.  Abbas Daher Djama, The Phenomenon of Piracy off the Coast of Somalia: Challenges and Solutions of the International Community (New York: UN Division of Ocean Affairs and Law of the Sea, 2011), https://www.un.org/Depts/los/nippon /unnff_programme_home/fellows_pages/fellows_papers/djama_1112_djibouti.pdf. 22.  Author observation, Seychelles, May 2017. 23.  Anonymous personal communication from Seychelles official to author, April 11, 2017. 24  EU NAVFOR Promoting Indian Ocean Cooperation, February 8, 2018, https:// eunavfor.eu/eu-navfor-promoting-indian-ocean-cooperation/. 25.  Betymie Bonnelame, “Trial of 5 Somali Nationals Suspected of Piracy Opens at Seychelles Supreme Court,” Seychelles News Agency, September 9, 2020, http:// www.seychellesnewsagency.com/articles/13511/Trial+of++Somali+nationals+suspe cted+of+piracy+opens+at+Seychelles+Supreme+Court. 26. “9 Suspected Pirates Transferred to Seychelles by Dutch EU Frigate de Ruyter,” Maritime Executive, March 13, 2021, https://maritime-executive.com /article/9-Suspected-Pirates-Transferred-to-Seychelles-by-Dutch-EU-NAVFOR -Frigate-De-Ruyter. 27.  “Seychelles Intelligence Service Act 2018 (Act 2 of 2019),” Seychelles Legal Information Institute (SeyLII), February 22, 2019, Victoria, Seychelles, https://seylii .org/sc/ACT%202%20OF%202019.PDF. 28.  Anonymous personal communication from Seychelles official to author, May 18, 2017. 29.  Andrew Prokop, “The Secret Seychelles Meeting Robert Mueller is Zeroing in On, Explained,” Vox, April 10, 2018, https://www.vox.com/2018/3/7/17088908 /erik-prince-trump-russia-seychelles-mueller. 30. Ibid. 31.  Sarah Danckert, “Australian Bitcoin Mogul at the Centre of an Epic Crypto Scandal,” Sydney Morning Herald, February 13–14, 2021, 4–5, https://www.smh .com.au/business/markets/the-australian-bitcoin-mogul-at-the-centre-of-an-epic -crypto-scandal-20210211-p571mz.html.

44 Sierra Leone An Improving Intelligence Culture Ryan Shaffer

Sierra Leone experienced a decade-long civil war that destabilized the government and greatly impacted security throughout the country. After the emergence of peace, the security sector was restructured and new intelligence services were established. Freedom House rates the country as “partly free,” explaining that the country “has held regular multiparty elections since the end of its civil war in 2002,” but political opposition and civic groups have faced restrictions that have limited their activities.1 A former British colony on the coast of West Africa, the country has nearly seven million people, and its neighbors are Liberia and Guinea.2 Scholar David Harris explained that Sierra Leone is “one of the poorest countries in the world rich with diamonds, iron ore and agriculture but little in the way of development or international influence for its primary commodity wealth.”3 Indeed, its history and these conditions have shaped the intelligence culture. This chapter examines Sierra Leone’s intelligence culture after the civil war by analyzing the structure and traits of the services. It argues that the intelligence culture following the civil war has been professionalized in terms of structure and hierarchy, but broader societal and political issues—such as corruption and a dominant executive—likely persist in impacting intelligence. The chapter is organized in three sections. The first section surveys Sierra Leone’s politics with attention to security issues. Next, the chapter discusses the country’s intelligence community by reviewing the national intelligence services and their functions. The third part describes Sierra Leone’s international security partners related to intelligence as well as oversight of the intelligence services. The chapter then concludes by highlighting positive attributes of the intelligence culture and noting ongoing challenges that continue to affect the intelligence culture. 585

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BACKGROUND Sierra Leone’s origins lie in settler colonialism by former slaves. David Harris explained that the state’s origins emerged “in 1787 with the momentous and unprecedented arrival of black settlers in Africa and Europe and Americas and the formation of the first settlement which became known as Freetown.”4 The British colonial administration governed the settler or Creole (Krio) people along the coast, and links to the territory’s interior centered on trade.5 Over the course of a century, the United Kingdom signed treaties with European powers, and in 1896 Sierra Leone became a protectorate of Britain.6 An identity emerged among the different waves of emancipated slaves settling from Europe and the Americas and later Africans who were “liberated from Portuguese and Spanish ships by the British navy and taken to Freetown.”7 With cultural and linguistic influences “partially” from the metropole, the Krio population perceived themselves to be “socially superior” to the indigenous population and sought to “educate” them on how to live.8 Meanwhile, “traditional” structures in which chiefs are consulted “provide to this day much for the policing, judicial, citizenship and spiritual requirements of the rural population.”9 As for the government, Harris explained that a “developmentally unbalanced state” emerged that was “presided over by a politically and economically over-centralised, institutionally weak, [and] somewhat patronising and numerically restricted regime.”10 Sierra Leone achieved largely peaceful independence from the United Kingdom in April 1961. Yet trouble existed beneath the surface, as the economy depended on diamond mining, in which chiefs held significant power over the process and thus the political system.11 The independent government led by Prime Minister Sir Milton Augustus Strieby Margai (1895–1964) and the Sierra Leone People’s Party (SLPP) shifted to “indirect rule,” wherein “a highly hierarchical system reliant on ‘traditional’ authority on top of the paternalistic model developed under the British and the Krios.”12 Meanwhile ethno-regionalism emerged with a scramble for state resources, which the government tried to balance.13 Following independence, about 70 percent of the more than one thousand senior civil service positions were held by Krios.14 Important civil service positions, including security institutions, that were supposed to be apolitical were increasingly given to supporters, which damaged professionalism and separation from politics.15 Political opposition was limited by chiefs and legal restrictions, and Prime Minister Albert Margai, who served from 1964 to 1967, attempted to institute one-party rule in 1966.16 He narrowly lost to the political opposition in the 1967 election, in which Siaka Stevens and his All People’s Congress (APC) won.



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Just days after Stevens was sworn in as prime minister, a coup was launched and he was arrested; an interim National Reformation Council was formed with military and police officers ruling.17 Political parties were banned, and their leaders were arrested. One year later, another armed uprising restored the constitution, and Stevens returned to power. In 1971 the Stevens administration transformed the government into a republic and he became president. In an effort to avoid another coup, military spending was increased and a patron-client relationship emerged in which the military, instead of police, responded to internal unrest under two declarations of emergencies.18 In 1978 the country became a one-party state under the APC, and parliament no longer had power. During the colonial administration, the Special Branch of the police was a significant source of intelligence for authorities. According to Ezekiel Alfred Coker (1926–2018), who served in the Sierra Leone Police Force from 1956 to 1981 and rose to leadership positions, corruption and incompetence were the political parties’ traits that governed the country.19 He joined the Special Branch in 1963 when the only other intelligence service in the country was the Military Intelligence Bureau and the experience “opened [his] eyes to a vast array of knowledge [he] had previously not been privy to.”20 The Armed Forces originated during the colonial era with the establishment in 1899 of the West African Field Force, which underwent various name changes and was involved in the First and Second World Wars.21 After independence, the military was named the Republic of Sierra Leone Military Force, and the head of the military launched a successful coup in 1967.22 Distrustful of the military, in 1971 Stevens created the Internal Security Unit (popularly known as I Shoot U, ISU) which was officially under the police; had Cuban, Israeli, and British trainers; and “acted as an APC militia.”23 Meanwhile, the military became “politicized and poorly equipped,” with the Presidential Guards tasked with protecting the president being better equipped.24 After 1979 the Special Security Division (popularly known as Siaka Stevens’ Dogs, SSD) responded to internal issues, and that same year the country’s navy was established.25 According to the Ministry of Defence (MOD), historically it was “composed solely of a few civil servants and divorced from the military, [which] led to it frequently being by-passed by the military dealing directly with the President.”26 In 1985 an aging Stevens retired from politics and selected Joseph Saidu Momoh, a major-general from the military who was trained in the United Kingdom and Nigeria, to succeed him as president. Opposition was co-opted, and patrimonial networks were used to maintain power with diamonds being the country’s key export; this resulted in the decline of formal sectors of the state.27 This also impacted the Sierra Leone Army, which drew recruits from

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Momoh’s small support base and was unable to defeat the Revolutionary United Front (RUF) invasion from Liberia, backed by later Liberian president Charles Taylor.28 Following domestic and international pressure, multiparty elections were scheduled, but Momoh was overthrown in a coup in April 1992 by fewer than a hundred men.29 Sierra Leone’s civil war from 1991 to 2002 transformed the country with the fluidity of its actors, targets, and goals. The conflict was described “as one of the most brutally violent conflicts of its time.”30 Beginning with the training of the RUF in Libya during the 1980s, Taylor’s force seized power in Liberia; he believed the APC government could be defeated and diamond producing areas seized.31 Yet the reality proved more complicated, as the RUF’s ideology was “unconnected” to the people, and in 1996 the RUF and the government signed the Abidjan Peace Accords.32 However, a coup in May 1997 led by SLA officers forced President Ahmad Tejan Kabbah (1932– 2014) from power and initiated a new phase of the war, with the international community, including the United Nations (UN), denouncing the coup. The British as well as the Economic Community of West African States Monitoring Group (ECOMOG), which peaked at fifteen thousand soldiers, along with the UN peacekeeping forces, eventually successfully took back much of the country.33 Following 2001 UN sanctions against Taylor and other measures, including a ban on diamond exports and Liberian officials’ travel, the RUF was weakened and entered the peace process. In 2002 a peace agreement was signed, and security was maintained by the UN until 2006.34 Following the civil war, the country underwent security and political changes. First, the United Kingdom led security sector reform by rebuilding the Republic of Sierra Leone Armed Forces (RSLAF), which included former RUF soldiers as well as existing SLA troops, while a retired British police officer became head of the Sierra Leone Police.35 For intelligence specifically and the security structure broadly, the British government helped establish the Office of National Security (ONS) and the Central Intelligence and Security Unit.36 According to Peter Albrecht and Paul Jackson, the ONS was “a prime example of what the UK considered to be best practice” which was “the separation of organisations that collect intelligence from those that assess it, and the creation of an organisation aimed at establishing an autonomous space for the state, protected from political interests.”37 Second, the country has two main political parties that have ruled the country since 1998, which democratically transferred power. Kabbah, leader of SLPP, served as president from 1998 to 2007. Following the 2007 elections, Ernest Bai Koroma and the APC won, with Koroma serving as president from 2007 to 2018.38 Following the 2018 election, Julius Maada Bio is leader of Sierra Leone People’s Party and has been president since 2018.



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INTELLIGENCE COMMUNITY Sierra Leone has several different institutions that have intelligence responsibilities. The current intelligence community was developed from discussions in 2000 about the need to radically restructure intelligence services to have a “workable level of intelligence production.”39 The main intelligence services under the National Security Council (NSC) and members of the Joint Intelligence Committee (JIC) include the Central Intelligence and Security Unit (CISU), Directorate of Intelligence and Security (DIS) under the Ministry of Defence, and Anti-Corruption Commission and Sierra Leone Police (SLP) under the Ministry of Internal Affairs.40 However, there are also key institutions that play important roles in intelligence, including the Office of National Security (ONS). According to the government’s 2009 reform plan, the “sector security” is made up of the ONS, which provides strategy for security, and the CISU, which provides intelligence to the president, both established under the 2002 National Security and Central Intelligence Act.41 When the ONS and CISU were established, the country was transitioning from a civil war. The 2002 act established several key national security institutions, including the NSC, provincial and district security committees, and the CISU and ONS. Notably, the 2002 act provided the CISU with the task of collecting and assessing intelligence on internal and external threats to the country, including espionage, sabotage, terrorism, and serious crimes.42 Located under the ONS, the CISU is led by a director general who is, among other issues, responsible for ensuring that the service does not further or protect “the interests of any particular section of the population or of any political party or other organisation in Sierra Leone.”43 The ONS under the Office of the President is the secretariat of the NSC and chair of the JIC, responsible for “the coordination of intelligence at national, provincial and district levels.”44 Indeed, the ONS provides strategic insight for the executive, and in 2016 it was reorganized due to the country’s “multiple risks and threats.”45 Beyond serving as the secretariat of the NSC, the ONS is the “principal adviser” on national security issues, vetting public officials; coordinating funding and sources throughout the security sector; and coordinating “intelligence at national, provincial, district and chiefdom levels.”46 Another key intelligence service is the Directorate of Intelligence and Security (DIS) under the Ministry of Defence. According to the International Institute for Strategic Studies, Sierra Leone’s military has eighty-five hundred personnel.47 The DIS is tasked with maintaining “intelligence standards” for the military, providing intelligence training, ensuring “intelligence

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equipment” meets regulations, and providing advice to Military Intelligence.48 The country’s first-ever Defence White Paper laid out the security challenges describing refugees from Liberia, internal threats from excombatants, maritime threats, and corruption.49 The current DIS head is Colonel Victor Andrew Sorie in the Republic of Sierra Leone Armed Forces, who joined the military in 1990, but his published biography is vague about his intelligence background.50 The Sierra Leone Police under the Ministry of Internal Affairs also has intelligence functions. With a history dating back to the 1808 founding of Freetown, the Sierra Leone Police Force was established by a royal gazette in October 1894.51 After independence, the Police Act of 1964 established postcolonial Sierra Leone Police’s structure, power, and objectives.52 The component for intelligence within the police rests with the Crime Services directorate, which supervises the Criminal Investigations Department and performs intelligence collection and analysis related to crime.53 The police also engage in international intelligence sharing, such as signing a cooperation agreement for intelligence, among other issues, with Nigeria in 2021.54 Also under the police, the Special Branch was the main intelligence service in the country for decades, and toward the end of the civil war it was the only institution responsible for counterespionage, counterterrorism, and countersubversion.55 During the war, intelligence suffered because branch “officers were poorly trained and resourced and the quality of gathering, coordinating, collating and managing intelligence suffered as a consequence.”56 The Special Branch was focused on opposition parties, youth groups, and trade unions.57 In 1999 the rebels destroyed the Special Branch’s headquarters.58 By 2001 the Special Branch was one of three intelligence services, including the CISU (then named the National Intelligence Unit).59 Finally, there are two other institutions involved in intelligence. The Anti-Corruption Commission, founded in 2000, investigates and prosecutes corruption.60 Indeed, corruption has been a persistent problem since independence, and the country ranked 117 of 180 on Transparency International’s 2020 Corruption Perception Index (180 being the most corrupt).61 Though institutionally autonomous, the commission was a key institution established in the context of the civil war surrounding diamond smuggling, but its performance is hard to gauge due to the unknown reasons for charging certain individuals.62 It has several departments, including the “intelligence and investigations” department, which engages in “intelligence/surveillance operations” of people suspected of corruption.63 Additionally, Sierra Leone’s Financial Intelligence Unit (FIU) is tasked with countering money laundering, terrorism finance, and corruption.64 The unit was founded by the Anti-Money Laundering and Combating of Financ-



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ing of Terrorism Act, 2012, which allows it to “request and obtain any information that it considers relevant to an unlawful activity, money laundering activities or financing of terrorism and that is publicly available, including commercially available databases or information that is collected, or maintained or stored in databases, maintained by Government Ministries, Departments and Agencies.”65 In 2021, the police and FIU signed a memorandum of understanding on fighting financial crimes.66 INTERNATIONAL PARTNERS AND OVERSIGHT With international aid and democratic reform, Sierra Leone’s intelligence culture underwent significant transformation after the civil war. During colonialism and shortly after independence, Special Branch officers were trained in Britain and the United States along with police officers from Nigeria, Liberia, and Ethiopia.67 More recently, the international community has taken a keen interest in establishing functional and professionalized intelligence services, with an eye to preventing any regression to war. Related to international aid and professionalism, legal mechanisms were instituted to professionalize and depoliticize intelligence. Currently Sierra Leone has twenty foreign diplomatic missions, not including the UN, and even more countries have a diplomatic presence in Sierra Leone.68 Following the civil war, the UN played a key role in the country’s security; the UN Integrated Peacebuilding Office in Sierra Leone (UNIPSIL) completed its mission in 2014.69 Sierra Leone has several bilateral and multilateral agreements with foreign countries related to security. For example, Sierra Leone participates in meetings about security with the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) and the Economic Community of Central African States (ECCAS).70 In 2015 the West African Police Information System (WAPIS) was launched to help ECOWAS countries with “the collection, centralization, management, sharing and analysis of police information emanating from all relevant national law enforcement agencies.”71 As for intelligence specifically, in 2021 Sierra Leone announced a framework agreement with the Gambia that included “information and intelligence sharing.”72 The United Kingdom has played a significant role in Sierra Leone’s defense and intelligence institutions.73 During the civil war, police officers trained in the United Kingdom.74 According to the International Institute for Strategic Studies, the United Kingdom “is heavily involved in supporting the development of Sierra Leone’s security institutions and improving training. UK training is also intended to boost the capacity of the police force, so that military

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support is only needed in major emergencies.”75 The Horton Academy in Freetown provides RSLAF, ONS, police, and correctional personnel as well as foreign professionals with training.76 The school was started in 2003 by the UK-led International Military Advisory and Training Team (IMATT).77 The IMATT was created “to help develop the Sierra Leone Armed Forces into a democratically accountable, effective and sustainable force, capable of fulfilling security tasks required by the Government of Sierra Leone.”78 According to the UK Ministry of Defence from 2015 to 2019, it funded a program that gave “technical assistance” and training to the RSLAF, Sierra Leone Police, and ONS “to help make the security sector stronger and more resilient.”79 Indeed, the British influence on Sierra Leone’s intelligence was significant because the British financially supported the “CISU through the ONS,” and there was a CISU adviser, last selected by the British, before the position ended in 2009.80 The end of the position led to perceptions that the CISU was becoming less effective.81 In addition to the United Kingdom, Nigeria aided Sierra Leone’s government against rebels during the war and continues to provide defense aid. For example, in 2021 a delegation from Nigeria National Armed Forces Command and Staff College was hosted by Sierra Leone.82 Previous exchanges included a visit by a group from Nigeria’s National Defence College during which Sierra Leone’s minister of foreign affairs and international cooperation praised the “special relationship” between the two countries.83 The global powers also have defense exchanges with Sierra Leone. The United States supports the Sierra Leone Police and provides training for the “Financial Intelligence Unit, Anti-Corruption Commission, and other government agencies.”84 In 2018 Russia’s ambassador to Sierra Leone urged the country to ratify the Technical Military Cooperation Agreement “to enable fifty military personnel to receive training from all ranks in the Army in Russia.”85 Additionally, China has provided funding for large development projects, helped with capacity building for peacekeeping, and participated in personnel exchanges.86 Turning to oversight, foreign advisers and donors also played important roles in establishing the laws that implemented intelligence frameworks. The Sierra Leonean government defines the country’s “security sector” as consisting of the ONS and CISU as well as the Ministry of Defence and police.87 With the creation of new institutions after the civil war, the government established mechanisms for oversight to ensure efficiency and public confidence in intelligence. First, the 2002 act requires the JIC to “approve” intelligence and security service assessments, which serves as a quality and accuracy check on intelligence. Second, the CISU is required to produce an annual report “within three



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months after the end of each year” about the service’s operations, which is approved by the NSC and tabled before parliament.88 Third, a mechanism for reporting abuse was established. Any member of the public “aggrieved” by CISU personnel can issue a verbal or written complaint to the CISU director general or a government minister designated by the president to be in charge of defense or security.89 They must take “appropriate” action within thirty days, and the action can be appealed to the chief justice, who will appoint a tribunal of three people.90 The tribunal’s decision can subsequently be appealed to the Court of Appeal.91 Fourth, the legislature and executive work together to select the intelligence heads. In particular, the national security coordinator, who heads the NSC, is appointed by the president and must be approved by parliament.92 CONCLUSION Following Sierra Leone’s civil war, new intelligence services were established to address internal and external security threats. These services were created with a clear structure of responsibility, and oversight provisions were included in the laws. However, the political situation, with a dominant executive and social issues involving corruption, undoubtedly influences the intelligence culture. Indeed, as scholar David Harris has argued, “Liberal reforms continue at a painfully slow pace and most problems,” such as an urban-rural divide, the influence of outsiders, and changes that are merely procedural, “have not gone away, but there is reason to believe that Sierra Leone is not exactly the same [as] it was before the conflict.”93 Currently there are several internal and external issues shaping intelligence. First, international donors have exerted influence over policy. LouisAlexandre Berg has argued that in “Sierra Leone, the President and his supporters utilised external backing to neutralise hardliners who opposed the shift from factionalised to broader-based security forces, and who threatened his authority.”94 He further noted that “decisionmakers benefited politically from institutionalised reforms, but their dependence on external backing also opened opportunities for influence over the details of reforms.”95 This has seemingly succeeded in separating security missions that had been intertwined. The government separated police and military roles, charging the police with internal security and making it clear when the military can assist the police.96 Related to this is the decrease in political pressure on intelligence.97 Indeed, professional institutions, such as the ONS and CISU, built trust with the executive so that the president does not rely on informal institutions, such as political parties, for intelligence and security assessments.98

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Second, the country still suffers from the resource curse, as diamonds are the main export, as well as from corruption and limitations on political opposition. This impacts society and the government alike. In fact, one of the Ministry of Defence’s policy objectives is “to transform the RSLAF into an organisation that is accountable, incorruptible and subject to democratic control.”99 Security sector development is not just about training and aid, but also about domestic funding for salaries. In November 2020 the government announced that it had exceeded the target and there would be a 75 percent wage increase for “all” security personnel, including the RSLAF, ONS, and CISU, to create jobs and develop “human capital.”100 Last, despite continuing challenges, there have been positive changes impacting the intelligence culture. Indeed, high-profile prosecutions for corruption, decentralization, and changes by the Public Sector Reform Unit have encouraged democratic reform as well as effective governance and transparency. Scholar John Idriss Lahai found “neopatrimonial beliefs that resulted in the systematic exclusion of youth and women from direct political participation from the 1800s to the year 2000 are giving way to institutionalized safeguards against the militarization of politics and political autocracy.”101 A stable government, international aid, and internal pressure for a democratic and transparent security sector encourage and maybe even force intelligence officers to conduct themselves professionally. To what extent this is so is not publicly known, but given the changes since the war, it is clear the intelligence culture has improved. NOTES  1. “Sierra Leone,” Freedom House, 2021, https://freedomhouse.org/country /sierra-leone/freedom-world/2020.   2.  “Sierra Leone,” in The World Factbook (Central Intelligence Agency, 2021), https://www.cia.gov/the-world-factbook/countries/sierra-leone/.  3. David Harris, Sierra Leone: A Political History (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 1.  4. Ibid., 9.  5. Ibid., 9.  6. Ibid., 10.  7. Ibid., 11.   8.  Ibid., 12, 13.  9. Ibid., 18. 10.  Ibid., 31. 11.  Ibid., 44. 12.  Ibid., 46.



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13.  Ibid., 49, 50. 14.  Ibid., 52. 15.  Ibid., 53. 16.  Ibid., 55. 17.  Ibid., 59. 18.  Ibid., 64. 19.  Ezekiel Alfred Coker, Reflections on Sierra Leone by a Former Senior Police Officer: The History of the Waning of a Once Progressive West African Country (Bloomington, IN: IUniverse, 2016), 290. 20.  Ibid., 17. 21. “Establishment and Development of the Republic of Sierra Leone Armed Forces (RSLAF),” Ministry of Defence, 2021, http://www.mod.gov.sl/docs/The HistoryOfRepublicOfSierraLeoneArmedForces-RSLAF.pdf. 22. Ibid. 23. Harris, Sierra Leone, 65. 24. “Establishment and Development of the Republic of Sierra Leone Armed Forces.” 25. Ibid. 26.  “History of the Ministry of Defence,” Ministry of Defence, 2021, http://www .mod.gov.sl/aboutus-mod-history.html. 27. Harris, Sierra Leone, 72. 28.  Ibid., 79. 29.  Ibid., 80. 30.  Kieran Mitton, Rebels in a Rotten State: Understanding Atrocity in the Sierra Leone Civil War (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015), 3. 31. Harris, Sierra Leone, 86. 32.  Ibid., 94. 33. Ibid., 113; and “Sierra Leone—UNAMSIL—Background,” United Nations, 2021, https://peacekeeping.un.org/mission/past/unamsil/background.html. 34. “Sierra Leone—UNAMSIL—Background”; and “United Nations Integrated Office for Sierra Leone (UNIOSIL),” United Nations, 2021, https://unipsil.unmissions .org/mandate-and-approach-0. 35. Peter Albrecht and Paul Jackson, Securing Sierra Leone, 1997–2013: Defence, Diplomacy and Development in Action, Whitehall Papers (New York: Routledge, 2015), 20, 22, 25. See also Peter Albrecht and Paul Jackson, Security System Transformation in Sierra Leone, 1997–2007 (GFN-SSR, 2009); and Peter Alexander Albrecht, Transforming Internal Security in Sierra Leone: Sierra Leone Police and Broader Justice Sector Reform, DIIS REPORT 2010:07, https://issat.dcaf.ch/ara /download/17734/207241/RP2010-07_transforming_Sierra_Leone_web.pdf. 36.  Albrecht and Jackson, Securing Sierra Leone, 1997–2013, 23. 37.  Albrecht and Jackson, Securing Sierra Leone, 1997–2013, 24. 38. Harris, Sierra Leone, 145. 39.  Robert Ashington-Pickett, “Intelligence and Security Service Reconstruction,” in Security Sector Reform in Sierra Leone 1997–2007: Views from the Front Line, ed.

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Paul Jackson and Peter Albrecht (Geneva: Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control of Armed Forces, 2010), 22. 40.  For a chart of the national security structure, see “Military Aid to Civil Authorities: A Guide to Operations in Sierra Leone,” Ministry of Defence, n.d., 6, http:// www.mod.gov.sl/docs/RSLAF%20Policy%2026%20-%20Military%20Aid%20 to%20Civil%20Authorities%20(MACA).pdf. Note that the Forces Intelligence Security Unit (FISU) is on the chart, but currently the DIS is responsible for Ministry of Defence intelligence. 41.  “Public Sector Reform Programme,” Public Sector Reform Unit (PSRU), Office of the President, January 2009, https://psru.gov.sl/sites/default/files/sites/default /files/reports/PUBLIC%20SECTOR%20REFORM%20%20FRAMEWORK-%20 PART%20I%20%282009%20-%202012%29.doc. 42. “National Security and Central Intelligence Act,” Supplement to the Sierra Leone Gazette 132, no. 42 (July 4, 2002): 7, https://www.parliament.gov.sl/uploads /acts/THE%20NATIONAL%20SECURITY%20AND%20CENTRAL%20INTEL LIGENCE%20ACT.pdf. 43.  Ibid., 9. 44.  Ibid., 10. 45.  Daniel Kaitbi, “Office of National Security Restructured,” Office of National Security, January 29, 2016, https://web.archive.org/web/20161016032941/http://ons .gov.sl/news/office-of-national-security-restructured/; and “Office of National Security,” Public Sector Reform Unit, Office of the President, 2021, https://psru.gov.sl /content/office-national-security-ons. 46. “Roles of ONS within National Security Architecture,” Office of National Security, 2016, https://web.archive.org/web/20161016034438/http://ons.gov.sl/roles -of-ons-within-national-security-architecture/. 47. International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Sub-Saharan Africa,” Military Balance 120, no. 1 (2020): 498. 48.  “Directorate of Intelligence and Security,” Ministry of Defence, 2021, http:// www.mod.gov.sl/admin-directorate.html. 49.  “Defence White Paper,” Ministry of Defence, 2021, unpaginated 4–6, http:// www.mod.gov.sl/docs/MODDefenceWhitePaperSierraLeone.pdf. 50. “Director of Intelligence and Security,” Ministry of Defence, 2021, http:// www.mod.gov.sl/sorie.html. 51.  “About the Sierra Leone Police Force,” Sierra Leone Police, 2021, http://www .police.gov.sl/history-of-slp/. 52. Ibid. 53.  “Directorate Crime Services,” Sierra Leone Police, 2021, http://www.police .gov.sl/crime-services/. 54.  “IGP Alkali and His Sierra Leonean Counterpart Hold Bilateral Policing Engagement in Abuja,” Sierra Leone Police, August 17, 2021, http://www.police.gov .sl/press-release/igp-alkali-and-his-sierra-leonean-counterpart-hold-bilateral-polic ing-engagement-in-abuja/. 55.  Paul Jackson and Peter Albrecht, Reconstructing Security after Conflict: Security Sector Reform in Sierra Leone (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), 83.



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56.  Ibid., 86. 57.  Ibid., 86. 58.  Chris McGreal, “Sierra Leone Rebels Enter Capital,” Guardian, January 6, 1999, https://www.theguardian.com/world/1999/jan/07/chrismcgreal. 59.  Ibid., 84. 60.  “About Us,” Anti-Corruption Commission, 2021, https://www.anticorruption .gov.sl/aboutus. 61.  “Sierra Leone,” Transparency International, 2021, https://www.transparency .org/en/countries/sierra-leone. 62. Harris, Sierra Leone, 130. 63.  “Mandate by Departments,” Anti-Corruption Commission, 2021, https://www .anticorruption.gov.sl/mandates-by-departments. 64.  “About Us,” Financial Intelligence Unit, 2021, https://fiu.gov.sl/about-us. 65. “Anti-Money Laundering and Combating of Financing of Terrorism, Act 2012,” Sierra Leone Gazette 142, No. 9, February 23, 2012, 21, https://fiu.gov.sl /downloads/2017-09/aml-cft-act-2012.pdf. 66. “SLP and FIU Strengthen Their Relationship,” Sierra Leone Police, 2021, http://www.police.gov.sl/latest-news-and-events/slp-and-fiu-strengthen-their -relationship/. 67. Coker, Reflections on Sierra Leone, 19. 68.  “Foreign Missions,” Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International Cooperation, 2021, https://mofaic.gov.sl/foreign-missions/. 69.  “Closure of UNIPSIL,” United Nations, 2021, https://unipsil.unmissions.org. 70.  “Minister of Foreign Affairs and International Cooperation to Attend ECOWAS and ECCAS Summit in Lomé to Discuss Security Issues,” Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International Cooperation, July 27, 2018, https://mofaic.gov.sl/minister-of -foreign-affairs-and-international-cooperation-to-attend-ecowas-and-eccas-summit -in-lome-to-discuss-security-issues/. 71.  “West African Police Information System Launched by INTERPOL,” INTERPOL, September 21, 2015, https://www.interpol.int/es/Noticias-y-acontecimientos /Noticias/2015/West-African-Police-Information-System-launched-by-INTERPOL. 72.  “Sierra Leone and Gambia to Enter into Framework Agreements,” Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International Cooperation, July 14, 2021, https://mofaic.gov.sl /sierra-leone-and-gambia-to-enter-into-framework-agreements/. 73.  Andrea Edoardo Varisco has examined how research shaped and interacted with Britain’s security sector reform aid. Andrea Edoardo Varisco, Research in Security Sector Reform Policy: The Case of Sierra Leone (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2018). 74.  Albrecht and Jackson, Securing Sierra Leone, 1997–2013, 41. 75.  International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Sub-Saharan Africa,” 498. 76. “RSLAF Graduates 8 Foreign Officers,” Horton Academy, Sierra Leone, 2021, https://hortonacademysl.com/messages/news_full.php?id=42. 77.  “About Us,” Horton Academy, Sierra Leone, 2021, https://hortonacademysl. com/about/about.php; and “Horton Academy Courses,” Horton Academy, Sierra Leone, 2021, https://hortonacademysl.com/education/instructors_full.php?id=49.

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78. J. Vitor Tossini, “Britain and Sierra Leone—Military Partnership in West Africa,” UK Defence Journal, May 11, 2017, https://ukdefencejournal.org.uk/britain -and-sierra-leone-military-partnership-in-west-africa/. 79. “CSSF Programme Summary,” Ministry of Defence, 2019, https://assets .publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data /file/758144/AFRA_Sierra_Leone_Strengthening_Security_and_Resilience_Pro gramme_Summar....odt. 80.  Albrecht and Jackson, Securing Sierra Leone, 1997–2013, 59. 81.  Ibid., 61. 82.  “Deputy Foreign Minister Hosts Nigeria Delegation from the National Armed Forces Command and Staff College,” Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International Cooperation, May 17, 2021, https://mofaic.gov.sl/dep-foreign-minister-hosts-nigeria -national-armed-forces-command-delegation/. 83.  “Nigeria Defense College Meets Foreign Affairs Minister,” Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International Cooperation, February 27, 2019, https://mofaic.gov.sl /nigeria-defense-college-meets-foreign-affairs-minister/. 84.  “U.S. Relations with Sierra Leone,” US Department of State, August 13, 2018, https://www.state.gov/u-s-relations-with-sierra-leone/. 85.  “Foreign Affairs Minister Calls on Russia to Boost the Economy,” Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International Cooperation, November 22, 2018, https://mofaic .gov.sl/2187-2/. 86.  International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Sub-Saharan Africa,” 498; and “Foreign Affairs Minister Signs $29.8 Million Agreement with China,” Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International Cooperation, February 4, 2019, https://mofaic.gov .sl/foreign-affairs-minister-signs-29-8-million-agreement-with-china/. 87.  Public Sector Reform Programme, vol. 1, Public Sector Reform Framework (Public Sector Reform Unit [PSRU], Office of the President, January 2009), https://psru.gov.sl/sites/default/files/Volume%201%20-%20PSRU%20Public%20 Sector%20Reform%20Framework%20-%20FINAL.pdf. 88.  “National Security and Central Intelligence Act,” 9. 89.  Ibid., 15. 90.  Ibid., 15, 16. 91.  Ibid., 17. 92.  Ibid., 10. 93. Harris, Sierra Leone, 8. 94.  Louis-Alexandre Berg, “Elite Bargains and External Influence: Security Assistance and Civil-Military Relations in Post-War Liberia and Sierra Leone,” Civil Wars 22, nos. 2/3 (2020): 283. 95.  Ibid., 283. 96.  Albrecht and Jackson, Securing Sierra Leone, 1997–2013, 34, 35. 97.  Ibid., 26. 98.  Ibid., 65. 99.  “Mission Statement,” Defence Ministry, 2021, http://www.mod.gov.sl/aboutus -mission.html.



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100.  Saio Marrah, “Sierra Leone Security Forces Get 75% Pay Rise,” Politico, November 27, 2020, https://politicosl.com/articles/sierra-leone-security-forces-get -75-pay-rise. 101. John Idriss Lahai, Human Rights in Sierra Leone, 1787–2016: The Long Struggle from the Transatlantic Slave Trade to the Present (New York: Routledge, 2019), 303.

45 Somalia A Battlefield of Intelligence Services János Besenyö

The activities of Somali intelligence services are little known to the international community, as there is no monograph about them, and few other studies have been published. The main reason for this is that the academic community has only very limited access to sources. Drawing from the limited sources available, this chapter describes the performance of Somali intelligence organizations, offering an overview of the intelligence community, its activities, and its culture. It examines the events leading to the creation of national intelligence organizations and their formation, institutionalization, and operations. Their relationship with society is also explored, explaining their detachment from it, as well as the conflicts that largely contributed to the dismantling of the first national intelligence service. The reorganization of the intelligence service, the environment influencing the activities of intelligence organizations, the presence and activities of foreign actors, and the current management system and challenges affecting the organizations are also examined. The chapter focuses on two main periods. The first lasted from the early 1900s through the colonial period until the end of the system under Siad Barre, a prominent government leader. After independence, a nationwide intelligence organization was developed from its early, rudimentary capabilities. However, the organization first became a servant of foreign and colonial interests, followed by a narrow local elite oppressing its own people, the majority of the society, which made its fall predictable and inevitable. The second period explored is from the early 2000s, when the previously dysfunctional intelligence services and state underwent reconstruction, through the present. Although this reform period has great potential, the old organizational culture casts a shadow wherein the mistakes of the previous period are repeated, having significant impacts on the current intelligence organizations. 601

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This chapter argues that the first and second periods’ external factors and actors played the largest role in the establishment of the Somali intelligence services and their frameworks for operating, while being influenced by local society and other internal factors. The chapter is organized in six parts. In the first section, the background of Somalia is provided with attention to key political events and security. In the second part, the antecedents of Somali intelligence services’ activity are explored from colonialism to early postcolonialism. Then in the third section, the establishment of an independent Somali intelligence service in the 1960s is discussed by detailing its activities, structure, and role under Siad Barre. The fourth section describes the disintegration of the country and the liquidation of the intelligence service. Next, the fifth section describes the attempts to restore the country and the establishment and operation of various intelligence service organizations. Last, the chapter concludes with a review of Somalia’s intelligence services by highlighting the history of the services, challenges, and overriding themes in the intelligence culture. BACKGROUND The Somali Republic was formed on July 1, 1960, in northeastern Africa as a result of the unification of independent British Somaliland and Italian Somaliland. The ensuing unification led to long-lasting conflicts at all levels of society that still impact the country today. The new government entered into armed conflicts with several neighbors over the affiliation of Somalis, and the United States and the Soviet Union tried to strengthen their influence in the region in various ways, generating further conflicts among members of the Somali leadership.1 On October 21, 1969, the civilian government was overthrown by a military coup.2 Major General Siad Barre became the country’s new strongman, who disbanded the National Assembly and suppressed the centuries-old clan system.3 He introduced a Soviet-style socialist system using violent means to reorganize and modernize Somali society. He pursued pro-Soviet policies and entered into armed conflicts with neighboring states, such as Ethiopia and Kenya.4 With Soviet aid, he set up the previously nonexistent Somali National Security Service (NSS), which had unlimited powers. The NSS was responsible for intelligence, reconnaissance, and information gathering, and was actively involved in silencing Barre’s opponents and the repression of clans. The military junta modernized the army with Soviet, Saudi, and Egyptian help, but it was defeated by Ethiopia, which received aid from the Soviet



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Union and Cuba in the 1977–1978 Ogaden War. Therefore, Somalia broke from the Soviet Union and began rapprochement with Western countries.5 By the late 1980s, almost all of Somali society had turned against Barre, who lost his power in 1991, and the country disintegrated.6 The United Nations (UN) has launched several failed peace operations in the country, which plunged into chaos, and various clans and armed groups formed independent entities. The factions, worn out by the chaos, finally agreed to form a transitional national government (TNG) in 2000, which was defeated by Islamists. In 2004, with the help of the United States and Ethiopia, the transitional federal government (TGF) was formed, and sections of the country were reclaimed.7 Then a slow stabilization began that continued to be threatened by various armed and terrorist groups. In 2012, the federal government of Somalia (FGS) was formed, and work began on rebuilding the country’s security system. In January 2013, the National Intelligence and Security Agency (NISA) was established. In addition to the NISA, there are other organizations involved in intelligence activities in Somalia, such as the Somali Army and Police, the Federal Law Enforcement Agencies, the African Union Peace Operation (AMISOM), and other foreign intelligence services. Despite the slow stabilization, the Somali government can only maintain its viability with the support of the international community as well as the soldiers of AMISOM.8 ANTECEDENTS OF THE SOMALI SECRET SERVICE Law enforcement forces established in British Somalia carried out limited intelligence during colonialism.9 From 1958 to 1960, the head of a small intelligence team at the Somali Police Forces was the later dictator, Siad Barre. The police force organized during the 1910s in the Italian-controlled areas, followed by the Somalia Gendarmerie under British occupation from 1943, and the security forces set up in 1950 also carried out limited intelligence activities.10 When the Somali Army and Police were established on January 1, 1956, Somalis who served in intelligence groups set up by the Italians continued to operate in the new service.11 In 1960, British- and Italian-controlled territories and the military and police forces serving there merged and established their own intelligence organizations, but the country did not yet have an independent intelligence service. The Intelligence Division, headed by General Jama Mohamed Ghalib between 1960 and 1966, was in the Ministry of the Interior’s thirty-seven hundred members of the Somali Police, receiving training and support from the US Central Intelligence Agency (CIA).12 The army, which is subordinated

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to the Ministry of Defense, also had an intelligence department, headed by one of Siad Barre’s sons-in-law, Colonel Ahmed Suleymaan Abdallah. However, the organization was effectively influenced by the Soviet Union and the Committee for State Security (KGB), which had been active in Somalia since 1963.13 Their agents were involved in training military intelligence officers and did everything they could to gain control of the Somali Army.14 To achieve this, the Soviets recruited several of the hundreds of officers who studied in the Soviet Union, such as General Mohammed Ali Samatar, who was the chief of staff of the Somali Army and the country’s defense minister in 1972.15 The army and police competed with each other for years, which also affected the activities of intelligence organizations. The army emerged victorious from the competition and removed the country’s civilian government with a coup in October 1969, which was watched by the police. Later during the post-coup conversion, police intelligence was fused into army intelligence.16 A KGB agent named KERL knew about the coup in advance and was one of the planners and executors of the takeover. It cannot be ruled out that the coup may have been organized by the Soviet intelligence service itself, as KERL had great influence over Barre, who had carried out KGB instructions since his recruitment.17 ESTABLISHMENT AND OPERATION OF THE SOMALI SECRET SERVICE, 1969–1990 One of Barre’s first steps after gaining power was, with the help and professional guidance of the KGB, to establish the Somali National Secret Service, which was trained by East German and North Korean intelligence operatives.18 The KGB oversaw the training of the entire NSS staff, which was primarily engaged in technical intelligence, counterintelligence, and espionage. In the 1970s, the Soviets saw the Somali intelligence service as almost an “African section” of their own organization, carrying out several joint actions.19 The close cooperation between the two organizations was evidenced by the fact that KGB leader Yuri Andropov personally consulted with NSS leaders in Mogadishu in 1972, and NSS leaders also frequently visited Moscow.20 The Soviets gained significant influence in the country and recruited new high-ranking officers among their agents, such as Lieutenant Colonel Salah Gaveire Kedie (OPERATOR), who was one of the leaders of the 1971 coup attempt against Barre. Despite this close cooperation, the KGB provided misinformation to the NSS in several cases, such as about alleged US activities.21



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The NSS was officially subordinated to the Ministry of Interior but received instructions directly from Barre. Its first commander was General Ahmed Suleymaan Abdallah (Dafle), who was not only a son-in-law of the dictator but also a member of the Supreme Revolutionary Council. He had considerable autonomy and led the organization until 1981. After Abdallah gained too much influence, he had to resign from being the head of the organization and was replaced by General Mohamed Jibriil Muuse, who led the organization from 1981 to 1986. His successor was Ali Hussein Dinle (1986–1991).22 The organization, having a large staff, installed agents and informants in almost all sections of Somali society. They could arrest anyone; search any building and anyone; and torture, imprison, or execute people without any special permission or a court order.23 Barre used them against his opponents, potential challengers in the top leadership of the army and police, who were accused of conspiracy against the state, and several were tortured and executed.24 Informants and agents also fabricated evidence against religious leaders, who opposed government policy.25 The organization had its own investigative centers and prisons and even operated its own courts.26 The NSS’s headquarters was located in the country’s capital, Mogadishu, where it also housed an investigation center and the infamous Godka (“The Hole”) prison, which became synonymous with torture and cruelty for Somalis. The Central Prison in Mogadishu was supervised by the NSS, as well as several other rural prisons.27 The organization also collected intelligence on the armed forces as well as other government agencies.28 The organization further monitored and closely controlled communications and postal traffic, all diplomatic missions, and nongovernmental organization (NGOs) employing foreigners.29 The NSS conducted intelligence activities in the surrounding states, where several politicians, opposition leaders, soldiers, police officers, and businesspeople were recruited, and some of them were even trained. In the 1980s a counterterrorism unit was also set up, with training and equipment provided by the West German police.30 After Somalia broke from the Soviets, the NSS cooperated with South African and American security services.31 The operational costs of the NSS were significant, provided by diverting money from other government entities.32 In addition to the NSS, other organizations have carried out intelligence activities, such as the Presidential Guard, the Military Counter-Intelligence and the Military Intelligence, the “Revolutionary Victory Pioneers,” and the Special Investigation Group of the Somali Revolutionary Socialist Party.33 By the end of the 1980s there was growing opposition to the regime in almost every section of the society. This prompted the NSS to act more harshly.34 One of the most significant events took place on July 14, 1989, when the

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service and army units surrounded mosques in the capital and fired on those leaving for a peaceful demonstration over the release of arrested imams. The gunfire killed several people, and several survivors were arrested. The NSS also took part in the July 21, 1989, Jesira massacre, in which forty-one unarmed men were killed with extreme cruelty.35 After that, more clans turned against the government, and clashes between government forces and other armed organizations became commonplace. Nevertheless, Barre thought he could stay in power. To maintain popularity, in 1990 he disbanded the NSS, which was most hated by Somalis. Members of the organization were transferred to other government and security services, with many still playing an important role in Somali government to this day.36 The dissolution of the NSS was not enough, and a nationwide uprising continued, leading to the collapse of the system and Barre having to flee the country. THE PERIOD OF CHAOS AND STATE-BUILDING ATTEMPTS After the Barre regime was overthrown, the opposition groups turned against each other. None, however, were strong enough to prevail, and a civil war

Figure 45.1.  Intelligence community in Somalia, 1969–1990



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erupted. The country sank into chaos for decades and was torn into several parts. Somaliland was the first to declare its independence, on May 14, 1991. Although this has not been recognized by the international community, it has functioning political, economic, health, and educational systems. Having effectively disarmed the various armed groups, Somaliland can provide protection to the population through its own security services. The de facto state, with help from the United Kingdom, established the Somaliland National Intelligence Agency (SNIA), which works closely with the intelligence divisions of the eight-thousand-strong army and six-thousand-strong police force as well as US intelligence agencies.37 The other entity, Puntland, established in 1998, does not seek recognition as an independent state and continues to function as part of Somalia. In 2002 the region, with US support, established the Puntland Intelligence Service (PIS), which has serious operational and funding problems.38 Several other regions (such as Galmudug and Bari) have tried to become independent from Somalia, but these have only temporarily succeeded. Even so, the federal government has given them a high degree of autonomy to prevent attempts to secede.39 The southern areas have been characterized by constant warfare and social insecurity in recent decades. The humanitarian crisis that has developed has not been effectively addressed by either the country’s political and power groups or the peace support operations established by the United Nations. Thus, Somalia has become a failed, dysfunctional state. The roles of the disintegrated and demoralized army, police, and security services were taken over by various armed groups, clans, and then by radical Islamist organizations. In 2000, the TNG was unable to prevent the Islamic Courts Union (ICU) from occupying a significant portion of the country’s territory. The TFG, formed in 2004, regained much of the country with American and Ethiopian military support, yet failed to bring stability and peace.40 The TFG set up the Somali National Security Force and the Somali Police Force, as well as the National Security Agency (NSA), which has been involved in intelligence, analysis, and counterterrorism activities. It has also been involved in migration-related activities.41 The NSA was ineffective, so in 2007 it was transformed with the help of the CIA and the Ethiopian National Intelligence and Security Service (NISS).42 General Mohamed Warsame Farah “Darawiish” was appointed to lead it. In 2009, Ethiopian troops left the country, and since then AMISOM has provided military strength to the government. In April 2009, General Mohamed Sheikh Hassan was appointed to lead the fifteen-hundred-member service. However, the security situation deteriorated further, and intelligence leaders were embroiled in a corruption scandal. Consequently, General Ahmed Moallin Fiqi took over the NSA in March 2011.43 The chaotic situation is demonstrated by the fact that

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between 1991 and 2012 there were fifteen attempts to establish transitional governments in Somalia that were unable to rule the country.44 In 2013 Somali interest groups and clans finally reached an agreement and formed the Somali Federal Government (SFG), which began security sector reform with international assistance.45 In 2015 it was decided to transform and develop the army (Guulwade Plan), and in 2016, the police (Heegan Plan).46 In May 2017 members of the international community and the leaders of the federal government drafted and adopted an agreement (London Security Pact) on the transformation and development of the Somali security sector. They agreed on the elimination of parallel functions and the transformation and reconstruction of the security sector, including intelligence. THE INTELLIGENCE COMMUNITY OF SOMALIA The government of the federal state, with the financial support of the international community and the military support of AMISOM, sought to dismantle clan-based security systems and build a unified, centralized, national security architecture. As a result, the National Intelligence and Security Agency (NISA) was established in January 2013. It was led by Abdikarin Dahir and later on, from May 2013, by Bashir Mohamed. The NISA is under the Federal Ministry of Internal Security. Although it is primarily engaged in intelligence, analysis, and evaluation, it does not act only as an intelligence service but serves military and foreign policy objectives, being engaged in various covert operations. The NISA not only detects activities against the country but also takes an active part in the response. Actions include several cases of carrying out special operations against Al-Shabaab and other paramilitary groups. It is also cooperates with AMISOM by exchanging intelligence as well as organizing and carrying out joint actions. Therefore, special operations units were set up within the organization, trained by the CIA and special forces from the United States. The Gaashaan (“Shield”) unit consists of four hundred people, while the unit called Waran (Spear) has three hundred people.47 In addition, NISA protected government leaders and guarded various government facilities. However, it handed over this task in 2017 to a special unit set up for this purpose.48 Although the nearly forty-five hundred officers in NISA do not operate as a standard intelligence organization, both Somali and international actors agree that it is the best and most effective organization in the federal government.49 The United States took over most of the work in establishing, equipping, and training the NISA, but several countries have also provided it with financial and other support, including equipment and training. The NISA head-



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quarters is in Mogadishu, and the organization has several regional centers throughout the country. The Somali government’s and state administrations’ interagency divisions and growing clan powers are serious challenges for the organization. Further, politics is gaining more influence within the intelligence services, armed forces, and law enforcement agencies. Together, these issues have led to armed conflict between members of NISA and other armed bodies on several occasions.50 The influence of politics is also visible in the activities of NISA leaders, who are often appointed or forced to resign by the government, mostly annually, for no particular reasons. There is also a lack of cooperation or intelligence sharing between the various security services and government agencies, which has enabled Al-Shabaab to carry out attacks. NISA is also actively involved in deradicalization programs, which are not transparent and pose a significant risk, as several individuals previously belonging to terrorist groups have been employed by the service. Some say that Al-Shabaab’s effective intelligence service, the Amniyat, has successfully infiltrated the NISA.51 That the organization employs several former NSS officers and agents who were actively involved in the repression of the civilian population in the Barre system has raised concerns.52 It is also a controversial practice for NISA to employ children in intelligence activities.53 The international community has further criticized illegal arrest, imprisonment, and detention of various individuals (opposition politicians, journalists, suspects in cooperation with Al-Shabaab, etc.) who have been tortured and coerced.54 The army and police also have intelligence departments whose activities leave much to be desired. Many military leaders are untrained or open to bribery, while the soldiers are underpaid, which is why they are unreliable and have low combat value. Corruption is a significant problem among the police, as they receive low salaries, late, or do not get paid at all. This is why police reportedly sell weapons and information to Al-Shabaab or loot the civilian population.55 The federal states also have their own, local police, security, and intelligence forces, with problematic interagency cooperation.56 It was planned that these and the armed forces of the clans would merge into the army and police by 2021. Once the merging has been accomplished, the twenty thousand people involved in AMISOM, which itself has intelligence capabilities, will hand over full control of the country to the federal government.57 The intelligence services of the United States, United Kingdom, Turkey, the Gulf states, and neighboring countries also must be considered. Foreign intelligence services carry out their own actions in Somalia.58 Private military and security companies are also operating in the country. They are involved in the training and equipping of both federal and local security agencies in the country, also having some intelligence potential that is partially shared with the Somali government.59 The consolidation of the security efforts in

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Figure 45.2.  Intelligence community in Somalia, 2013–2020

the country and the coordination of the intelligence organizations’ activities are hampered by the need to build a functioning security system and to fight violent Islamists, such as Al-Shabaab, at the same time.60 CONCLUSION Foreign actors have played a significant role in shaping Somalia’s intelligence services, along with other internal and local factors. If one looks at the functioning of the intelligence community in the history of the country, it is clear that the Somali vision of intelligence is not the same as that of the states that support it and intend to control it. Supporters believe that it is enough to train and equip NISA, army, and police personnel and build up a proper organizational structure for them while providing good working conditions. Meanwhile, external forces have sought to use Somali intelligence and security services as a proxy force in their own interests. Additionally, Somalia’s intelligence culture is marked by people who continue to belong to a clan system that determines their way of thinking, fragmenting their identity below a nation-state level. These issues generate contradictions that weaken the unity of intelligence organizations and negatively affect their decision-making mechanisms and activities. The Somali government did not develop uniform



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requirements and regulations for intelligence activities, and the promised reforms were not carried out. To date no uniformly trained, equipped intelligence service has been established on the basis of a commonly agreed system of requirements, causing disorder in the intelligence community. Since Somalia gained independence, there has not been a single organization responsible for intelligence activities. Instead, several organizations have performed such tasks in parallel, so their responsibilities and actions were not deconflicted. As a result, there are often clashes and divisions between organizations within the intelligence culture, leading to chronic problems in information sharing and cooperation between various organizations, negatively impacting security as a whole. Indeed, this affects the efficiency of government leadership and damages the country’s national security. Although the need for organizational integration has been raised several times, it has not actually materialized. There are three key themes in Somalia’s intelligence culture. First, the intelligence services are overpoliticized, and their management is not transparent. There are still many who have previously served on the NSS staff or came from various clans, the ranks of the ICU, or Al-Shabaab, and their loyalty is questionable. Second, corruption and abuse are constant issues. Indeed, a significant part of the population does not trust the government and its bodies, as the state’s apparatuses are considered unreliable and illegitimate. Overall, those who carry out intelligence activities are mostly seen as a threat. Third, since the fall of the Barre system, various organizations in the country have been constantly fighting each other and the central government. For these reasons, the intelligence services are not focused on building and developing their organizations, but on everyday survival. NOTES 1.  I. M. Lewis, A Modern History of Somalia: Nation and State in the Horn of Africa (London: Westview Press, 1988), 170–174; and Colin D. Robinson: “Glimpse into an Army at Its Peak: Notes on the Somali National Army in the 1960–80s,” Defense & Security Analysis 35, no. 4 (2019): 423–429. 2.  David D. Laitin, “The Political Economy of Military Rule in Somalia,” Journal of Modern African Studies 14, no. 3 (1976): 452; and Jamil Abdalla Mubarak, From Bad Policy to Chaos in Somalia: How an Economy Fell Apart (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2016), 11–12. 3.  Hussein M. Adam, “Somalia: Militarism, Warlordism or Democracy?,” Review of African Political Economy 19, no. 54 (1992): 17–19. 4. Harry Ododa, “Somalia’s Domestic Politics and Foreign Relations since the Ogaden War of 1977–78,” Middle Eastern Studies 21, no. 3 (1985): 289–291; and

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Ryan Shaffer, “The More Things Change: Kenya’s Special Branch during the Decade of Independence,” in African Intelligence Services: Early Post-Colonial and Contemporary Challenges, ed. Ryan Shaffer (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2021), 36–37.  5. Lewis, Modern History of Somalia, 232–245; and Military Intelligence Summary: East Africa, Defense Intelligence Agency, 1987, 8, https://www.dia.mil/FOIA /FOIA-Electronic-Reading-Room/FOIA-Reading-Room-Africa/FileId/39704/.  6. Mubarak, From Bad Policy to Chaos in Somalia, 17–19.   7.  Ken Menkhaus, “Governance without Government in Somalia Spoilers, State Building, and the Politics of Coping,” International Security 31, no. 3 (Winter 2006): 74–106.  8. Oscar Gakuo Mwangi, “Jubaland: Somalia’s New Security Dilemma and State-Building Efforts,” Africa Review 8, no. 2 (2016): 120–132; and Gábor Sinkó and János Besenyő, “Comparison of the Secret Service of al-Shabaab, the Amniyat, and the National Intelligence and Security Agency (Somalia),” International Journal of Intelligence and CounterIntelligence (2021).  9. Saadia Touval, Somali Nationalism (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1963), 54–55, 115. 10. Mohamed Osman Omar, The Road to Zero: Somalia’s Self-Destruction (London: Haan Associates, 1992), 24; and Lewis, Modern History of Somalia, 98, 118–119. 11.  Paolo Tripodi, The Colonial Legacy in Somalia: Rome and Mogadishu; from Colonial Administration to Operation Restore Hope (London: Macmillan, 1999), 88. 12.  Mohamed Haji Ingiriis, The Suicidal State in Somalia: The Rise and Fall of the Siad Barre Regime, 1969–1991 (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2016), 47–48, 80, 294; and Peter Woodward, US Foreign Policy and the Horn of Africa (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), 24. 13. Ingiriis, Suicidal State in Somalia, 45, 47–48, 56. 14.  Irving Kaplan: Area Handbook of Somalia (Washington, DC: American University, 1977), 327. 15. Ingiriis, Suicidal State in Somalia, 294; and Mohamed Haji Mukhtar, Historical Dictionary of Somalia (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2003), 154–155. 16. I. M. Lewis, “The Politics of the 1969 Somali Coup,” Journal of Modern African Studies 10, no. 3 (October 1972): 401–402; and Radoslav A. Yordanov, The Soviet Union and the Horn of Africa during the Cold War: Between Ideology and Pragmatism (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2016), 93. 17.  Christopher Andrew and Vasili Mitrokhin, The World Was Going Our Way: The KGB and the Battle for the Third World (New York: Basic Books, 2006), 447–448. 18.  Roy Pateman, “Intelligence Operations in the Horn of Africa,” in Disaster and Development in the Horn of Africa, ed. John Sorenson (London: Macmillan, 1995), 49–71. 19.  Andrew and Mitrokhin, World Was Going Our Way, 448–449. 20.  Robert G. Patman, The Soviet Union in the Horn of Africa: The Diplomacy of Intervention and Disengagement (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 113, 117, 121.



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21. Yordanov, Soviet Union and the Horn of Africa during the Cold War, 96. 22. Ododa, “Somalia’s Domestic Politics and Foreign Relations,” 288; Lewis, “Politics of the 1969 Somali Coup,” 254; and Mukhtar, Historical Dictionary of Somalia, 169–170. 23.  Somalia: A Government at War with Its Own People (New York: Africa Watch Committee, New York, 1990), 7, 16. 24. Ingiriis, Suicidal State in Somalia, 99–104. 25.  Ibid., 107–115. 26. Council of the National Academy of Sciences (US), Scientists and Human Rights in Somalia: Report of a Delegation (Washington, DC: National Academy Press, 1988), 16, 18–19. 27. Omar, Road to Zero, 152–156. 28. Mukhtar, Historical Dictionary of Somalia, 169–170. 29. Omar, Road to Zero, 71–73. 30.  DIA, 30. 31.  John Sorenson, ed., Disaster and Development in the Horn of Africa (London: Macmillan, 1995), 62–63. 32. Mubarak, From Bad Policy to Chaos in Somalia, 10, 15, 90, 107. 33. Sorenson, Disaster and Development in the Horn of Africa, 62–63; and Somalia: A Government at War, 16, 24–25, 47. 34. Tripodi, Colonial Legacy in Somalia, 130–132. 35. Omar, Road to Zero, 206–209. 36. Mukhtar, Historical Dictionary of Somalia, 99–100; and Keating and Waldman, Ending Impunity, 76. 37.  Michael Horton, “How Somaliland Combats al-Shabaab,” CTC Sentinel 12, no. 10 (November 2019): 21–22. 38. “Somalia: Puntland Intelligence Forces Size Central Bank and Ministry of Finance,” Garowe Online, September, 26, 2016, https://www.garoweonline.com /en/news/puntland/somalia-puntland-intelligence-forces-seize-central-bank-and-min istry-of-finance; and Towards a Federated Police System in Somalia (New York: United Nations Police, 2018), 16, https://issat.dcaf.ch/Learn/Resource-Library /Policy-and-Research-Papers/Towards-a-Federated-Police-System-in-Somalia. 39.  Alice Hills, “Somalia Works: Police Development as State Building,” African Affairs 113, no. 450 (January 2014): 88–107. 40. J. Peter Pham, State Collapse, Insurgency and Counterinsurgency: Lessons from Somalia (Carlyle: Strategic Studies Institute, US Army War College, 2013), 10–15. 41.  Shaul Shay, Somalia in Transition since 2006 (Oxon: Routledge, 2017), 83. 42.  Mohamed Haji Ingiriis, “Predatory Politics and Personalization of Power: The Abuses and Misuses of the National Intelligence and Security Agency (NISA) in Somalia,” African Affairs 119, no. 475 (April 2020): 7. 43. Security Council Report S/2012/544, 45, 288, https://www.undocs.org /S/2012/544; and COI Service, Somalia, Country of Origin Information (COI) Report, May 27, 2011, https://www.ecoi.net/en/file/local/1222804/1226_1307538397 _report-05-11.pdf.

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44. Pham, State Collapse, Insurgency and Counterinsurgency, 49. 45.  William Reno, “The Politics of Security Assistance in the Horn of Africa,” Defence Studies, 18, no. 4 (2018): 500–501. 46. United Nations Assistance Mission in Somalia (UNSOM) and the World Bank, The Somalia Security and Justice Sector Public Expenditure Review (Washington, DC: World Bank, 2017), 28. 47.  Shmuel Yosef Agnon, “U.S. Massive Military Buildup in Somalia an Indicator of Growing Terrorist Threat in the Country,” Strategic Intelligence, March 12, 2019, https://intelligencebriefs.com/u-s-massive-military-buildup-in-somalia-an-indicator -of-growing-terrorist-threat-in-the-country/. 48.  Alice Hills, “Policing Mogadishu,” Whitehall Papers 91, no. 1 (2017): 25. 49.  UNSOM and World Bank, Somalia Security and Justice Sector, 41. 50.  Ingiriis, “Predatory Politics and Personalization of Power,” 11–12; and Hills, “Policing Mogadishu,” 26. 51.  Linnéa Gelot and Stig Jarle Hansen, “They Are from Within Us: CVE Brokerage in South-Central Somalia,” Conflict, Security & Development 19, no. 6 (2019): 563–582; and Sinkó and Besenyő, “Comparison of the Secret Service of al-Shabaab.” 52.  Ingiriis, “Predatory Politics and Personalization of Power,” 7–8. 53.  Reno, “Politics of Security Assistance in the Horn of Africa,” 510. 54.  Ingiriis, “Predatory Politics and Personalization of Power,” 17–22. 55.  UNSOM and World Bank, Somalia Security and Justice Sector, 34; and Hills, “Policing Mogadishu,” 29–31. 56.  Colin D. Robinson, “The Somali National Army: An Assessment,” Defense & Security Analysis 35, no. 2 (2019): 211–221; and UNSOM and World Bank, Somalia Security and Justice Sector, 31, 41. 57.  Keating and Waldman, Ending Impunity, 173. 58. Shay, Somalia in Transition since 2006, 188–197. 59.  Pedro Barge Cunha, “Somalia as a Market for Private Military and Security Companies: Definitions, Agents and Services,” in State and Societal Challenges in the Horn of Africa: Conflict and Processes of State Formation, Reconfiguration and Disintegration, ed. Alexandra Magnólia Dias (Lisbon: Center of African Studies, 2013), 78–89. 60.  Keating and Abshir, 3–4.

46 South Africa Civilian Intelligence Services Caught between the Party and the State Sandy Africa and Dimpho Deleglise

The post-apartheid civilian intelligence services are a result of an integration

process that brought together two nonstate intelligence structures—the African National Congress’s Department of Intelligence and Security (DIS) and the Pan Africanist Congress’s Pan Africanist Security Service (PASS)—with four state intelligence structures of the apartheid era. The apartheid structures were the National Intelligence Service (NIS) of the central government and the intelligence structures of the ethnically based “homelands” that apartheid South Africa had established as part of its divide-and-rule policies: the Transkei Intelligence Service (TIS), the Bophuthatswana Intelligence and Security Service (BIIS), and the Venda National Intelligence Service (VNIS). The integration was part of a political agreement that had its roots in formal negotiations between the apartheid government and its opponents. This followed the release of Nelson Mandela and other political prisoners, the lifting of restrictions on the previously banned movements and organizations, and an agreement on a cessation of hostilities. Bringing together intelligence structures and operatives from diverse political and intelligence cultures was bound to be a challenging task. Yet high levels of political will and effective leadership resulted in the personnel of these organizations accepting that they could work together under a new political order.1 This chapter examines South Africa’s intelligence culture through an analysis of the politicization of the intelligence services. In particular, it reviews how despite state laws, party and state interests have eroded oversight and accountability, leaving an intelligence culture mired in crisis due to politicization. The chapter is organized in four parts. It begins with an overview of the legal mechanisms that established the post-apartheid intelligence services. Next, the chapter examines specific factors and events involving the 615

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politicization of intelligence. It then focuses on oversight and accountability, looking at the specific bodies involved in intelligence oversight and discussing the limitations on the ability or will to exercise it. In doing so, it highlights the tensions between the executive, parliament, and courts regarding oversight of the intelligence services. The chapter concludes by summarizing key aspects of South Africa’s intelligence culture and its intrinsic link to the broader political culture under the dominance of the ruling African National Congress (ANC). BACKGROUND The South African civilian intelligence services were formally established on January 1, 1995, by the Intelligence Services Act (Act No. 38 of 1994), which integrated the members and assets of six former disparate entities into two services: a domestic service, to be called the National Intelligence Agency (NIA), and a foreign service, to be called the South African Secret Service (SASS).2 A subsequent significant law passed was the National Strategic Intelligence Act (Act No. 39 of 1994), which outlined the legal mandates of the two civilian intelligence services as well as the strategic intelligence–gathering mandates of the South African Police Service (SAPS) and the South African National Defence Force (SANDF). It further established how the intelligence they collected would be integrated and disseminated as intelligence products by the National Intelligence Coordinating Committee (NICOC), headed by a coordinator for intelligence. A third law passed was the Intelligence Services Oversight Act No. 40 of 1994 (the Act was renamed several times; this is the last iteration). It provided for a multiparty parliamentary oversight committee with the authority to receive reports, make recommendations, order investigations, and conduct hearings on intelligence and national security matters. The act also provided that an inspector general be established to receive and investigate complaints about the conduct of the intelligence community from members of the public as well as the intelligence services. The amalgamation brought a much-needed legitimacy to the state’s civilian intelligence services. They no longer served the old apartheid masters, but functioned under a new democratic constitution. Leadership positions were apportioned, with the first rounds of senior appointments allocated to send a strong signal of racial inclusion and a subordination of past political affiliation to intelligence professionalism and integrity. The goal was to allay fears and tensions among the intelligence officers, which proved effective in the early days. While the civilian intelligence services began in 1995 with a modest architecture of two agencies (NIA and SASS), changes aimed at enhancing the re-



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sponsiveness of the state to various challenges were introduced in 2002.3 The Ministry of Intelligence spearheaded some of these changes and worked with other ministries to usher in others. Notably, the Communications Security (Pty) Ltd. Act of 2002 led to the establishment of COMSEC, a state-owned company charged with the procurement and setting of security standards for communications-related equipment in government. The Regulation of Interception of Communications and Provision of Communications Related Information Act of 2002, (RICA, for short) established the Office for Interception Centres (OIC). The OIC was meant to be the only state entity authorized to engage in legal interception of domestic communications, and any such interceptions could only take place if a judicial warrant was obtained. Another structure that was mooted was the National Communications Centre (NCC), to shore up the state’s signals intelligence (SIGINT) collection capabilities. However, this hit a stumbling block because of public sentiment that the NCC’s satellite surveillance capabilities would enable the invasion of privacy of citizens without proper oversight and control. Scholar Jane Duncan noted that while it was to South Africa’s credit that the RICA law prohibited arbitrary interception of communications, the intrusion of communications was found to happen unlawfully and even fraudulently in a number of cases. Additionally, there was a worrying degree of unchecked bulk interception by the SSA through the NCC, more so when the agency had become embroiled in the political rivalries of the ruling party.4 The introduction of democratic-era intelligence dispensation laws has been aimed at establishing well-regulated and accountable institutions, in keeping with the requirements of the democratic, constitutional order.5 However, there has been a reversal of impartiality and professionalism from the earlier years of amalgamating intelligence services from 1994 and the expansion and modernization it sought to bring about. Influenced by liberation ideology and postcolonial governance, the ruling ANC has dominated its construction and evolution, and over time the culture of inclusivity and transparency evident in earlier years has gradually been abandoned. This has imbued the country’s intelligence institutions with an operational culture that promotes party and partisan interest, traits incompatible with the democratic control over the security sector required for the healthy functioning of intelligence structures in a democratic system. Scholar Laurie Nathan views these problems as conventional teething problems of countries emerging from authoritarian rule.6 He argues that often there is an institutional culture steeped in the repression of dissent, the historical politicization of the intelligence agencies, and a pervasive belief that democratic controls will reduce the services’ effectiveness.7 South Africa’s postapartheid governing leadership has exhibited these traits. While the ruling

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ANC was founded on the premises and principles of democracy, there has been little debate on the character of democracy in the public sphere. What has since dominated is what Michael Neocosmos refers to as a Stalinist model of politics reconciled with a parliamentary mode of politics.8 This, in South Africa, has provided a unique consensual mode of state rule, whose dominant characteristic is fundamentally authoritarian rather than democratic.9 These contradictions, he argues, stem from the ideological and organizational strands of the ANC as a former liberation party. The rise and endurance of patron/client relationships that have increasingly shaped the ANC’s organizational character, the hierarchical command-style cultures within the party, and the leadership behavior characterized by neopatrimonial predispositions have been disastrous for the intelligence services. These tendencies gained momentum with Jacob Zuma’s accession to the presidency in 2009.10 Neo-patrimonial indicators have included the acquisition of business interests by leading politicians and their families, competition for posts in government and within the party organization, and the capture of municipalities by ANC networks to wield influence within party structures.11 This chapter argues that there is considerable evidence that the legacy of these trends also shaped the country’s intelligence system. THE POLITICIZATION OF INTELLIGENCE South Africa’s intelligence services have been littered with episodes of politicization. The chapter defines politicization as political interference and the influence of politics in the work of intelligence agencies. The consensus of extensive literature on intelligence in a democracy is that intelligence should fundamentally be unbiased and objective and be used in executing public policy.12 That is, it should not serve vested interests and must be distinguished from propaganda, political campaigning and manipulation, deceit, and disinformation. Of course, an intelligence service should dutifully serve the legitimate policies and plans of an elected government. In doing so, it should place national interests above the interests of a political party. This also applies to the factions of such parties or the political interests and aspirations of individual politicians, even when these politicians occupy positions of formal authority.13 The South Africa Constitution also reflects acute awareness of the dangers of a politicized intelligence service, in section 199(7), which reads: “Neither the security services nor any of their members may, in the performance of their functions, a) prejudice a political party interest that is legitimate in terms of the Constitution; or b) further, in a partisan manner, any interest of a political party.”14



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The quasi-Westminster system of government reflected in South Africa’s constitution inadvertently contributes to a political culture of subservience to the executive. Parliament appoints the president, who in turn appoints members of the executive. Ordinary members of Parliament see members of the cabinet who belong to the same party as themselves as their seniors and tend to side with them when under attack from opposition parties. They do not question them too rigorously when there are lapses of governance in their departments. Further influencing intelligence culture has been the belief held by the ruling party that the democracy it has sought to construct is under threat. The expansion and modernization of the intelligence capabilities in 2002 went hand in hand with an expansion of the intelligence collection mandates, to political intelligence and economic intelligence. It was not long after these changes that the intelligence services started focusing their attention on political activists, labor movements, and community organizations. The convergence of these factors resulted in the politicization of the civilian intelligence services. First, the intelligence services in South Africa have been instrumentalized as the executive branch’s internal tool to consolidate and converge party and state power. This also came to light against the backdrop of the presidential succession race in the governing ANC during 2007. Three primary forms of politicization have dogged South African intelligence service in the recent past. The first relates to appointments of senior managers of intelligence. In the earlier days of the dispensation, care had been taken to ensure a degree of balance. For example, the first appointment as director general of the NIA went to an experienced and senior ANC intelligence leader, Dr. Sizakele Sigxashe, and the position of director general of SASS went to Mike Louw, who had been head of the NIS. Yet practically all subsequent senior positions went to people aligned with the ANC, and worse, over time, ANC loyalists aligned to certain factions came to be placed in key positions within the intelligence services. This created factionalism within the intelligence services and also led to the establishment of parallel intelligence structures.15 The second aspect relates to political interference by the ruling party in the functioning of the intelligence services. The intelligence community has been embroiled in the politics and factionalism of the ANC. This has been more pronounced since 2009, when a period of ostensible reform within South Africa’s intelligence services began. The State Security Agency (SSA) was formed in 2009 and saw the amalgamation of the country’s intelligence services, including the National Intelligence Agency, South African Secret Service, South African National Academy, and National Communications Centre. However, the SSA was created through a presidential proclamation, not through a parliamentary-led legislative process. There was no internal

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debate about the positive or negative effects of such a drastic decision, even at the most senior levels within the structures. President Zuma argued that the intention behind creating a new agency was to reduce duplication and streamline the functioning of intelligence. However, expert consensus in South Africa was that Zuma restructured the intelligence services after the ANC Polokwane elective conference to shore up support for his faction within the ANC and assert control over the state. A new top management team was brought in.16 Senior intelligence leaders were systematically replaced, with many being given foreign postings, far away from headquarters where they might influence debates about what was unfolding. A third aspect stems from the proximity between politicians and some members of the intelligence services. The susceptibility of the intelligence services to political manipulation was certainly reinforced by an “affinity between ANC politicians and intelligence officers who were comrades during the liberation struggle.”17 These relationships were endemic to the intelligence services following the end of apartheid. In one sense, this was unavoidable: some ANC cadres went on to careers in politics while others were absorbed into the state bureaucracy, but the close personal ties persisted. This proximity has made the politicization of the intelligence services even more probable over the years. As far back as 2006, former intelligence minister Ronnie Kasrils had established an inquiry, known as the Matthews Commission, that examined the conduct of the intelligence services after reports revealed that the NIA was illegally spying on senior ANC members and other politicians.18 The commission’s mandate was to review the operations of all intelligence entities (except crime and defense intelligence) with the objective “to strengthen mechanisms of control of the civilian intelligence structures to ensure full compliance and alignment with the Constitution, constitutional principles and the rule of law, and particularly to minimize the potential for illegal conduct and abuse of power.”19 The commission revealed many deviations from the constitution and instances that showed the civilian services, particularly the NIA, exhibited political partisanship and insubordination to civilian authority in its operations. The matter was referred to the independent office of the inspector general of intelligence, who found that NIA officials had acted illegally. The Parliamentary Joint Standing Committee on Intelligence (JSCI) undertook its own inquiry behind closed doors and issued a report criticizing the inspector general’s investigative procedures. The ANC also appeared to lend support to this criticism. The tension over the Matthews Commission’s findings revealed a fractious relationship between intelligence structures and oversight institutions.20 It also suggested that the politicization of intelligence flows



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from a broad spectrum, touching on the arrangement of checks and balances across the board. South Africa’s intelligence services’ culture has mirrored the threat perception of the ruling regime. This has bred a culture in which laws, directives, and procedures regulating intelligence operations are disregarded by some intelligence officials if they are seen as threatening the power of the ruling party. Consequently, elements of oversight and accountability are systematically undermined, including the flouting of financial controls and the abuse of funds. A notable case demonstrating this was the investigations into former senior agents in the SSA and senior ANC members aligned to former president Jacob Zuma for igniting the violent unrests in KwaZulu-Natal and Gauteng in June 2021. The riots were triggered by former President Zuma’s imprisonment for contempt of court after failing to appear before the Commission of Inquiry in a judicial inquiry looking into “State Capture.”21 An ANC faction known as the Radical Economic Transformation (RET) forces, which includes disgruntled ANC military veterans and rogue elements from the state intelligence services, allegedly orchestrated the riots.22 President Cyril Ramaphosa described the events as an insurrection targeting the country’s economy and infrastructure. The effectiveness of South African intelligence services has since been questioned, as this catastrophic saga exposed weaknesses in their ability to detect and counter security threats. The situation also raised concerns about the extent to which the intelligence services were fragmented along ANC factional lines. Politicization has manifested at decentralized levels, too, with provincial structures being drawn into the factionalization of intelligence and the competition for influence. For example, findings from the 2019 High Level Review Panel Report on the State Security Agency underline a culture of mistrust between intelligence-coordinating structures across South Africa’s provinces. Cited across provinces was a strong sense of distrust from provincial governments or attempts by the government or the governing party to involve them in political issues, the tendency to fill vacant posts with acting appointments, and lack of response and feedback from the head office to intelligence or other substructures.23 Institutional dissonance and lack of coordination have further encouraged the politicization of the working process if the protection and expansion of parochial interests are enhanced by supplying the executive leader with the “right” intelligence. This is compounded by excessive secrecy in handling information and has exaggerated compartmentalization within and among intelligence departments. A fourth aspect of politicization includes the creation of secret agencies that bypass democratic control and oversight. The justifiable need for secrecy in intelligence has created opportunities for South African officials to create

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covert structures that operate outside the system of controls. These effectively are tools of covert power in the pursuit of domestic political agendas. The Special Operations (SO) unit in the SSA is a notable example.24 It was initially set up in the NIA around 1997, subsequently shut down, revived in 2002/2003, and carried over into the SSA. Members of this unit are alleged to have been involved in inciting violent unrest in KwaZulu-Natal in June 2021.25 During testimonies at the Zondo Commission, several witnesses, including the acting director general, described the SO unit as a law unto itself. It also undertook intelligence operations that were clearly unconstitutional and illegal. Some of its infamous projects include providing VIP protection to ANC government officials although this falls under the responsibility of the SAPS, infiltrating and influencing the media to counter negative publicity concerning the president and the SSA, and facilitating bribes.26 The High Level Panel Review into the SSA concluded that it had “become a parallel intelligence structure serving a faction of the ruling party and, in particular,” Zuma’s political interests.27 OVERSIGHT AND REFORM Intelligence activities in South Africa have increasingly been subject to legislative frameworks to define their mandate, coordination and control mechanisms, and measures for oversight and accountability in alignment with the Constitution. The framework is, however, complex, which stems from its original design as a system of mutually supporting and interdependent institutions. For instance, oversight functions can be conducted by the executive, the judiciary, the legislature, and administrative bodies independent of the executive. As a result, these responsibilities are distributed between the minister of state security, the JSCI, the inspector general for intelligence (IGI), and Chapter Nine institutions such as the South African Human Rights Commission (SAHRC), the public protector, the AGSA, and the judiciary. The “White Paper on Intelligence,” which had been adopted by Parliament in 1994 and served as the policy basis for the first post-apartheid intelligence laws, outlines several control measures to regulate the activities of the civilian intelligence community. They include allegiance to the Constitution, subordination to the rule of law, the absence of law enforcement powers, a clearly defined legal mandate, ministerial accountability, a mechanism for parliamentary oversight, budgetary control and external auditing, and an independent IGI for each for the two civilian intelligence services.28 One of the most important oversight instruments has been the JSCI, created through the 1994 Intelligence Services Control Act.29 It comprises fifteen



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members of Parliament (MPs) drawn from the major political parties represented in Parliament. The JSCI has extensive powers. It can investigate intelligence and counterintelligence matters, refer matters for investigation to the Human Rights Commission, consider any other case referred to it by cabinet ministers and Parliament, and review and make recommendations regarding interdepartmental cooperation and demarcation relating to intelligence and counterintelligence involving the security structures. Yet many egregious errors of misgovernance of the intelligence services have occurred with the JSCI in place. The events that led to the Matthews Ministerial Inquiry and the matters that have come to light through the Zondo Commission of Inquiry into State Capture are suggestive of an ineffective parliamentary system. The office of the IGI has also not been spared from politics in executing its oversight mandate. The 2008 Matthews Commission report and the High Level Review Panel report on the review of the SSA demonstrate how the IGI has been undermined in investigating complaints of misconduct, illegality, or abuse of power by intelligence organizations. These reports flag weak political commitments on the part of previous ministers and the JSCI to implement regulations governing the IGI and the corrective actions proposed in several IGI reports detailing abuses within intelligence agencies.30 Despite weaknesses in legalized and institutionalized oversight, a wide range of civil society organizations, the media, and the public at large have actively exercised some level of public oversight over intelligence services. They have done so through policy consultations (although these have declined over the years); freedom of information requests; and spirited campaigns against corruption, abuse of power, and other forms of inappropriate behavior. Yet these have often been curtailed by regulations about the secrecy of intelligence. A balance is needed in South Africa between secrecy and transparency in the intelligence services to enable scrutiny, oversight, and trust of the intelligence services. The government of the day has the prerogative and duty to drive such an initiative. CONCLUSION The post-apartheid South African intelligence services began in 1995 with a promise of greater transparency, accountability, and controls. Since then there has been a systematic degrading of the checks and balances needed to keep intelligence accountable and aligned to the democratic values espoused in the Constitution, negatively affecting the intelligence culture. The main challenge posed to the democratic control of intelligence in South Africa comes from the negative role that the ruling party has played by utilizing

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intelligence to serve the interests of powerful factions within the ANC. The symbiosis of party and state interests in South Africa has further created fertile ground for factionalism within the intelligence structures. The executive’s excessive role gradually eroded intelligence oversight and accountability, providing fertile ground for abuse. Moreover, the reforms in the intelligence sector cannot wholly overcome the fundamental problems of politicization and insulate the intelligence policymaking process from political influences. The effectiveness of these mechanisms depends broadly on the political culture and character of the leaders who preside over them. NOTES   1.  Sandy Africa, “The South African Intelligence Services: A Historical Perspective,” in Changing Intelligence Dynamics in Africa, ed. Sandy Africa and Johnny Kwadjo (Birmingham, UK: GFN-SSR and ASSN, 2009).  2. For a discussion on the legislation, see Kevin A. O’Brien, “Knowledge Is Power, but Power Corrupts: Reassessing the Role of Intelligence in South Africa’s Wars, Politics, and Society, 1965–2020,” in African Intelligence Services: Early Post-Colonial and Contemporary Challenges, ed. Ryan Shaffer (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2021), 209–234.   3.  For a history of the intelligence services, see Kevin A. O’Brien, The South African Intelligence Services: From Apartheid to Democracy, 1948–2005 (New York: Routledge, 2012).  4. Jane Duncan, Stopping the Spies: Constructing and Resisting the Surveillance State in South Africa (Johannesburg: Wits University Press, 2018).   5.  Imtiaz Fazel, “Who Shall Guard the Guards? Civilian Operational Oversight and the Inspector-General of Intelligence,” in To Spy or Not to Spy?: Intelligence and Democracy in South Africa, ed. Lauren Hutton (Pretoria: Institute for Security Studies, 2009).   6.  Laurie Nathan, “Intelligence Bound: The South African Constitution and Intelligence Services,” International Affairs 86, no. 1 (January 2010): 195–210.  7. Ibid., 196.  8. Michael Neocosmos, “Democracy, Rights Discourse, National Healing and State Formation: Theoretical Reflections on the Liberation Transition in Southern Africa,” in Political Cultures in Democratic South Africa, ed. Michael Neocosmos, Raymond Suttner, and Ian Taylor (Nordic Africa Institute, 2002), 6–16.  9. Ibid., 13. 10.  Tom Lodge, “Neo-Patrimonial Politics in the ANC,” African Affairs 113, no. 450 (January 2014): 1–23. 11.  These are captured in a wide array of studies. The list includes Tom Lodge, “The Zuma Tsunami: South Africa’s Succession Politics,” Representation 45, no. 2 (June 2009): 125–141; Susan Booysen, Dominance and Decline: The ANC in the Time of Zuma (Johannesburg: Wits University Press, 2015); Joleen Steyn Kotze, “Bit-



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ter Battles for Survival: Assessing the Impact of the Political Factionalism in Nelson Mandela Bay Municipality’s Post-Polokwane Landscape,” Ministratio Publica 22 (2014); and Gary Pienaar, Public Procurement and Experiments in Transparency: How Not to Profit from the Poor (HSRC, Democracy, Governance and Service Delivery Programme, February 2017). 12.  See Paul R. Pillar, “The Perils of Politicization,” in The Oxford Handbook of National Security Intelligence, ed. Loch K. Johnson (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 472–484; and Hans Born and Ian Leigh, Democratic Accountability of Intelligence Services (Policy Paper No. 19, Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control of Armed Forces, 2007). 13. As above and also detailed in the High Level Review Panel Report on the State Security Agency, December 2018, 68, https://www.gov.za/sites/default/files /gcis_document/201903/high-level-review-panel-state-security-agency.pdf. 14.  Section 199 (7) of the South African Constitution, 1996. 15.  As discussed in Greg Hannah, Kevin A. O’Brien, and Andrew Rathmell, Intelligence and Security Legislation for Security Sector Reform (RAND Europe, 2005), 24. 16.  Barely two years into their appointment, there was a fallout between the minister and the three most senior appointees: Jeff Maqetuka (director general of the SSA), Moe Shaik (head of the Foreign Branch), and Gibson Njenje (head of the Domestic Branch). They raised the alarm about the influence of the politically connected Gupta family in executive decision-making but were told to back down. All three left in protest. 17.  See Laurie Nathan, “Who’s Keeping an Eye on South Africa’s Spies? Nobody and That’s the Problem,” Conversation, September 25, 2017, https://theconversa tion.com/whos-keeping-an-eye-on-south-africas-spies-nobody-and-thats-the-prob lem-84239; and Hussein Solomon, “The Demise of South Africa’s Intelligence Community and the Erosion of the Liberal Democratic State,” Africa Review 4, no. 2 (2012): 157–172. 18.  Nathan, “Who’s Keeping an Eye on South Africa’s Spies?” 19.  “Memorandum on the Protection of Information Bill,” Ministerial Review Commission on Intelligence, April 25, 2008, https://pmg.org.za/files/docs/100727memo .doc. 20.  Nathan, “Who’s Keeping an Eye on South Africa’s Spies?” 21.  This is a commission headed by Judge Raymond Zondo, who at the time was also the deputy chief justice of the Constitutional Court. Zuma had refused to cooperate with the commission after his failed bid to get Judge Zondo to recuse himself as a condition for his giving evidence. 22.  Benjamin Fogel, “The Insurrection in South Africa Is about More Than Freeing Zuma,” Al Jazeera, July 20, 2021, https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2021/7/20 /the-insurrection-in-south-africa-is-about-more-than-freeing-zuma. 23.  High Level Review Panel Report on the State Security Agency, March 2019, 42. 24.  Ibid., 65.

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25.  Jason Felix, Jeff Wicks, and Qaanitah Hunter, “Zuma’s ‘Private Spy’: Thulani Dlomo a Prime Suspect for Instigating Unrest Accreditation,” News24, July 14, 2021, https://www.news24.com/news24/southafrica/news/exclusive-zumas-private -spy-thulani-dlomo-a-prime-suspect-for-instigating-unrest-20210714. 26.  High Level Review Panel Report on the State Security Agency, 66–67. 27. Ibid. 28.  “White Paper on Intelligence,” The Republic of South Africa, 1994, https:// www.gov.za/documents/intelligence-white-paper. 29.  Ibid., 2–3. 30. See Final Report to the Minister of Intelligence Services, Honourable Mr Ronnie Kastrils, Ministerial Review on Intelligence (October 2008, 116–123) and The High Level Review Panel Report on the State Security Agency, 94.

47 South Sudan From Liberation to Predatory Kleptocratic Intelligence Culture Adam Charboneau

In gaining independence on July 9, 2011, the Republic of South Sudan, in the eyes of cynics, became “the world’s first pre-failed state.”1 As it descended into its own civil war in late 2013, these pessimistic expectations manifested themselves in what the former head of the United Nations Mission in South Sudan (UNMISS), Hilde Johnson, called “a country without a state.”2 With some sixty-four ethnic communities—many bitterly divided and heavily armed—and more than eighty spoken languages, South Sudan has stretched the most expansive notions of “nation.” Heated ethnic rivalries have been brought to a boil by South Sudan’s political and military leadership, fomenting war, massive displacement, and the death of more than 400,000 South Sudanese. This chapter examines the role of South Sudan’s intelligence and security services in the maintenance of what has become a predatory kleptocracy: a violent political marketplace fueled by the precarious renting of vital resources. These developments stem from the demanded loyalty and deep-rooted suspicions that grew during the fifty-plus-year struggle against Sudan for statehood. From Cold War geopolitics to regional proxy wars, the Sudan People’s Liberation Movement/Army (SPLM/A) found itself contorting its image and maneuverings in a belligerent free for all in which few could be trusted. In this nebulous environment, splintering within the SPLM/A—encouraged and funded by a duplicitous government in Khartoum—surfaced along ideological and ethnic lines. Added to these tensions upon independence was the country’s severe lack of public infrastructure and its petroleum-dependent economy. This finite resource, among others, created lines of patronage for those loyal to regime leadership—a leadership that, casting itself as liberator, proclaimed sole legitimacy to power. These bonds, however, have stretched 627

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to the point of breaking. Cut from meaningful, if corrupt, streams of revenue, slighted groups, fending for their own, have formed a volatile alphabet soup of militarized militias. Mistrust, sewn into the constitutional fabric of the fledgling nation, reverberates in the lack of civilian oversight in national security and intelligence operations. South Sudan’s National Security Service (NSS), concentrated under the executive, has, along with armed nonstate actors, engaged in human rights abuses in securing and maintaining power. Though the civil war—a fratricidal conflict whose principal combatants once called each other comrades—was brought to an uneasy peace in early 2020, long-standing trends of corruption and repression remain institutionalized. Organized into five sections and drawing from government reports, international organization publications, press reports, human rights groups, and secondary literature, this chapter argues that South Sudan’s intelligence culture consists of factionalism and mistrust, corruption, and a lack of independent civilian oversight. The first part examines the NSS’s structure since independence with attention to the role of politics and the expanded powers of the intelligence service. Next, the role of factionalism in the intelligence culture is explored by highlighting the context and history of South Sudan’s fragmented populace. This is followed by an analysis of how the Sudanese civil wars deepened the country’s long history of violent tribalism, which has shaped the security sector, including intelligence. The chapter then provides an overview of the social and environmental costs of security and corruption problems. The conclusion summarizes the research’s findings, arguing that South Sudan’s continued unprofessional intelligence culture portends a dim future. THE NSS’S ORGANIZATIONAL STRUCTURE SINCE INDEPENDENCE The 2005 Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA) ended Sudan’s second, and deadlier, civil war (1983–2005). The CPA also provided a framework for southern independence. After a six-year interim period during which all parties—from armed belligerents to international monitors and donors—were expected to “make unity attractive,” a referendum was to be held on the issue of southern self-determination. Though the SPLM/A, for both ideological and pragmatic reasons, waged revolution in the name of an inclusive, united “New Sudan,” in January 2011, with over 98 percent of the vote, southerners chose independence. At the helm of the world’s newest sovereign state was President Silva Kiir, a perennial, though divisive, figure within the SPLM/A. SPLM relations frayed over questions of unity or secession, and powerful personalities operated on a sliding scale between democratic and authoritarian impulses.3 Few were static; most bent to accommodate mercurial devel-



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opments. In this fractured, militarized, political environment, the president’s authority over the newly established regime was uncertain. Not only did threats loom within the SPLM and its military wing, the SPLA, they also abounded in the external menace of Khartoum and the incessant, internecine hodgepodge of violence that was the southern militias. Seeking to contain these combustible variables, undemocratic elements—particularly the augmented powers of the executive—were woven into South Sudan’s transitional constitution. Alarmingly, the new constitution allowed the president to prorogue the legislature.4 It also granted the executive the right to appoint and remove legislative members and chairpersons of independent commissions without the National Legislative Assembly’s consent. This was initially justified “on the basis that the nascent state required robust central authority to overcome insecurity and dysfunctional local governance.”5 These powers too were used to create and mold a militarized intelligence apparatus, the NSS, beholden to the executive. With legislators operating in the shadow of a presidency with vast powers to curtail their oversight functions, the NSS maneuvered without effective civilian supervision.6 These “transitional” features—built from mistrust and providing extensive presidential authority—have become fixed over time. At its inception, the NSS’s route toward arbitrary autonomy was not assured. There were officials who wanted a professionalized intelligence service hedged by civilian oversight and restricted to information collection and analysis. Others, perhaps conditioned by the duplicitous regimes that had for so long surrounded them, sought to mimic the militarized apparatus of the National Intelligence and Security Service (NISS) of Sudan. Whether or not the former voices were predicated on the simple need for continued international donorship, the latter prevailed.7 Civilian oversight was further hampered by the NSS’s opaque institutional architecture as written in the 2012 National Security Service and Intelligence Bill. The director generals (DGs) of the External Security Bureau (ESU)—later changed to General Intelligence Bureau (GIS)—and the Internal Security Bureau (ISB) were placed under the supervision of the minister of national security, a position appointed by the executive. The Ministry of National Security was itself not a “full” independent ministry, being housed within the Office of the President. This blurred lines between professional and political roles. In addition, the Committee for Security and Public Order in the legislature could not review NSS operational matters.8 Frustrations with President Kiir’s autocratic style—among actors from civilians to international donors to rivals within the SPLM—festered in what had become a police state. With tensions mounting, Kiir abruptly sacked his

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entire cabinet in July 2013, stripping Vice President Riek Machar and Pagan Amum, the SPLM’s secretary-general, of their powers. The Guardian suggested that “a prolonged standoff between the president and his opponents” might split the SPLM into two or more rival camps, raising “tensions between the powerful Dinka and Nuer tribal groups.”9 This observation proved to be accurate. In December 2013 the political fallout, which promised to disrupt patronage systems, bled into military units that had been established based on tribal and kinship networks.10 Violence between Dinka and Nuer soldiers erupted in the capital, Juba. Soon civilians were targeted based on assumed tribal heritage and perceived allegiances. Civil war in South Sudan had commenced, with the SPLM/A and Machar’s SPLM/A-In Opposition (SPLM/ A-IO) committing atrocities. In the absence of functional government, “the NSS reconfigured its function and size,” growing into a fully militarized division, ten thousand strong.11 In the chaos, the 2014 National Security Act was passed “despite the absence of [the] constitutionally required quorum of voting members amidst walkouts by several MPs.”12 The 2014 National Security Service Act expanded the powers of the NSS beyond its original mandate to “collect information, conduct analysis, and advise relevant authorities.” With broadened ability to arrest, detain, search, seize, and surveil, the NSS “targeted people believed to be anti-government, including human rights defenders, journalists, opposition party members and suspected rebels, profiling them based on their ethnicity.”13 Human rights abuses have been rampant.14 Extrajudicial killings, rape, disappearances, arbitrary detainment, torture, repression of free expression, censorship of press, unlawful recruitment of child soldiers—these are only a few of the indictments representing an institutionalized culture of violence within the NSS.15 Surveillance has been strengthened through lucrative deals made with international telecommunications operators who have provided the NSS with signals interception equipment. Such actions have created an environment of self-censorship.16 The impunity with which NSS agents have operated was deepened with the 2014 National Security Service Act. Criminal proceedings against NSS members could not be initiated without permission from the minister of national security in cases of officers or from the director general in cases of other ranks.17 Fearful of its own militarized creations, South Sudan’s ruling regime has also embarked on a process of “fragmentation.” Fragmentation entails the implementation of multiple forces with “overlapping and competing responsibilities” to prevent collusion against the executive.18 The NSS; Presidential Guard; auxiliary militias; and military, intelligence, and police services exhibit this trend. This process has also been sewn into the organizational makeup of the NSS. At its inception, President Kiir appointed the NSS’s two



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director generals before naming the minister, with the DGs “clearly running the show, detaining and assassinating dissidents without the knowledge of the Minister.”19 When the minister spoke out against such abuses, as in the case of the killing of the political commentator Isaiah Abraham, “he was portrayed as not sufficiently loyal to the President by the two DGs,” further complicating efforts at professionalization.20 The structure and extralegal workings of South Sudan’s intelligence and security services reflect a culture of factionalism and mistrust. Rather than secure a professionalized security sector with a monopoly over violence, the Kiir regime has prioritized political control.21 Indeed, the political sphere within South Sudan is inextricable from its military origins. Those origins, in turn, are more tightly bound to individuals and tribal units than the nationstate. This has produced a significant “security dilemma” in South Sudan— with the lack of trust, factions overly prepare for perceived future conflict, making violence inflate when hostilities do arise.22 If South Sudan is to overcome its troubles, it will have to become more democratically inclusive. This will prove difficult, as the country’s wounds of violent tribalism run deep. A HISTORY OF FACTIONALISM IN SOUTHERN SUDAN South Sudan’s civil war devolved into tribal-based violence so quickly because government and military personnel were one and the same. Access to the upper echelons was predicated upon personal loyalties established through kinship networks and lines of patrimony. The CPA’s undemocratic biliteral process of negotiation did not help matters, as it strengthened the SPLM’s political domination in the south at the expense of other voices.23 With the SPLM firmly in control of southern Sudan’s political space, SPLA commanders, who often had forty or more children, placed offspring in the new institutions of power.24 Disputes in the upper ranks were more likely to blow the brittle, though highly militarized, government apart. Added to this was Kiir’s Juba Declaration (2006), under which internal enemies— particularly members of the largely Nuer-based, and Machar-led, South Sudan Defense Force (SSDF)—were bought off and brought into the security sector, partly to keep them from turning to Khartoum. Yet this “Big Tent” strategy created conditions in which it paid to rebel.25 During the CPA interim period, the SPLA grew from a force of 40,000 to one with a payroll of nearly 240,000 soldiers. While an estimated 40,000 of these were “ghosts,” used to line the pockets of administrators and officers, this was nonetheless a dramatic increase in the security sector. An additional 90,000 police, prison, and wildlife officers served as a paramilitary reserve.

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The SPLM-dominated Southern Sudan Legislative Assembly voted to double the pay of private soldiers, with further increases promised as the referendum approached.26 Staggeringly, at independence the SPLA had over seven hundred generals—more than the United States. South Sudan had the highest general-to-soldier rate of any country in the world.27 Yet bloated budgets and purchased loyalty were only sustained through extensive extraction of finite resources, from oil to gold to timber to cattle. And oil, the most lucrative resource, was estimated to be nearing its production peak, with declining revenues on the horizon.28 Even the capture of desperate food supplies from international humanitarian organizations—a practice that emerged during the long days of the Sudanese civil wars—was used to manipulate allegiances. While those on the wrong side of the patronage system were pressed to the absolute margins, favored individuals found themselves with immense wealth, and displays of conspicuous consumption were expected to maintain the respect of subordinates, who also hoped to feast.29 Overseeing this broken system was the SPLM Secretariat of Finance. Managing around US$100,000 annually prior to implementation of the CPA, this office, now awash with petrodollars, was responsible for $1.5 billion annually, with that figure doubling after independence.30 Graft was not only rife, it also was woefully undocumented. In a country with little modern bureaucratic infrastructure and low literacy rates, records could not be kept accurately.31 These conditions, of course, eased access to corruption, but in making it less transparent, there was greater probability that the wells would be tapped to exhaustion. After Kiir’s abrupt shutdown of oil production in 2012 due to squabbles with Khartoum over Sudan’s pipeline fees, plummeting revenues severely threatened this powder keg of mismanagement.32 Perhaps the only “uniting” factors for southerners were, and continue to be, a general dislike of the government in Khartoum and a suspicion of outside interference. Beyond mistrust of external forces, there has been little to unite the southern clan-based pastoralist and semi-pastoralist communities—groups whose interactions have been defined by armed cattle raiding. The region’s tribalism is also born of geography. The White Nile’s floodplains create one of the world’s largest wetlands in the Sudd, which courses down the heart of southern Sudan. The region has been further isolated by mountains and foothills to the north and east, arid desert to the northwest, and vast forests to the west and southwest.33 As a result, the southern Sudanese, unlike most African peoples, have had little experience with large kingdoms or the infrastructures of colonial statehood.34 These factors cemented local allegiances—a problem that plagued resistance efforts during the Sudanese civil wars and continues to hinder nation building and security sector professionalization in contemporary South Sudan.



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SOUTHERN SUDAN DURING THE TWO CIVIL WARS The dysfunction within South Sudan’s intelligence and security community has its origins in the decades of civil war southerners waged against the Khartoum-based Sudanese government. These years—roughly 1955–2005, marked by periods of spasmodic brutality and quiet—were not principally defined by violence between southern and northern forces. The most ferocious fighting often took place among southerners, as various tribal and subtribal groups bitterly competed for resources and power in the vacuum of state authority. Northern leadership manipulated this divisiveness to its advantage, further stitching mistrust throughout the south. The hegemonic forces of the Cold War added to this volatile mix, as global superpowers, hoping to advance their own agendas, actively aided regimes and insurgencies that proved most useful. This environment rewarded mendaciousness; armed actors learned to frame themselves in ways that gained them the most arms and thus predatory control over vital materials and populations. Many of South Sudan’s senior political and military personnel weathered these storms, but the air of suspicion they stoked calcified in the country’s authoritarian governance. Formed during the early 1960s, the Anya-Nya group was the main thrust of resistance during the first Sudanese civil war (1955–1972). Fighting in the bush and woefully cash poor, they needed outside support—pegged to precarious regional developments—for success. Operating under Cold War realities, in which strategic pragmatism outweighed the ideological underpinnings of principal belligerents, the Anya-Nya leadership understood that support—from wherever it might flow—was temporary and subject to abrupt change. War in the Congo, between pro-Western and communist forces, provided one fleeting opportunity for the Anya-Nya to obtain arms. During the mid-1960s, the US Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) helped the Anya-Nya locate Soviet and Chinese military supply drop-offs earmarked for communist Simba rebels. But when Khartoum geopolitically positioned itself westward, the CIA abandoned the Anya-Nya, and the guns dried up.35 After the Six Days’ War (1967), Israeli Mossad commandos began training Anya-Nya guerrillas in Uganda to fight the pro-Egyptian government in Khartoum. This support ended when a coup resulted in friendly relations between Uganda and the anti-Western regime in Libya—the Anya-Nya would have to lick their wounds and find support elsewhere. Ethiopia too played the game of “enemies of enemies are friends,” which for some time worked well for the Anya-Nya. Looking to get even with Khartoum for its support of Eritrean rebels, Addis Ababa supplied the southern resistance during the late 1960s and early 1970s. Though streams of material support were fickle, shifting with the

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temporary needs of suppliers, they were relatively steady in this geopolitical environment. But no supporters of the Anya-Nya wished for their secessionist goals of independence to triumph; regional African regimes were themselves beleaguered by internal insurgencies demanding local sovereignty. And meddling superpowers feared a fractured Africa, broken into ever smaller, ethnically based parts, for this would be all the harder to control and manipulate.36 In 1972, with all parties exhausted, the Anya-Nya leadership and Khartoum were uneasily forced to the negotiation table. Though some rebels—notably members of the Anya-Nya II—remained in the bush and at war with Khartoum, most Anya-Nya fighters tenuously sought reconciliation through the 1972 Addis Ababa Agreement, which granted the southern Sudanese a semiautonomous Southern Regional Government (SRG). Importantly, the agreement had no international guarantors or oversight mechanisms to ensure compliance.37 And many southerners still felt aggrieved that a referendum on self-determination had not been granted. Pouring fuel onto the fires of resentment was the Sudanese president, Colonel Jaafar Mohamed Nimeiry (1971–1985), who consistently undermined and abrogated the agreement. Yet Khartoum’s interference in southern affairs is not solely to blame for the agreement’s eventual collapse.38 Southern politicians used the SRG to enrich themselves and dutiful loyalists through networks of patrimony demarcated along tribal lines. As a result, tribal tensions escalated, particularly between Equatorians and Dinka. The former, with legitimate claims to having forged the Anya-Nya, believed themselves rightful heirs to the spoils of the agreement. The latter, though, held disproportionate power—and access to valuable resources—within the SRG. While the fractured SRG buttressed Khartoum’s game of divide and conquer, the core pieces were indigenously southern and well in place.39 In 1983 these combustible elements exploded, culminating in the second Sudanese civil war, which was far messier than the first. While on paper the second civil war pitted the SPLM/A against Khartoum’s SAF, the most intense fighting took place between the SPLM/A and a host of southern militias, each fighting for its own political and economic empowerment. Indeed, the first goal of the SPLM/A leader, John Garang, was to eliminate any southern resistance to the SPLM/A’s claim to sole legitimacy and its call for a national Sudanese revolution. The SPLA’s Combat Intelligence Unit was conceived with this mandate. From 1983 to 1988, leadership of the Anya-Nya II was brutally suppressed.40 Garang, a US-trained developmental economist, also understood the importance of controlling populations through the manipulation of desperately needed resources flowing from regional governments and international donors. By influencing basic resource scarcity, the SPLM/A forced southerners to turn to its patronage.41 For some, this system



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of clientelism offered a chance at greater social status.42 Those opposed to the SPLM/A’s strongarm tactics, regardless of principles or goals, had few options but to appeal to Khartoum for support.43 Khartoum-based regimes seized upon this opportunity; anti-SPLM/A militias were soon roaming the south, armed to the teeth with northern weapons. In 1991 the SPLM/A itself split along ideological and tribal lines, with opposition to Garang led by Riek Machar and Lam Akol. Khartoum soon incorporated this opposition, along with other anti-SPLM/A militias, under the umbrella force of the South Sudan Defense Force (SSDF). Interestingly, though armed by Khartoum, the SSDF positioned itself as fighting for southern independence; reliance on Khartoum was propagated as an unfortunate consequence of needing to first rid the south of its most immediate enemy, the SPLM/A.44 These fractious wounds were never healed. Upon the northsouth cease-fire, they were simply papered over by Kiir’s corrupt outbidding of Khartoum for the fleeting allegiance of internal threats to his power. THE HUMAN AND ENVIRONMENTAL COSTS In early 2005 the CPA was reached between the forces of the SPLM/A and the government of Sudan, ending Sudan’s second civil war. During the CPA’s interim period, international monitors and donors hoped that the newly minted and autonomous southern government would prioritize the professionalization of its security sector. But under the terms of the CPA, all parties were admonished to “make unity attractive”; nongovernmental organizations and governments abroad could not explicitly invest in an infrastructure of southern statehood.45 With the south still technically in Sudan until the referendum, the SPLA’s renamed General Intelligence Service became part of the Sudanese National Intelligence and Security Service. Amid the “trust deficit,” SPLM policy makers developed a “parallel agency called the Special Branch, which was essentially a counter-intelligence body situated in the office of the president of Southern Sudan.”46 After independence, South Sudan’s emergent NSS remained housed under the executive, operating in the same air of mistrust and secrecy. The lack of professionalism and transparency within southern Sudan’s intelligence and security services has remained a defining element of the intelligence culture. After independence, aside from skirmishes in the oil-producing Heglig area near Southern Kordofan, South Sudan’s intelligence and security sector focused its attention on the suppression of internal resistance to the SPLM’s political power. But SPLM domination was not synonymous with cohesion; the SPLM, and its armed wing, the SPLA, were dangerously divided.

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Whatever peace existed in southern Sudan during the interim period was likely to collapse in factional violence following independence; this was a common fear among the CPA’s international monitors. The NSS became a tool for the executive to control these fissures. Yet the heavy-handed approach of Kiir, coupled with the lack of professionalization within the country’s security apparatuses, served to nudge South Sudan to, then over, the precipice of civil war. The social and environmental consequences have been immense. By the end of 2020, South Sudan ranked as the second most corrupt nation in the world according to Transparency International. Additionally, Freedom House described it as one of the least democratic.47 South Sudan also had one of the highest sporadic internal displacement rates, with 1.6 million internally displaced persons (IDPs), which was matched by the country’s number of refugee migrations, which has neared 2.2 million.48 The April 2021 promotion of Akol Koor—who recently headed the NSS’s Internal Security Bureau—to the rank of first lieutenant general by Kiir does not bode well for future global classifications.49 Added to the horrors of a war doused with hints of ethnic cleansing have been drought, persistent food insecurity, disrupted economies, and ecological destruction. These conditions have led to the death of more than 400,000 South Sudanese. Others, particularly women, have been brutalized by rape. Countless have been wounded, maimed, and psychologically scarred. Some 1.3 million children under age five are presently suffering from moderate to severe acute malnutrition. More than two-thirds of South Sudan’s population, about 7.5 million people, need humanitarian assistance.50 Though the United Nations has developed protection of civilian (POC) sites and refugee camps for IDPs, the violence has not halted at the gates. During the civil war, both the SPLM/A and the SPLM-In Opposition were accused not only of attacking such sites but also of infiltrating them and using civilians as human shields.51 Tellingly, prior to the 2020 peace agreement between Kiir and Machar, belligerents slowed their attacks on POC sites due to a growing Chinese presence in the United Nations Mission in South Sudan; China is South Sudan’s largest trading partner, and the Chinese National Petroleum Company is the largest oil producer in the country.52 These problems, compounded by massive ecological destruction, are likely generational in scope. Tracts of land as large as Rwanda have been exchanged to foreigners “under dubious circumstances.”53 Illegal poaching, connected to arms exchanges, continues as local communities fear government and other nonstate forces (disarmament, demobilization, and reintegration, or DDR, efforts have made little headway in this miasma of mistrust). According to the Associated Press, “the oil industry in South Sudan has left a landscape



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pocked with hundreds of open waste pits, the water and soil contaminated with toxic chemicals and heavy metals including mercury, manganese, and arsenic.” While the Ministry of Petroleum allegedly buried such knowledge, the negative effects have reached the public, perhaps most egregiously in the form of birth defects.54 The immense number of IDPs in South Sudan has also worsened the country’s environmental woes. IDPs have led to deforestation as trees are converted to fuel, animal feed, construction materials, and charcoal production.55 Landsat imagery has shown significant loss of forest canopy along the South Sudanese–Ugandan border, where many of the IDP camps are located.56 In a country where abject poverty is common, the continued loss of resources—through corruption, war, and displacement—portends a future of continued fighting over the scraps.57 CONCLUSION South Sudan’s intelligence culture largely mirrors the broader nation’s characteristics of factionalism, acrimony, and corruption. Continued conflict—with Khartoum, among southern tribes, against meddling regional militias—has been added to long-standing divisions in South Sudan. With an economy in tatters and a landscape of gross underdevelopment, many Southern Sudanese have looked to state institutions, particularly the security sector, for some semblance of security and stability. Yet the patronage system—much like earlier experiences with Khartoum—has been exclusionary. Inclusion is gained through favored tribal and familial connections. Most dangerously, it has also been acquired through armed rebellion. Allegiances to powerful individuals run deeper than those forged with the state. This has proven combustible; discord among government officials with military ranking quickly escalates to a fractured security sector and fratricidal conflict. The Kiir regime has sought to stabilize itself through the creation of the NSS, an armed intelligence service that is beholden to the executive and above civilian oversight. Democracy in the Republic of South Sudan will be compromised until the country’s security sector professionalizes and the government submits to the democratic voices of the South Sudanese. NOTES 1.  Peter Martell, First Raise a Flag: How South Sudan Won the Longest War but Lost the Peace (New York: Oxford University Press, 2019), 4. 2.  Hilde F. Johnson, South Sudan: The Untold Story, from Independence to Civil War (New York: I. B. Tauris, 2018) 17, 16–56.

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 3. Matthew LeRiche and Matthew Arnold, South Sudan: From Revolution to Independence (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012), 17, 38, 41–49.  4. Brian Adeba, “Oversight Mechanisms, Regime Security, and Intelligence Service Autonomy in South Sudan,” Intelligence and National Security 35, no. 6 (2020): 810.   5.  LeRiche and Arnold, South Sudan, 154.   6.  Adeba, “Oversight Mechanisms,” 811.   7.  Ibid., 810, 813.  8. Ibid., 812–814.  9. Simon Tisdall, “South Sudan President Sacks Cabinet in Power Struggle,” Guardian, July 24, 2013. 10.  LeRiche and Arnold, South Sudan, 163. 11.  Adeba, “Oversight Mechanisms,” 815. 12.  “2014 National Security Services Bill,” Nuhanovic Foundation Centre for War Reparations, http://www.nuhanovicfoundation.org/en/legal-instruments-6/national -security-services-bill-of-south-sudan/. 13.  Carine Kaneza Nantulya, “Will South Sudan Reign in Its Notorious National Security Service?” African Arguments, May 6, 2021, https://www.hrw.org/news /2021/05/06/will-south-sudan-rein-its-notorious-national-security-service. 14.  “Letter from the Panel of Experts on South Sudan addressed to the President of the United Nations Security Council,” United Nations, April 28, 2020, https:// digitallibrary.un.org/record/3859900?ln=en. 15.  For instance, see South Sudan 2020 Human Rights Report (US Department of State, Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights and Labor), https://www.state.gov /reports/2020-country-reports-on-human-rights-practices/south-sudan/. 16.  “These Walls Have Ears”: The Chilling Effect of Surveillance in South Sudan (Amnesty International, 2021). 17. Nuhanovic Foundation Centre for War Reparations, http://www.nuhanovic foundation.org/en/legal-instruments-6/national-security-services-bill-of-south -sudan/. 18.  Adeba, “Oversight Mechanisms,” 810. 19. Dr. Luka Kuol and Peter Biar Ajak, “National Security Strategy Development: South Sudan Case Study” (working paper, Africa Center for Strategic Studies, September 2020), https://africacenter.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/2021-NSSD -Case-Study-South-Sudan-EN.pdf. 20. Ibid. 21.  LeRiche and Arnold, South Sudan, 159. 22. For more on the concept of “security dilemma,” see Barry R. Posen, “The Security Dilemma and Ethnic Conflict,” Survival 35, no. 1 (1993). 23.  LeRiche and Arnold, South Sudan, 18. 24.  Clemence Pinaud, “South Sudan: Civil War, Predation and the Making of a Military Aristocracy,” African Affairs 113, no. 451 (2014): 208. 25.  Alex de Waal, “When Kleptocracy Becomes Insolvent: Brute Causes of the Civil War in South Sudan,” African Affairs 113, no. 452 (2014). 26.  Ibid, 354–356.



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27.  LeRiche and Arnold, South Sudan, 187. 28.  Laura M. James, “Fields of Control: Oil and (In)security in Sudan and South Sudan,” Small Arms Survey, November 2015. 29.  Pinaud, “South Sudan,” 205–207. 30.  De Waal, “When Kleptocracy Becomes Insolvent,” 348. 31. Martell, First Raise a Flag, 175. “The scale of the challenge in the South was beyond what almost anyone had experienced. After decades of fighting destroyed schools, four-fifths could not read or write, while knowledge of the skills of modern bureaucracy—computers, typing, and financial spreadsheets—was even worse. The techniques for surviving war did not build a nation.” 32.  See de Waal, “When Kleptocracy Becomes Insolvent.” 33.  Ibid., 4. 34. Johnson, South Sudan, 16. 35. Martell, First Raise a Flag, 73–75. 36.  Ibid., 73–89. 37. Johnson, South Sudan, 4. 38.  LeRiche and Arnold, South Sudan, 29. For an account of the ways in which the Sudanese civil wars proved far messier than a simple north-south divide, see Douglas H. Johnson, The Root Causes of Sudan’s Civil Wars (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2003). 39.  LeRiche and Arnold, South Sudan, 29. 40.  Ibid., 47. 41.  Ibid., 41–42, 66. 42.  Pinaud, “South Sudan,” 198. Garang stated, “The marginal cost of rebellion in the South became very small, zero to negative; that is, in the South it pays to rebel.” 43.  LeRiche and Arnold, South Sudan, 41–42. 44.  A good overview of this can be found in LeRiche and Arnold, South Sudan, 89–113. 45.  Johnson, 29. Forty-three percent of donor monies went to emergency assistance (for humanitarian causes), and not enough went to longer-term infrastructural development for statehood. In part, this was because NGOs hoped to avoid seeming to prejudge the outcome of the referendum. 46.  Adeba, “Oversight Mechanisms,” 811. 47. See Transparency International, “Corrupt Perceptions Index, 2020,” https:// www.transparency.org/en/cpi/2020/index/ssd; and Freedom House, “Freedom in the World, 2021,” https://freedomhouse.org/country/south-sudan/freedom-world/2021. 48.  “United Nations Secretary-General High Level Panel on Internal Displacement Consultations with IDPs and Host Community—South Sudan,” United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, September 2020, https://reliefweb .int/report/south-sudan/united-nations-secretary-general-high-level-panel-internal -displacement. 49. Carine Kaneza Nantulya, “South Sudan Government Reshuffle Emboldens Rights Abusers,” Human Rights Watch, April 14, 2021, https://www.hrw.org /news/2021/04/14/south-sudan-government-reshuffle-emboldens-rights-abusers.

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50.  “United Nations Secretary-General High Level Panel on Internal Displacement Consultations with IDPs and Host Community.” 51.  “‘We Did Not Believe We Would Survive’: Killings, Rape, and Looting in Juba,” Amnesty International, 2016, 13. 52.  Cedric de Coning and Kari M. Osland, “China in South Sudan and Mali,” in China’s Evolving Approach to UN Peacekeeping in Africa (Norwegian Institute of International Affairs, January 2020). 53. Martell, First Raise a Flag, 193. 54.  Sam Mednick, “South Sudan Ignores Reports on Oil Pollution, Birth Defects,” Associated Press, February 13, 2020. 55.  “South Sudan Environmental Situational Overview,” United Nations Environmental Programme, 2014. 56. Virginia Gorsevski, Eric Kasischke, Jan Dempewolf, Tatiana Loboda, and Falk Grossmann, “Analysis of the Impacts of Armed Conflict on the Eastern Afromontane Forest Region on the South Sudan–Uganda Border Using Multitemporal Landsat Imagery,” Remote Sensing of Environment 118 (2012): 10–20. 57.  Continued fighting will only further the government’s expenditures on the security sector at the expense of other public services. See Jose Luengo-Cabrera, South Sudan: The Cost of Conflict (European Union Institute for Security Studies, 2016), 3.

48 Sudan An Intelligence System in Transition Joseph Fitsanakis

Domestic and external intelligence functions in Sudan are almost exclusively

performed by the Directorate of General Intelligence Service (GIS). Created by the country’s transitional government in 2019, the GIS is a military-led agency that is currently undergoing what is arguably the most extensive reform in the 120-year history of Sudanese intelligence. The new agency incorporates some of the analytical functions of its predecessor, the National Intelligence and Security Service (NISS), which was responsible for some of the worst human rights abuses during the twenty-year rule of Sudan’s former dictator, Colonel Omar al-Bashir. The transitional government of Sudan, which emerged from a military-assisted popular revolt against al-Bashir, is essentially attempting to defang the country’s once all-powerful intelligence apparatus. It is stripping the intelligence system of its heavily armed paramilitary components and reorienting its operational roles toward intelligence collection, analysis, and dissemination. The goal is to prevent a return to the days when the NISS and its predecessor agencies led the heavy arsenal that was unleashed on the people of Sudan by a succession of brutal dictatorial regimes. There is currently no conclusive answer to the question of whether the alliance of military officers and grassroots activists, who today share power in Sudan’s caretaker government, will be able to transform the intelligence system into a stable democratic institution. Several thousand NISS officers, most of them analysts, have remained employed under the new GIS system. Thousands more have joined the Rapid Support Forces (RSF), a notorious paramilitary organization that, along with the feared Janjaweed militias, participated in the Darfur genocide. The RSF eventually joined the forces that toppled al-Bashir in 2019 and is ostensibly under the command of Sudan’s caretaker government. However, it remains a mostly autonomous armed force 641

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that has the power to fatally disrupt the already fragile balance of forces in Sudanese politics. The Sudanese intelligence system has experienced near-constant transition in its long timeline and has learned to survive under drastic changes in the political realm, which could at times be described as revolutionary in depth and scope. Over the decades, it learned to prioritize the agenda of its political masters. The latter have ranged from British colonial administrators to African nationalists and from communists to Islamists. At the same time, it has attempted—with a mixed record of success—to keep its distance from the uppermost echelons of power. In the twenty-first century, when it found itself fully appropriated by the cult-like regime of Colonel al-Bashir, the NISS changed its outlook and strategy to survive. It eventually managed to make the dictator dependent on its extensive network of informants and thus became the regime’s institutional backbone. Inevitably the loss of al-Bashir’s economic power, which sustained his personalist regime for two decades, spelled the beginning of the end for the corrupt and abuse-prone NISS. The spy agency turned against its master, toppling him, but eventually was itself toppled by a coalition of military officers and grassroots activists, who instituted an ambitious nationwide program of democratic reforms. Amid this ongoing transition, the future of Sudanese intelligence remains deeply uncertain. The new military leadership of what was once a civilian intelligence organization openly manifests its commitment to the pro-democracy program of Sudan’s transitional government. However, there is no proof that core elements within the GIS are ideologically committed to the democratic project or that they will work to prevent the potential return of another tyrannical strongman to the nation’s helm. Throughout all of these changes, it is widely recognized that the success or failure to democratize the Sudanese intelligence services will ultimately determine the overall fate of the ongoing Sudanese revolution. This chapter is organized into three sections, with the first exploring the core characteristics, operational mission, and practical limitations of Sudan’s colonial and postcolonial intelligence agencies. The next section analyzes the institutional culture of Sudanese intelligence, detailing its evolution from the early postcolonial days, when it relied heavily on British organizational models, to its eventual integration into a heavily politicized and progressively coercive governing apparatus. The last part of the chapter explores ongoing intelligence reforms implemented by progressive elements within Sudan’s transitional government. The latter seek to reorient intelligence agencies to a heavy focus on analysis and dissemination functions and steer them away from operating as the security arm of an autocratic state. The chapter’s conclusion discusses the challenges and prospects for Sudanese intelligence in the future.



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THE LINEAGE OF SUDANESE INTELLIGENCE The history of state intelligence institutions in the territory of modern-day Sudan dates to the Ottoman Turkiyya period of the 1820s, in what was then known as Nubia. The rudimentary networks of informants that were assembled by Ottoman officials were inherited by the British, who in 1899 defeated the Islamic Mahdist state and imposed the Anglo-Egyptian Condominium on Sudan.1 The British meticulously cultivated these informant networks for use in defeating the remnants of the Mahdist state. Gradually they incorporated them into the human intelligence (HUMINT) collection apparatus of the Criminal Investigation Department (CID), a British-led investigative force that was established in 1908. In 1915, following successive administrative modifications and amalgamations, the CID was renamed the Public Security Department (PSD) and was tasked with performing intelligence functions in aid of the Sudan Political Service (SPS), the central administrative body of Anglo-Egyptian Sudan.2 Much of the work of the PSD during the late 1910s concerned actual or imagined machinations of Central Powers agents in Egypt and the Sudan. Following the end of the First World War and for most of the interwar period, the PSD concerned itself primarily with anti-colonial unrest as well as with Russian Bolshevism, which some PSD administrators viewed as responsible for a resurgence of Egyptian and Sudanese nationalism.3 Faced with significant financial restrictions, as well as logistical challenges associated with Sudan’s sheer size, the PSD saw its intelligence functions deteriorate drastically in the run-up to the Second World War.4 As a result, it failed to warn the SPS of successive Islamist and nationalist revolts, mutinies, and uprisings, which rocked the colony in the 1920s and early 1930s.5 In 1935 the PSD attempted to systematize political policing in Sudan by establishing a new department, known as the Special Branch.6 As the Second World War approached, the attention of colonial administrators was increasingly on the war effort. Native Egyptian and Sudanese officers of the PSD and the SPS as a whole took the opportunity to augment their presence in domestic security affairs.7 By 1954 the increasingly cash-strapped British Empire had begun to cede powers to a nascent body of native legislators in Khartoum. In 1956 a coalition of Arabized northern riverine tribes formed the first government of postcolonial Sudan, to the detriment of the largely animist and Christian populations of southern Sudan. The new government renamed the PSD the Public Security Organization (PSO) and placed it under the command of the Ministry of the Interior. Its primary mission was to combat left-wing activism as well as southern insurrectionist movements.8 Yet despite its extensive network of informants and ties to its former patrons in the British embassy in Khartoum, the PSO failed to prepare the country’s

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leadership for the 1962 Anya-Nya revolt led by southern tribes.9 The revolt further destabilized the already faltering government in Khartoum and exacerbated existing tensions between the PSO and the government.10 Nevertheless, the PSO became a major conduit by which the northern-based government enforced its mass Arabization and Islamization campaigns in the south.11 In 1964 a coalition of leftist intellectuals, nationalist military officers, and religious neo-Mahdists brought down the government and instituted Sudan’s first socialist-leaning national administration. The new government quickly assumed direct control of the Ministry of the Interior and, by default, the PSO.12 A number of senior and mid-level officers, who were seen as being too close to the previous government or as remnants of the PSO’s colonial heritage, were summarily purged from the organization. But these reforms proved short-lived, as the neo-Mahdist element of the governing coalition, known as the Ansar, gradually took control of the state and squeezed out its leftist partners in the governing coalition. The Ansarists deliberately and effectively isolated the PSO from the rest of the state.13 Instead of relying on the PSO for their intelligence needs, Ansarist state officials established their own, informal intelligence networks inside the government apparatus. By 1969, when leftist nationalists deposed the Ansar, the PSO had nearly dissolved into obscurity and irrelevance, subsisting in the margins of an increasingly chaotic state administration. Taking cues from its predecessor, the new regime, under Colonel Ja’afar Nimeiry, a left-leaning pan-Arabist, let the PSO be and instead established its own intelligence agency, the National Security Organization (NSO). This was the first intelligence agency in Sudanese history that did not trace its lineage to the British colonialist ethos. Its personnel were carefully vetted in accordance with their allegiance to the regime’s pro-Soviet and pan-Arabist ideology.14 Moreover, unlike the PSO, which operated under the Ministry of the Interior, the NSO reported directly to Colonel Nimeiry. However, its intelligence capabilities were moribund, and few were surprised when it failed to warn the regime of a pro-communist coup that nearly deposed Nimeiry in 1971.15 In 1978, when the regime was threatened by yet another failed coup, this time by Libyan-backed Ansarists, and Nimeiry purged much of the NSO, amalgamating it with the PSO’s remnants. This forced marriage created a new intelligence agency, known as the State Security Organization (SSO), which operated under direct military control. The Ministry of the Interior, under which the PSO had existed for over two decades, was summarily dissolved, marking a long-lasting end to civilian control over the Sudanese intelligence system.16 Rather predictably, in 1985, Nimeiry’s reign came to a violent end by a new coup.17 Two years earlier, to appease his religious critics, the dictator had decreed an abrupt turn to Islam and sharia law, which he had decreed as



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the new law of the land. This appeased Nimeiry’s Islamist opponents, but it alienated Sudan’s embittered non-Muslim populations. Notably, it sparked a new insurgency in the non-Muslim south, which quickly swelled into what became known as the Second Sudanese Civil War. Subsequent elections held by a caretaker government of military generals brought the religious neoMahdists back into power. In 1988 the new government established a new civilian intelligence agency, the Sudanese Security Apparatus (SSA), and placed it under the reinstituted Ministry of the Interior.18 THE INSTITUTIONAL CHARACTER OF SUDANESE INTELLIGENCE Until 1989, relations between the Sudanese intelligence apparatus and the government executive were marked by mutual mistrust and discord. It must be noted that senior officials in successive Sudanese administrations from 1956 onward had been politically active in the days of the anti-colonial struggle against the British. Consequently, for several decades after independence they viewed the PSO as tainted by its colonialist institutional vestiges. What is more, it had not been that long ago that members of Sudan’s new ruling class were targeted by the British-run PSO as subversives, in the days when the agency was tasked by the SPS with monitoring anti-colonial activities. The PSO too sought to keep government officials at arm’s length. After all, the agency’s institutional traditions were rooted in the SPS, which, along with the Indian Civil Service, was seen as the corps d’elite of the British imperial project. PSO officials looked down on the incompetence of the native Sudanese governments, which were inexperienced in statecraft and therefore inept and highly transient. Alarmed by their ineffectual government superiors, PSO officials made sure to keep their distance from them.19 Eventually the waves of politicization that swept the Sudanese administrative apparatus engulfed the PSO. The agency was forced to hire pro-Soviet communist officers after 1964, only to see them be purged in 1971 and replaced with pan-Arab nationalists. By 1989, when a group of military officers led by General Omar al-Bashir violently took control of the country, all links between the SSO of the present day and its British roots had disintegrated. The final blow had been delivered by Colonel Nimeiry, who had also done away with the long-established civilian control of the intelligence services. But the departure from the agency’s colonial past was to turn even more dramatic in the 1990s. Under the influence of Dr. Hassan al-Turabi, a charismatic Islamic scholar who was General Bashir’s religious and political mentor, Sudan experienced a period of Islamization that was unprecedented in the modern era. This enforced Islamization

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resulted in the eventual imposition of a strict theocratic system of social and political control.20 To reflect these changes to the intelligence realm, the government renamed the SSO the NISS and placed at its helm Nafi Ali Nafie, a close political ally of al-Turabi. Under Nafie, the NISS developed strong ties with emerging Islamist figures like al-Qaeda cofounder Osama bin Laden, as well as with militant groups like Egypt’s Gama’at al-Islamiyya, Somalia’s Islamic Courts Union, and the Lebanese Hezbollah.21 During the second half of the 1980s, following a bilateral agreement between Khartoum and Tehran, large numbers of NISS officers were trained by Iranian intelligence officers. This new reality, along with a lengthy list of similar grievances, prompted the US Department of State to include Sudan on its list of state sponsors of terrorism in 1993.22 The Islamization of the NISS ended in 1999, when a putsch orchestrated by General al-Bashir ousted al-Turabi and purged senior Islamists from the government.23 The director of NISS, Nafi Ali Nafie, sided with the new regime and oversaw the gradual transformation of the NISS into a political police force that reported directly to al-Bashir. In doing so, the agency benefited from the new government’s budgetary order, which strongly prioritized security-related spending.24 The abandonment of the Islamization project by al-Bashir’s regime was noted by the United States. Coupled with the drastic changes in the global security landscape that resulted from the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, Khartoum’s about-face led to its rapprochement with Washington. The latter was aggressively seeking reliable security partners in sub-Saharan Africa, where al-Qaeda had made substantial inroads in the years leading up to September 11, 2001. In 2005 the notorious director of NISS, Major General Salah Abdallah, commonly known as Salah Gosh, visited Langley for talks with the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA).25 Soon afterward NISS personnel, once close to Iran, began to be trained by CIA instructors. In exchange, the NISS made extensive arrangements to share intelligence on terrorism with its American counterpart.26 In the years that followed, the NISS became, in effect, the main conduit of communication between Khartoum and Washington. This newfound diplomatic function of the NISS enabled high-level negotiations between Sudan and the world’s only remaining superpower. Within Sudan, this new reality reinforced the institutional stature of the NISS beyond all measure. For the first time in the history of Sudanese intelligence, the spy agency assumed an air of authority that was commensurate with the executive. By 2009 the NISS had grown into “the most powerful wing of the government in Sudan” and was arguably more formidable than the executive, including al-Bashir himself.27 Moreover, the agency relied on assurances given by Washington that the Americans would not interfere in internal Sudanese



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politics as long as the CIA’s counterterrorism requirements were met by its Sudanese partner. It was at that point that the NISS embarked on a period of widespread human rights abuses, which made its previous abhorrent record seem mild in comparison. This period of complete lawlessness lasted for ten years, until the service’s eventual downfall. It was sanctioned by the al-Bashir regime through the enactment of the National Security Act (NSA), which effectively granted NISS personnel complete immunity from prosecution.28 The NISS’s immense power in the Sudanese state apparatus can be observed in the fact that the NSA was formally incorporated into the Sudanese constitution in 2015. By that time, human rights violations by NISS personnel, which included systematic rape and other forms of sexual violence, had “reached unprecedented levels” of brutality.29 Eventually even Washington, which had previously gone out of its way to overlook human rights abuses in Sudan, was forced to ban “Gosh” from traveling to the United States for being “involved in torture during his tenure as head of NISS.”30 By that time, the power of the NISS inside Sudan was near absolute, and its reach among the population rivaled those of history’s most despotic security states. According to contemporary estimates, as much as a quarter of the Sudanese population had entered into an informant-handler relationship with a NISS member of staff “in some way or another” by the mid-2010s.31 REFORMING THE SUDANESE INTELLIGENCE APPARATUS The beginning of the end for the regime of al-Bashir came in 2005, when it conceded to holding an independence referendum in southern Sudan under relentless pressure from France and other Western international actors. This concession ended the Second Sudanese Civil War and resulted in the eventual partition of Sudan, which occurred in 2011. The secession of Southern Sudan resulted in the loss of a quarter of Sudan’s territory. More importantly, Khartoum lost control of over 70 percent of the oil reserves it depended on for half of its overall annual revenue.32 In 2016, faced with an increasingly insurmountable financial catastrophe, the government of al-Bashir imposed a drastic wage cut on civil servants, including NISS personnel. That was seen as unacceptable by the spy agency, whose personnel had been used to a lavish lifestyle that was subsidized by Khartoum’s oil revenue.33 By early 2019, an embittered NISS was refusing orders by al-Bashir to direct its intelligence arsenal against anti-austerity demonstrators, who were turning up in the streets in their tens of thousands.34 Al-Bashir turned instead to the police and the army, whose brutal response to the demonstrations unified the protesters under the banner of a new grassroots organization, calling itself the Forces of

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Freedom and Change (FFC). In early 2019 members of the military, as well as nearly the entire NISS senior leadership, joined the FFC. It was a highly consequential act that amounted to a coup and marked the end of al-Bashir’s government.35 The April 2019 coup, which resulted in the final ousting of the dictator, is rumored to have been largely orchestrated by the NISS.36 Unsurprisingly, the NISS was instrumental in establishing the Transitional Military Council (TMC), an umbrella group of government officials that took power in Sudan following al-Bashir’s ouster. The new caretaker government promised to hold nationwide multiparty elections within twenty-four months. However, under renewed pressure in the streets by hundreds of thousands of FFC grassroots activists, the TMC agreed to cede its place to a new Sovereignty Council, which combined military officials from the TMC and civilian activists from the FFC in equal numbers.37 That development, which was spearheaded by the military, took the NISS completely by surprise. The spy agency’s leadership resisted and tried to block the creation of the Sovereignty Council. But the move backfired severely, resulting in a successful FFC-led vote to liquidate the NISS once and for all. The Sovereignty Council wasted no time in promptly dissolving the agency and replacing it with a new organization, the GIS. Wishing to build the GIS from the ground up and to disconnect the new organization from the old vestiges of the NISS, the government offered the thirteen-thousand-strong NISS paramilitary force one of three options: retire with a US$250 severance package; join the army; or enlist in the RSF, a NISS paramilitary unit that had turned against al-Bashir during the 2019 revolution.38 Most NISS personnel took one of these three options. However, in January 2020 a state of emergency was declared across the country, after members of the Operations Authority, a heavily armed NISS paramilitary division, attempted to stage an armed putsch against the Sovereignty Council and regain influence in the government. This effort resulted in failure, following heavy clashes between the insurgents and the military.39 Despite such persistent resistance by some NISS paramilitaries, the agency was forcibly dissolved and replaced by the GIS, under the directorship of Lieutenant General Jamal Abdul-Majeed, who had previously served as Sudan’s Armed Forces Intelligence Agency director under the TMC.40 By March 2020, the size of the GIS had been reduced by over 50 percent from its NISS days and its operational mandate had been radically revised. The new agency had been tasked with a two-pronged mission, namely espionage in the external sphere of operations and counterterrorism as well as combatting organized crime in the domestic sphere.41 The latter included mandates to combat money laundering and human trafficking, as well as to target large-scale graft and corruption within the government and private sectors. In



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2020, after initially having placed the entirety of the GIS’s operations wing under the supervision of the Sovereignty Council, the government placed the domestic-oriented part of the GIS under the institutional jurisdiction of the Ministry of the Interior.42 The spy agency’s external functions remain for now under the command of the Sovereignty Council. Perhaps more importantly, in a development that human rights observers described as “momentous,” the legislative framework of the NSA, which had been used by the NISS to sanction some of the worst abuses of its officers during the regime of al-Bashir, was radically revised.43 Immunity from prosecution, which NISS officers had been granted under the old NSA, was rescinded. Furthermore, their operational roles were strictly limited to the collection, analysis, and dissemination of intelligence within the government. The revision of the NSA stripped GIS officers of their powers of arrest and forbade them to participate in search operations for suspects. Such searches were to be carried out solely by members of the police force.44 These changes altered Sudan’s human rights landscape almost overnight. According to reports from outside observers, such as the European Council on Foreign Relations, harassment and arbitrary detentions by Sudanese intelligence officers had “largely ended” by early 2020.45 Yet the Sovereign Council did not stop there. At the end of 2019 it established the Empowerment Elimination, Anti-Corruption and Funds Recovery Committee, an attempt to sever ties between the new Sudanese government and the al-Bashir regime. As part of its mandate, the committee was tasked with eliminating lucrative business contracts, tax exemptions, and other financial perks that the dictatorship had offered as bribes to senior officials and to entire government agencies. As one of Sudan’s wealthiest government agencies, the NISS was at the top of the committee’s list of suspects. A major focus of the investigation was a series of secret agreements between the NISS and the Sudan National Petroleum Corporation, also known as Sudapet. It was discovered that secret contracts had been signed between the two government entities, which gave NISS employees access to the financial proceeds from gold-mining operations as well as access to proceeds from subsidized oil transfers throughout the country.46 Upon their discovery, these contracts were rescinded or transferred to the Sudanese Armed Forces, leaving the intelligence apparatus without a major source of revenue. CONCLUSION The Sovereign Committee’s efforts to strip the old NISS of its financial wealth, investigative powers, and ties to paramilitary forces are clearly

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designed to prevent a potential resurgence of the feared spy agency. This method may well prove effective, at least in the short run. Its endurance, however, will depend on the ability of the transitional government to complete its mission without succumbing to pressure from the many remnants of the al-Bashir regime or give in to the desire of many in the military to stop the democratic process from unfolding. More importantly, the new government must pursue the democratization of the Sudanese constitution to preclude the resurgence of political policing as the central operational preoccupation of the Sudanese intelligence services. This effort will not be easy, because it seeks to introduce a level of organizational maturity that the Sudanese intelligence services have arguably never possessed in their 120-year history. Undoubtedly the British vestiges of the intelligence services came with a certain sense of institutional sophistication, which was indicative of the British imperial experiment. It was this sophistication that enabled Sudanese intelligence to stay at arm’s length from the military while retaining its independence from the colonial administration. At the same time, its relevance and usefulness to the colonial apparatus rested primarily on its political-policing functions. These became increasingly central after the First World War and intensified significantly during Sudan’s early postcolonial period. Indeed, political policing lies at the heart of Sudanese intelligence culture and is the central pillar of its institutional identity. It was introduced by British colonial administrators and relied on by—as well as perfected under the tutelage of—a succession of autocrats during the country’s turbulent postcolonial period. It would be wrong to assume that the Sudanese intelligence services eagerly offered their services to their postcolonial masters. On the contrary, alongside the culture of political policing one finds in Sudan’s intelligence apparatus an equally pronounced culture of what scholars of bureaucracies call “displacement”—namely efforts by bureaucrats to prioritize their own needs over those of the government that employs them or the people that they ostensibly serve. The notably transient nature of Sudanese governments after 1955 allowed the intelligence services to preserve their displacement from the system and thus develop independently—often in obscurity—from the centers of power. But this culture of independence was gradually forfeited under Colonel Nimeiry as the intelligence agencies progressively realized that serving an autocratic leader came with valuable perks, including a high income for intelligence employees, as well as unrivaled political power. The paranoia and toxic partisanship of Sudanese politics forced Sudanese leaders to turn to the intelligence services for assistance, which in turn helped augment the domestic role of intelligence institutions. In the 1990s these institutions participated in the Islamization project only to the extent that it secured



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their own interests and fortified their power within the state apparatus. When the government was no longer able to meet their needs, they turned against it by participating in a nationwide revolution, which toppled the dictator and changed the country’s constitution. This radical shift should not be interpreted as an indication of deep cultural transformation of Sudanese intelligence. There is, in fact, no clear evidence that the Sudanese intelligence apparatus is ideologically vested in the Sudanese democratic project, any more than it was vested in the Islamization project of the 1990s. Yet there is some cause for optimism. To a significant degree, the establishment of the GIS has reinstated the necessary institutional distance between the intelligence community and the executive. No longer is the Sudanese intelligence apparatus answerable to a small circle of unelected rulers. On the contrary, the oversight of the GIS is now deliberately diffused between the Ministry of the Interior and the Sovereignty Council. The ultimate goal of the transitional government is to implement a representative system of intelligence oversight so that a number of parliamentary committees will share the control of the intelligence services along with the executive. But whether a democratic parliament will actually emerge from the current transitional process in Sudan remains to be seen. Moreover, the role of the Empowerment Elimination, Anti-Corruption and Funds Recovery Committee is indispensable: it has the opportunity to introduce—arguably for the first time in Sudanese history—financial accountability in the affairs of the intelligence services. Its success will be crucial in managing to keep anti-democratic forces at bay. Even if all of the these preconditions are met, questions of justice and accountability remain. What will be the fate of countless senior NISS officials and administrators who were directly responsible for the agency’s abysmal human rights record? Rumor has it that members of the old NISS leadership, including Salah Gosh himself, are currently lying low in Egypt and the United Arab Emirates.47 If that is the case, will the governments of these countries surrender them to Sudanese authorities so that they can face justice? More importantly, will Western countries like the United States pursue these fugitives from justice with the same fervor that they demonstrate when going after, say, Russian, Chinese, or Iranian rogue actors? Additionally, what is to happen to the once extensive informant networks of the now-defunct NISS? Admittedly, it would be tempting for GIS case officers to inherit the command of these networks, many of which are versatile enough to be deployed against organized criminals with the same effectiveness they demonstrated when they were used to infiltrate groups of political activists in the past. But is that advisable for utilitarian purposes, or should these informant networks be disbanded on principle and replaced with criminal-oriented assets?

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What is certain is that the process of reform that is currently sweeping Sudan must continue to focus largely on the NISS and its institutional descendants. After all, it was these forces that served as the backbone of successive authoritarian regimes during the country’s turbulent history. Throughout this process, military and grassroots reformers must display the utmost strategic stamina and perseverance, as it would be naïve to expect to see substantial results so soon. The ultimate goal must be to achieve a genuine reconciliation between the GIS and the new forces of Sudanese society, which are now leading the country forward to what is hopefully a brighter, more enlightened, and more prosperous future. NOTES   1.  Per Olav Reinton, “Imperialism and the Southern Sudan,” Journal of Peace Research 8, nos. 3/4 (1971): 241.  2. Martin Thomas, Empires of Intelligence: Security Services and Colonial Disorder after 1914 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008), 16.  3. Hassan Ahmed Ibrahim, “Imperialism and Neo-Mahdism in the Sudan: A Study of British Policy towards Neo-Mahdism, 1924–1927,” International Journal of African Historical Studies 13, no. 2 (1980): 214.  4. Edward Grierson, The Death of the Imperial Dream: The British Commonwealth and Empire 1775–1969 (New York: Doubleday, 1972), 4.  5. Gabriel Warburg, Islam, Sectarianism and Politics in Sudan Since the Mahdiyya (Glasgow: University of Wisconsin Press, 2003), 88.   6.  El-Amin, “The Sudanese,” 22; and Berridge, “Sudan’s,” 851.  7. Thomas, Empires of Intelligence, 133.   8.  Berridge, “Sudan’s,” 854.  9. Ibid., 854. 10. Øystein H. Rolandsen and Nicki Kindersley, “The Nasty War: Organised Violence during the Anya-Nya Insurgency,” Journal of African History 60, no. 1 (2019): 102. 11.  Rolandsen and Kindersley, “Nasty War,” 93. 12.  Berridge, “Sudan’s,” 860. 13. Jendia, Sudanese Civil Conflict, 69. 14.  Berridge, “Sudan’s,” 855. 15.  Ibid., 856. 16.  Ibid., 856. 17.  Willow Berridge, Civil Uprisings in Modern Sudan: The “Khartoum Springs” of 1964 and 1985 (London: Bloomsbury, 2015), 175. 18.  Berridge, “Sudan’s,” 861. 19.  Ibid., 857. 20.  Willow Berridge, Hasan al-Turabi: Islamist Politics and Democracy in Sudan (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 211.



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21.  Suliman Baldo, Radical Intolerance: Sudan’s Religious Oppression and Embrace of Extremist Groups (Washington, DC: Enough! Project, 2017), 17. 22.  Philip C Wilcox, Patterns of Global Terrorism, 1994 (Washington, DC: Office of the Coordinator for Counterterrorism, United States Department of State, 1995). 23.  Diana Childress, Omar Bashir’s Sudan (Minneapolis: Twenty-First Century Books, 2010), 50. 24.  Hassan and Kodouda, “Sudan’s,” 92. 25.  Cameron Hudson, Removing Sudan’s Terrorism Designation: Proceeding with Caution (Washington, DC: Atlantic Council, 2020). 26.  Jeff Stein, “CIA Training Sudan’s Spies as Obama Officials Fight over Policy,” Washington Post, August 30, 2010. 27. Olivia Warham, The Sudanese National Intelligence and Security Service (London: Waging Peace, 2011), 1. 28.  Amnesty International, Agents of Fear: The National Security Service in Sudan (London: Amnesty International Publications, 2010). 29.  Home Office, “Country,” 7. 30.  “US Bans Former Sudan Security Chief Ghosh over Torture,” Agence France Presse, August 15, 2019. 31.  Danish Immigration Service, “Sudan,” 46. 32.  Kabbashi M. Suliman, “Understanding and Avoiding the Oil Curse in Sudan” (Working Paper no. 735, Economic Research Forum, Cairo, 2012), 30. 33. “‫[ ”لمستوى يقفز السودان في التضخم‬Inflation in Sudan jumps to unprecedented levels], Al Arabiya, March 15, 2020, https://www.alarabiya.net/ar/aswaq /financial-markets/2020/03/15/‫التضخم‬-‫يف‬-‫السودان‬-‫زفقي‬-‫لمستوى‬-70-. 34. “‫السودان مظاهرات‬: ‫[ ”وخلفياتها أسبابها‬Demonstrations in Sudan: Context and background], BBC, January 2, 2019, https://www.bbc.com/arabic/middleeast -46723441. 35. Ismail Azzam, “‫السودان احتجاجات‬.. ‫[ ”والدولي؟ العربي الصمت هذا ك ّل لماذا‬Sudan unrest: Why is there silence abroad and among Arab states?], Deutsche Welle, January 2, 2019, https://www.dw.com/ar/‫احتجاجات‬-‫السودان‬-‫لماذا‬-‫ك ّل‬-‫هذا‬-‫الصمت‬-‫العربي‬‫والدولي‬/a-46932026. 36. “‫[ ”بالسودان ”التمرد“ وراء بالوقوف المتهم الغامض المخابرات رجل قوش صالح‬Salah Gosh: A mysterious intelligence figure accused of being behind the rebellion in Sudan], BBC, January 15, 2019, https://www.bbc.com/arabic/middleeast-51125758. 37. “‫السودان في ”مخابراتي“ انقالب‬.. ‫[ ”المتورطين ينتظر ما هذا‬The intelligence coup in Sudan: Here is what awaits those who participated in it], Al Arabiya, January 15, 2020, https://www.alarabiya.net/ar/arab-and-world/sudan/2020/01/15/‫النائب‬-‫العام‬-‫السوداني‬‫يجب‬-‫محاكمة‬-‫مرتكبي‬-‫التمرد‬-‫عاجال‬. 38.  Jean-Baptiste Gallopin, “Sudan’s Military Shut Down a Mutiny: What Does That Mean for the Democratic Transition?,” Washington Post, January 30, 2020. 39. “‫السودان‬: ‫[ ”ناجح تفاوض بعد المخابرات عناصر تمرد انتهاء‬Sudan: The rebellion by intelligence agents concludes following negotiations], Deutsche Welle, January 14, 2019, https://www.dw.com/ar/‫السودان‬-‫انتهاء‬-‫تمرد‬-‫عناصر‬-‫المخابرات‬-‫بعد‬-‫تفاوض‬-‫ناجح‬/a-52005761. 40. “‫بحله مطالبات وسط‬.. ‫[ ”بالسودان ”والمخابرات األمن جهاز“ اسم تغيير‬Amid demands to dissolve it, changing the name of the National Intelligence and Security Service in

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Sudan], Anadolu Agency, July 29, 2019.,https://web.archive.org /web/20200114163630/https://www.aa.com.tr/ar/‫الدول‬-‫العربية‬/‫وسط‬-‫مطالبات‬-‫بحله‬-‫تغيير‬-‫اسم‬‫جهاز‬-‫األمن‬-‫والمخابرات‬-‫بالسودان‬/1544569. 41.  “Sudan’s GIS Operations Staff Rejects Dissolution of Their Service,” Sudan Tribune, August 24, 2019. 42.  “Sudan Moves against Bashir Loyalists after Assassination Attempt,” Reuters, March 10, 2020. 43. Redress, Further Historic Changes Made to Sudanese Laws (The Hague: Redress Publications, July 16, 2020). 44.  “Sudan’s Military Reforms Security Services,” Sudan Tribune, July 29, 2019. 45.  Gallopin, “Sudan’s Military Shut Down a Mutiny.” 46. “Sudan Intelligence Services Divested of Their Pot of Gold,” Africa Intelligence, May 6, 2020. See also Gallopin, “Sudan’s Military Shut Down a Mutiny.” 47.  Gallopin, “Sudan’s Military Shut Down a Mutiny.”

49 Tanzania From Internal Concerns to the Global War on Terror Timothy Nicholson

In a move that received worldwide attention in September 2019, President John Magufuli of Tanzania fired Modestus Kipilimba, the director general of Tanzania Intelligence and Security Service (TISS). A week later Kipilimba was arrested and charged with a variety of crimes, including corruption, money laundering, and abuse of office.1 The spymaster was reportedly unpopular with his own staff but loyal to the president. This move followed Magufuli’s demoting in 2018 of TISS deputy director general Msakila Robert Makungum, who was in conflict with Kipilimba. After the demotion, Makungum became the regional secretary of the Tabora region and the director of external operations.2 These moves reflected a broader effort to shake up the intelligence service before the 2020 presidential election to distance the president from controversies associated with the service while simultaneously increasing his control over it. Together, they highlighted the politicization of the intelligence service.3 This chapter provides an overview of the Tanzanian intelligence and security state culture from independence to the present day, drawing from press and published secondary sources. It has four sections, which examine historical security and intelligence history, the impact of the 1998 US embassy bombing by al-Qaeda, oversight, and politics. The chapter demonstrates how Tanzania’s intelligence and security community retained links with external forces but primarily focused on internal affairs. In particular, it delves into how after gaining independence in 1961 the Tanzanian government relied on British assistance for training, development, and expertise. In 1964 the sole army regiment, the Tanganyikan Rifles, mutinied over the slow pace of Africanization and delays in paying wages. The mutiny required the Tanzanian government to call on the British to put down the coup, highlighting the 655

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country’s continued postcolonial dependence on external assistance and the overall weakness of its own intelligence capabilities. In response, Prime Minister Julius Nyerere worked to increase political control over the armed forces. From 1964 the security community relied on the Tanzania’s People’s Defence Force to defend the country; promote its socialist ideology (referred to as ujamaa); and, especially in Zanzibar, eliminate internal saboteurs and counterrevolutionaries. The Uganda–Tanzania war exposed the country’s economic weakness and demonstrated its need for a more integrated military intelligence system. Since the mid-1980s, Tanzania’s security forces have devoted most of their efforts to domestic matters, such as poaching. However, they have also developed new international connections with world military powers, including the United States—a change that mirrors Tanzania’s growing engagement in foreign affairs. HISTORY The Tanzanian intelligence and security community has a long history dating back to the colonial era, which is intertwined with the larger history of colonization and decolonization. The Tanganyikan Special Branch of the police force allowed colonial officials to closely monitor specific meetings, track people linked with the anti-colonial movement, read their correspondence, and monitor their financial dealings.4 The Special Branch coordinated and collaborated with other British intelligence services. As in other British colonies, the Special Branch focused on countering the spread of communism and preventing the empowerment of radical anti-colonial movements in Tanzania.5 Much like the decolonization movement itself, the early postcolonial development of Tanzania’s intelligence service was interconnected with the country’s involvement in the Cold War. External assistance was, for the most part, employed for domestic purposes. The first era of the Tanzanian security apparatus, immediately after the state obtained independence in 1961, was shaped by new President Julius Nyerere and those in the Tanganyika African National Union (TANU) party. The intelligence service primarily focused on potential domestic threats, to ensure stability while protecting the new state and the leaders’ power. Despite a colonial legacy of intelligence gathering with British assistance, Tanzania’s first leaders needed to build a new security apparatus in the wake of decolonization. As a result, they worked to rapidly Africanize the small colonial security service, with Tanzanians quickly being promoted to replace British officials immediately before and after decolonization.6 To protect its sovereignty and further its defense, the new post-



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colonial state passed the Preventative Detention Act of 1962 (PDA), which allowed the “president to order the arrest and indefinite detention without bail of any person considered dangerous to the public or national security.”7 This period of change necessitated the development of new procedures for the rapid training of Tanzanian officials and revealed the state’s need for financial assistance to develop its new security services. Because postcolonial leaders viewed the security apparatus as tainted by colonial ties, Prime Minister Nyerere rejected British assistance in favor of the United States and Israel to help train the country’s new security force. A grant from the newly created US Agency for International Development (USAID) allowed fifteen Tanzanians to be trained at the International Police Academy in Washington, D.C.8 Other leaders in TANU, the ruling party, including Oscar Kambona and Job Lusinde, used their personal connections to the Israeli and then Czechoslovakian governments to obtain training for new security officials.9 Kambona and Lusinde also hired Mossad officers to train the security forces, recruited new personnel from the youth league, and helped state officials monitor and detain “political subserves.”10 Indeed, the Cold War combined with personal connections to Tanzanian leaders determined where Tanzania looked for aid.11 In 1964 the country’s premiere army unit, Tanganyika Rifles, mutinied over the slow pace of Africanization in the officer corps as well as pay. The mutiny was an intelligence failure and necessitated the need for an improved intelligence service.12 Despite efforts to wean Tanganyika from its dependence on Britain, Nyerere was forced to request British assistance to contain the mutiny. Nyerere ignored intelligence reports regarding the general discontent of the army, many of which had been gathered by the youth wing of the ruling party. In response, British observers concluded that the new ruling elite had failed to “understand the first principles of security or of military precepts and discipline.”13 To further counter the potentially treasonous power of the army and its embarrassing actions, Nyerere strengthened the youth wing of the party, with the youth league now “policing the post-munity security system.”14 Under the leadership of Lawi Nangwanda Sijaona, the youth league remained highly involved in internal security, and seeing itself as the leaders of Tanzanian socialism, highlighted the crucial role of the country’s youth as informal protectors of the revolution that Nyerere was developing.15 Like most other leaders of African states in the 1960s, Nyerere was focused on coercion as a central pillar to impose discipline in his nascent state.16 Tanzania is unique among African countries due to its complicated relationship with Zanzibar. Zanzibar, which consists of two small islands off the Tanzanian coast, obtained its independence in 1963. In January 1964 the Zanzibar Revolution overthrew the ruling sultan and resulted in the killing of twenty

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thousand Arabs and Indians. The island of Zanzibar pursued a distinct foreign policy and attracted aid from East Germany, while mainland Tanzania established connections with West Germany.17 In April 1964 Zanzibar merged with the mainland to form the state of Tanzania but continued as a semiautonomous region with its own parliament and certain special rights. Much of the security apparatus was directed toward ensuring the success of the revolution and protecting the new ruling party, while arresting those perceived as disloyal or counterrevolutionary. Here too, the focus remained largely on internal affairs, despite external security assistance from the Eastern Bloc. In 1979 the outbreak of war between Uganda and Tanzania highlighted the lack of capable intelligence services on both sides, including the confusion over when and how the war had actually started.18 Conflicting information both reported threats of invasion and emphasized the internal weakness of Idi Amin’s government in Uganda, presenting invasion as unlikely given Amin’s tendency toward blustering without follow-through. Due to poor communication between the national government and local forces, Dar es Salaam only received the full details of the invasion nearly twenty-four hours after it had happened. As the war progressed, the intelligence crisis only grew as “clear information about the development of the war was difficult to obtain and often confused.”19 The conflict led to a massive increase in the size of the armed forces, which reached 100,000 soldiers, as well as in the share of the national budget designated for military spending, with costs estimated at US$1 million per day.20 In response to the failure of Tanzanian military intelligence to prevent or manage the attack, Nyerere worked to improve Tanzanian intelligence by starting an Information Committee under the leadership of Minister of Information George Mhina, which brought together newspaper editors, the head of Radio Tanzania, the president’s press secretary, and representatives of the armed forces and security services.21 Despite Tanzania’s eventual victory over and successful invasion of Uganda, the war highlighted the poor state of Tanzania’s intelligence and security community. The liberalization reforms during the 1980s reduced Tanzania’s overall spending on the military, including intelligence. An ensuing financial crisis left the government with little choice in this matter. The war with Uganda, combined with failed socialist ujamaa reforms, bankrupted the country. The reforms also brought about substantive changes by depoliticizing the military. Officers could either act as political agents or remain in the army but could not simultaneously pursue military and political careers. However, the Preventive Detention Act, amended in 1985, granted the president the power of “arrest and indefinite detention without bail of any person considered dangerous to the public order or national security” and strengthened the overall security apparatus.22



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NEW INTELLIGENCE SERVICE AND THE 1998 EMBASSY BOMBING Two pivotal events in the 1990s worked to transform the Tanzanian security apparatus, formalizing its importance and solidifying its functions while also working to internationalize its focus and connections. The first was the 1996 Tanzania Intelligence and Security Service Act, which highlighted an increased importance of collecting, analyzing, and disseminating information about any potential threats to Tanzania and, again, worked to further develop the capacity of the intelligence service. The second was the 1998 bombing at the US embassy, which exposed the threat of transnational terrorism and had domestic implications for Tanzania’s new intelligence service. One significant move toward creating a professional national intelligence culture was the establishment of a modern intelligence service. In 1996 the Tanzania Intelligence and Security Service (TISS) was created to collect intelligence about external and internal threats while advising the president and other government officials. Appointed by the president, the director general heads the agency and serves for a five-year, reappointable term. The 1996 legislation establishing the service provided: “The Service shall, subject to this Act, have power to investigate any person or body of persons whom or which it has reasonable cause to consider a risk or a source of risk of a threat to the state security.”23 The TISS officially cannot collect information on any individual who is lawfully protesting the government, but this regulation has been undermined and debated repeatedly.24 The service remains a legally separate entity from the police, although it often works with the Tanzanian National Police and the intelligence component of the national army (known as the Defence Military Intelligence in the Tanzania People’s Defence Force). While Parliament exercises authority over the state security apparatus, its oversight has been limited, and security forces generally work to maintain the ruling party’s power. The second significant event was when al-Qaeda detonated nearly simultaneous bombs on August 7, 1998, at the US embassies in Nairobi, Kenya, and Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. The two blasts combined killed 224 people (11 in Tanzania) and injured another 4,500 (85 in Tanzania). In Dar es Salaam, the bomber was unable to penetrate the perimeter of the embassy due to a water tanker and therefore detonated the bomb thirty-five feet outside of the embassy.25 In response, the US Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) deployed nine hundred agents to the region to assist in the recovery of evidence and the identification of suspects. The terrorist attack shifted Tanzanian security to terrorism and forged a new partnership in security between Tanzania and the United States. The 1998 bombing of Dar es Salaam blindsided the Tanzanian government. A subsequent US government review found: “There was no information

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or intelligence to warn of the actual attack.”26 The only warning came from a vague and discredited source and was therefore ignored. This drastic failure forced Tanzania to reconceptualize its security and intelligence forces. Intelligence in the region became newly focused on Islamic terrorism, while the United States established itself as a major partner in the country’s intelligence efforts. The Tanzanian Parliament passed the Prevention of Terrorism Act in 2002, and then added provisions in 2012 and 2015, which facilitated the implementation of a public counterterrorism campaign.27 Other measures allowed the Tanzanian government to build ties with local communities to better collect intelligence, strengthened connections with religious leaders, and allowed intelligence services to uncover threats and combat radicalization.28 In addition to al-Qaeda, al-Shabaab’s operations in Tanzania also pushed the government to be more vigilant in responding to terrorism. In 2015 alone, al-Shabaab attacked a police station near Nyerere Airport in Dar es Salaam and placed improvised explosive devices (IEDs) around Zanzibar during the country’s October elections.29 Furthermore, police stations have been attacked and weapons stolen by al-Shabaab militants. Despite the growing acknowledgment of the importance of intelligence for counterterrorism, limited funds combined with government corruption have left Tanzania unable to fully support border security efforts intended to hamper the cross-border movement of terrorists.30 The country’s intelligence culture has on the whole substantially improved its ability to assess and respond to immediate threats. However, more work is needed to develop domestic intelligence collection. Despite the predictions of policy makers a decade ago, Tanzanian intelligence services still fall short in their capability to track and understand the radicalization of marginalized and vulnerable youth populations.31 US support has been crucial in the continued development of Tanzanian intelligence. Assistance comes from both the United States directly and the US-led multinational Partnership for Regional East Africa Counterterrorism (PREACT). With the assistance of the United States, Tanzania hosts the regional East and Southern Africa Anti-Money Laundering Group. Additional US funding provides support for border security, enhances skills through joint military training exercises, and contributes to anti-poaching measures through the specialized training of Tanzanian scouts.32 The US government also trained a Tanzanian hostage and rescue team in 2006, further enhancing the capacities of the country’s intelligence and security forces.33 Overall, the Tanzanian intelligence and security community have worked with the United States to secure borders and to build up the TISS, which functions as “the primary GOT [Government of Tanzania] focal point on counterterrorism issues,” under the direction of the Tanzanian president.34



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The development in 2014 of the Tanzanian Defense Intelligence College (TDIC) in Dar es Salaam furthered the relationship between the United States and Tanzania.35 With the goal of improving TISS’s capabilities, the college was designed to provide improved training for intelligence officers and to promote overall effectiveness by encouraging better cooperation between different local agencies. One Tanzanian official, Masoud Msangi, emphasized the importance of the college, stating: “The intelligence branch is the eyes and ears for any country. I hope that the completion of TDIC will help the Tanzania Defence Forces to move on to the next level in terms of defense capability.”36 The intelligence college is aimed at improving regional stability by increasing the effectiveness of the country’s intelligence officers. OVERSIGHT AND POLITICAL ROLE The general liberalization of the government helped to strengthen the role of the Tanzanian Parliament as an oversight body in theory, especially as parliamentary committees have emerged to question the government.37 The Tanzania National Security Council Act No. 8 of 2010 established district, regional, and national security committees intended to increase transparency within security and intelligence services. However, the actual oversight of the TISS remained limited. The same 2010 act also emphasized the need for secrecy and did not require the disclosure of information related to national security to either Parliament or the public. Consequently, official oversight and accountability of the intelligence services remain limited. A lack of resources, combined with the reluctance of officials to discuss what they view as confidential information, has prevented any substantive change in the transparency of intelligence services. Thus, the transition to multiparty democracy in the early 1990s failed to improve oversight of governmental institutions, including the security apparatus. Furthermore, the CCM (Chama Cha Mapinduzi or Party of the Revolution) has remained in power since 1977, while opposition has remained “weak and fragmented.”38 No viable opposition party emerged to seriously question or challenge the security apparatus. Ministers of Parliament remained closely aligned with the ruling party; even members of the opposition party defected to the CCM. As a result, parliamentary members have been mostly unwilling to effectively question the government. Consequently, Parliament has not served as an effective oversight body, especially with regard to sensitive topics like security and defense.39 Scholar Mwesiga Baregu has pointed out that “backbenchers” are hesitant to provide strong oversight out of fear that they will be labeled part of the opposition. Likewise, government institutions

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provide little information to the legislative chamber, and nationalistic sentiments often hinder oversight on issues related to security and national defense.40 The sale of an aircraft control radar system through the British firm BAE Systems, which cost US$40 million, was debated by the British Parliament. Yet it was never raised in the Tanzanian Parliament or reviewed by Tanzania’s Defense and Security Committee.41 Furthermore, the dangerous rhetoric espoused by the Tanzanian government, coupled with arbitrary arrests and threats to deregister nongovernmental groups, has stifled independent reporting by journalists and prevented journalistic investigations into the TISS’s activities. The TISS has allegedly been involved in the torturing and killing of dissidents by the government, specifically with “sponsored thugs and rogue elements within TISS.”42 It remains an open question whether these “elements” were actually “rogue” or an official part of a larger state-sponsored plan. As emphasized at the outset of the chapter, leadership changes within the TISS demonstrate the politicized nature of Tanzania’s intelligence culture. Diwani Athumani, the new chief of the TISS appointed in 2019, is considered loyal and obedient to the current president, which likely has resulted in his quick rise to the intelligence service’s leadership.43 A reliable source explained to the press: “One of the things that Magufuli hates most is being advised against his point of view, being corrected or being delayed.”44 The TISS’s ideal leader was someone who would support Magufuli’s own views and continue the politicization of the intelligence service. Finally, the problem of limited oversight has been exacerbated by the reluctance of courts to question or review the government’s actions, as an additional oversight body. Unsurprisingly, the violations of “fundamental human rights in Tanzania implies a failure of the legal system.”45 The immunity of the police from prosecution has also made it difficult to institute oversight of the security forces. Furthermore, limited oversight has allowed the CCM, especially the president, to use intelligence to hold onto authority and maintain power. Indeed, the president and senior government officials have made numerous anti–human rights statements and have at times even cracked down on individuals and organizations, particularly opposition political parties.46 According to former TISS officer Evarist Chahali, “the much-feared intelligence agency was deeply involved in rigging those elections by employing sophisticated techniques.”47 Chahali further claimed that the TISS routinely ignored any actions by the CCM officials “needed to keep the nation safe,” while dedicating time to investigating the opposition party and its leaders. In 2017, opposition leader Tundu Lissu was shot sixteen times in an attempted assassination attempt. He had been “insulting the president and disturbing public order, among other charges.”48 In 2020 Lissu expressed concerns about



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his personal safety to the Tanzanian government upon his scheduled return to the country.49 Intelligence sources claim that the 2020 elections were directly controlled by the TISS. While the TISS primarily worked to support the ruling party, it became further embroiled in politics by allegedly leaking documents to an opposition party. In one instance, officials from TISS shared documentation with Wilbroad Slaa, former secretary-general of Chadema (the leading opposition party), which proved government corruption.50 Nevertheless, incumbent John Magufuli of the Chama Cha Mapinduzi Party won the election, with the president receiving over 84 percent of the votes cast, and the TISS on the whole continues to support the ruling party.51 SUCCESSES AND CHALLENGES The Tanzanian intelligence and security community have built their presence in the region and engaged in a variety of actions designed to protect Tanzanian national security. Despite its likely small size, it has played a vital role in the country’s security. Tanzania has a population of around 62 million, and the International Institute for Strategic Studies estimated that the Tanzanian military had about 27,000 personnel (army with 23,000, navy with 1,000, and air force with 3,000, which does not include a paramilitary of 1,400) with another 80,000 reserve members in 2020.52 Relative to this size, the Tanzanian intelligence and security community is probably no larger in terms of personnel than the military and likely much smaller. Nonetheless, TISS has enjoyed some notable high-profile successes in dealing with drugs, illegal fishing, and smuggling, which are crimes that fall under its jurisdiction. In 2012, President Jakaya Kikwete deployed over three thousand Tanzanian soldiers, including over one thousand members of the special forces, as part of a peacekeeping operation in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. While the world applauded such action, the TISS did not. Director General Rashid Othman had refused to support the action, and Kikwete had ignored his advice. In retaliation for the TISS’s failure to support his endeavor, Kikwete moved to limit the powers and overall governmental role of the TISS. He also appointed a mysterious and unknown figure, “Mr. Zongo,” as the de facto boss of the TISS. Zongo’s appointment marginalized Othman, who was suspected of having knowledge about Kikwete’s alleged corrupt dealings.53 While the TISS successfully strengthened its international presence, domestic concerns remained unresolved. Tanzania’s intelligence service has worked to limit the flow of drugs into the country, with varying degrees of success. In one instance, security and anti-narcotics forces intercepted an Iranian ship carrying over US$5 million

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worth of heroin.54 Despite some successes, the US Department of State has noted that the country remains crucial to the movement of illegal drugs. Because Tanzania has little security at ports and a long and open coastline, drug trafficking organizations with connections to the Southwest Asian heroin trade and to Europe and North and South America can move drugs through the country relatively freely.55 Efforts to police the drug trade have also become intertwined with local politics; the chairman of Chama Cha Demokrasia, Freeman Mbowe, was accused of being involved in the drug trade, an accusation he called “unfair” and a “smear campaign.”56 Thus, despite some headline-grabbing successes, Tanzanian intelligence has struggled to handle drug trafficking in Tanzania, an issue of both international and local importance. The security service also plays an important role in protecting Tanzanian waters and fisheries, which are particularly vulnerable in developing countries. In 2018 the intelligence and security services, along with other police agencies, discovered and fined nineteen foreign-registered boats more than US$5 million for illegal fishing in Tanzanian waters.57 The six-month operation targeted boats involved in illegal shark-finning operations, as well as those whose captains refused to dock in Tanzanian ports for inspection.58 Intelligence and security services have also been involved in anti-poaching efforts. The directive originated from the president himself, who stated: “Go after all of them . . . so that we protect our elephants from being slaughtered.”59 Trained intelligence and security officers have been necessary to combat elephant poaching, due to the involvement of well-armed criminal gangs funded by the export of ivory. Tanzania has brought together a combined task force that includes not only TISS but also the national wildlife service, local and national police, immigration officials, and members of the army. Together they have arrested more than 850 poachers who violated conservation laws.60 Finally, the TISS has been involved in efforts to combat human trafficking. Working with other countries throughout Southern Africa, the security force targeted various smuggling organizations. The head of the International Criminal Police Organization’s (INTERPOL) Regional Bureau in Nairobi, Francis Rwego, stated: “Hundreds of human trafficking victims have been saved, drugs and guns taken off the streets and serious criminals arrested through this operation.”61 As with drug trafficking, the US State Department has highlighted the continued weakness of the security forces in this arena, albeit noting the progress the government has made in stopping trafficking.62 Overall, the TISS campaign against human trafficking highlights a general trend of internationalization of intelligence and improved security forces, but also the continued weakness of Tanzania’s security apparatus in the face of international criminal organizations.



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CONCLUSION The Tanzanian intelligence and security culture has transformed a great deal from its origins as an organization aimed at safeguarding independence while protecting the ruling elite and party. In the wake of the 1998 US embassy bombing, the intelligence community developed a more international focus and leveraged foreign partnerships that increased professionalism. As a result, the intelligence culture transitioned from a concentration on Cold War concerns to a new emphasis on the global war on terror, with backing from the United States. Subsequently, the intelligence and security community has taken on a variety of roles related to the security of Tanzania’s borders, including efforts to combat the drug trade, prevent poaching and illegal fishing, and stop human trafficking. Despite this new international outlook, Tanzania’s intelligence culture is entangled in domestic politics as it works to reinforce, secure, and protect the ruling party’s power. NOTES 1. Ansbert Ngurumo, “Tanzania Temporarily Detains Former Intelligence Boss Kipilimba,” Sauti Kubwa, September 14, 2019, http://sautikubwa.org/tanzania -detains-its-former-intelligence-chief/. 2. Evarist Chahali, “Magufuli demotes Deputy DG of Tanzania Intelligence,” Medium, April 21, 2018, https://medium.com/@Chahali/magufuli-demotes-deputy -dg-of-tanzania-intelligence-a8b97f5dc323. 3.  F. Ng’wanakilala, “Tanzanian Leader Sacks Spy Chief Ahead of Polls,” U.S. News and World Report, September 12, 2019. https://www.usnews.com/news/world /articles/2019-09-12/tanzanian-leader-sacks-spy-chief-ahead-of-polls. 4. James R. Brennan, “The Secret Lives of Dennis Phombeah: Decolonization, the Cold War, and African Political Intelligence, 1953–1974,” International History Review 43, no. 1 (2021): 157. 5.  Simon Graham, “Intelligence, Decolonization and Non-Alignment in Zanzibar and Tanganyika, 1962–1972,” in African Intelligence Services: Early Post-Colonial and Contemporary Challenges, ed. Ryan Shaffer (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2021). 6.  Brennan, “Secret Lives of Dennis Phombeah,” 17. 7. Human Rights Initiative, “Tanzania Country Report: Anti-terrorism Laws and Policing,” March 1, 2007, https://www.humanrightsinitiative.org/publications /chogm/chogm_2007/docs/country_reports/071204_chogm07_tanzania_anti_terror ism_policing_country_report2007.pdf. 8.  Thomas J. Maguire and Hannah Franklin, “Creating a Commonwealth Security Culture? State-Building and the International Politics of Security Assistance in Tanzania,” International History Review 43, no. 1 (2021): 21.

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  9.  Maguire and Franklin, “Creating a Commonwealth Security Culture?,” 9. 10.  Ibid., 10. 11.  James Brennan, “Youth, the TANU Youth League and Managed Vigilantism in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, 1925–73,” Africa: Journal of the International African Institute 76, no. 2 (2006): 221–246. 12.  Ibid., 233. 13.  Quoted in Brennan, “Youth, the TANU Youth League and Managed Vigilantism,” 233. 14.  Ibid., 236. 15.  Ibid., 239. 16.  Maguire and Franklin, “Creating a Commonwealth Security Culture?,” 12. 17. Ibid., 17. 18.  George Roberts, “The Uganda–Tanzania War, the Fall of Idi Amin, and the Failure of African Diplomacy, 1978–1979,” Journal of Eastern African Studies 8, no. 4 (2014): 692–709. 19.  Roberts, “Uganda–Tanzania War,” 695. 20.  Carey Winfrey, “In Tanzanian Capital, Little Is Heard of War with Uganda,” New York Times, April 6, 1979, https://www.nytimes.com/1979/04/06/archives /in-tanzanian-capital-little-is-heard-of-war-with-uganda-little-news.html. 21.  Roberts, “Uganda–Tanzania War,” 671. 22.  Country Report on Human Rights Practices, 1996—Tanzania (US Department of State, 1997), https://www.refworld.org/docid/3ae6aa1e2e.html. 23.  The Tanzania Intelligence and Security Service Act, 1996, January 20, 1997, http://www.vertic.org/media/National%20Legislation/Tanzania/TZ_Intelligence _Security_Services_Act.pdf. 24.  “Network on Intelligence and Security Practices in African Countries,” University of Glasgow, 2021, https://www.gla.ac.uk/research/az/nispac/listofafricanintel ligenceagencies/#tanzania. 25.  Report of the Accountability Review Boards: Bombings of the US Embassies in Nairobi, Kenya and Dar es Salaam, Tanzania on August 7, 1998, https://fas.org/irp /threat/arb/board_daressalaam.html. 26. Ibid. 27.  Country Report on Terrorism 2015 (US Department of State, 2016), https:// www.state.gov/reports/country-reports-on-terrorism-2016/. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid. 30.  Andre LeSage. “The Rising Terrorist Threat in Tanzania: Domestic Islamist Militancy and Regional Threats,” INSS Strategic Forum, 2014, https://ndupress.ndu .edu/Portals/68/Documents/stratforum/SF-288.pdf, 5. 31.  LeSage, “Rising Terrorist Threat in Tanzania,” 5. 32.  “Tanzania: Current Issues and U.S. Policy,” Congressional Research Service, October 6, 2017, https://www.everycrsreport.com/reports/R44271.html. 33.  Mark Green, “Upstate on Tanzania Counterterrorist Issues,” February 4, 2008, C-NC8-00135, US National Archivist, Washington, DC. 34. Ibid.



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35. For video see “Tanzania Defense Intelligence College (Long Version),” Defense Visual Information Distribution Service, December 2, 2014, https://www .dvidshub.net/video/382630/tanzania-defense-intelligence-college-long-version. 36. “Dar es Salaam Tanzania Defense Intelligence College,” Skyscraper City, February 4, 2015, https://www.skyscrapercity.com/threads/dar-es-salaam-tanzania -defense-intelligence-college-35-000sq-foot-u-c.1797327/. 37. Anthony Tsekpo and Alan Hudson, “Parliamentary Strengthening and the Paris Principles: Tanzania Case Study,” January 2009, https://www.odi.org/sites/odi .org.uk/files/odi-assets/publications-opinion-files/4422.pdf, 11. 38.  Tsekpo and Hudson, “Parliamentary Strengthening and the Paris Principles,” 8. 39.  Rasel Madaha, “The Corruption Noose: Will Tanzania Ever Develop?” Africa Review 4, no. 1 (2012): 49–50. 40.  Ibid., 49–50. 41.  Ibid., 43. 42.  Ngurumo, “Tanzania Temporarily Detains Former Intelligence Boss.” 43. Ibid. 44. Ibid. 45.  Edson Kilatu, “Law as the Basic Regulatory Organ of the Society: The Case of Abuse of Fundamental Human Rights by the Police Force in Tanzania” (PhD thesis, Mzumbe University, 2013), http://scholar.mzumbe.ac.tz/bitstream/handle/11192/400 /LLM-Dissertation-Kilatu%2C%20Edson-2013.pdf?sequence=1. 46. Ibid. 47.  Evarist Chahali, “Former Tanzanian Intelligence Officer: In a Free and Fair Vote, the Opposition Wins,” Vanguard Africa, October 26, 2020, http://www.van guardafrica.com/africawatch/2020/10/26/former-tanzanian-intelligence-officer-in-a -free-and-fair-vote-the-opposition-wins. 48.  “Tanzania’s Tundu Lissu Recovering after Gun Attack,” Al Jazeera, September 8, 2017, https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2017/09/tanzania-tundu-lissu-recovering -gun-attack-170908185550801.html. 49. “Tanzanian Officials Warned of Potential Sanctions Applications Ahead of Tundu Lissu’s Return, According to Open Letter from Lawyer Robert Amsterdam,” Amsterdam & Partners LLP, July 24, 2020, https://amsterdamandpartners.com /amsterdam-partners-llp-issues-open-letter-on-tundu-lissus-return-to-tanzania/. 50.  “Tanzania: Tiss Officials Leaked Sensitive Documents to Dr Slaa,” Citizen, February 6, 2018, https://allafrica.com/stories/201802060609.html. 51.  Kilatu, “Law as the Basic Regulatory Organ,” 52. 52. International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Sub-Saharan Africa,” Military Balance 120, no. 1 (2020): 476. 53.  Gahiji Innocent, “Inside Story of Why President Kikwete Deployed Tanzanian Troops in DRC,” News of Rwanda, February 12, 2014, http://www.newsofrwanda .com/featured1/22306/inside-story-of-why-president-kikwete-deployed-tanzanian -troops-in-drc/. 54.  “Tanzania Intercepts Iranian Ship with over 200 kg of Heroin,” New Times, February 5, 2014, https://www.newtimes.co.rw/section/read/72886.

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55. Victor Muisy, “Tanzania: Top Names Listed in Drug Trafficking Racket,” Africa News, February 11, 2017, https://www.africanews.com/2017/02/11/tanzania -top-names-listed-in-drug-trafficking-racket/. 56. “Tanzania Opposition Denounces ‘Smear’ Link to Drugs,” February 9, 2017, https://www.yahoo.com/news/tanzania-opposition-denounces-smear -drugs-172808581.html. 57. “Tanzanian Authorities Issue over €6 Million in Fines to Foreign Fishing Vessels Evading Inspections,” Sea Shepherd Global, February 28, 2018, https://news .cision.com/sea-shepherd-global/r/tanzanian-authorities-issue-over--6-million-in -fines-to-foreign-fishing-vessels-evading-inspections,c2461847. 58. “Illegal Fishing Activities Thwarted in Tanzania after Six Months of Joint Patrols,” Sea Shepherd Netherlands, July 12, 2018. https://www.seashepherd.nl/nl /nieuws-en-events/tanzania-jodari-concludes-2/. 59. “Tanzanian President Tells Security Forces to Pursue Wildlife Poachers,” Reuters, October 29, 2016, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-tanzania-wildlife -idUSKCN12T0OS. 60. Ibid. 61.  “Human, Drugs and Arms Traffickers Targeted in Operations across Eastern and Southern Africa,” INTERPOL, August 8, 2013, https://www.interpol.int/en /News-and-Events/News/2013/Human-drugs-and-arms-traffickers-targeted-in-opera tions-across-Eastern-and-Southern-Africa. 62.  “Trafficking in Persons Report: Tanzania: Tier 2 Watch List,” US Department of State, 2019, https://www.state.gov/reports/2019-trafficking-in-persons-report-2 /tanzania/.

50 Togo Intelligence Culture for Dynastic Rule Martin R. Rupiya

Togo is a small West African country that has been plagued with internal instability and rule by one family for over fifty years. Originally colonized by Germany as Togoland in the nineteenth century, it was administered by France until Togo received independence in 1960. Located on the Gulf of Guinea and bordering Ghana, Benin, and Burkina Faso, it has a population of over eight million.1 In April 1967, Gnassingbé Eyadéma seized power in a coup; he ruled the country until his death in February 2005, at which time his son, Faure Gnassingbé, became president, remaining head of state until the present. Currently, Freedom House rates Togo as “partly free”: opposition is allowed, but political rights and civil liberties are severely limited by the security services.2 This chapter examines Togo’s intelligence culture by exploring its history, institutions, and society. It argues that the Togolese military and security services have successfully kept the ruling family in power since January 1967 through an intelligence and security culture that exercises violence with impunity against the opposition. This chapter is divided into four parts. The first section provides a brief background of the political history and discusses the key intelligence and security services. The second section examines the prospects for intelligence and security reform, noting that the current government has little interest in transforming its institutions despite domestic and international complaints. The third section reviews the state of civil–military relations—which have deteriorated in spite of active oversight, governance, and international partners—highlighting the lack of rule of law and how the intelligence culture influences society and security relationships. The conclusion summarizes the key findings, explaining that a single family has been able to rule the country due to its control over and support from the security sector, which acts with impunity against real and perceived opponents. 669

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BACKGROUND On January 13, 1963, Togo experienced its first military coup, just months before the formation of the Organization of African Unity (OAU). President Sylvanus Olympio (1902–1963) was gunned down at dawn while attempting to seek refuge in the US Embassy in the capital, Lomé. The disgruntled group of soldiers and perpetrators included sergeant Etienne Gnassingbé Eyadéma. In response to the violence, the soldiers welcomed the popular opposition figure, Nicolas Grunizky, to the presidency. This arrangement did not last. On January 13, 1967, Lieutenant Colonel Eyadéma eliminated the presidency and took control. He remained in office for the next thirty-eight years, until he died of cardiac arrest on February 5, 2005, while on an emergency evacuation flight to Paris. Following his death, the Togolese Armed Forces (Forces Armées Togolaises, FAT) quickly suspended the constitution while gathering all members of parliament to pass a constitutional amendment for Eyadéma’s son, Faure Gnassingbé, to assume the presidency. The military also subverted the constitution, preventing the speaker of the parliament from returning to the country. This was challenged by the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) and Nigerian president Olusegun Obasanjo, who called for the government to respect the constitution. Subsequently, Faure stepped down from office for sixty days, in line with the constitutional provisions, before the April 2005 election. He subsequently mounted an aggressive election campaign against little organized opposition, as large parts of the Ewe (an ethnic group that makes up over 40 percent of the country) in the south were forced to flee into exile, mainly to Benin, Ghana, and Europe. The violent political culture became the norm. Most recently, in February 2020, Faure Gnassingbé stood for his fourth five-year term as president and secured over 70.78 percent of the vote amid public claims of electoral fraud.3 Consequently, Eyadéma’s 1967 coup still impacts the country today.4 The key to the family’s ability to retain power has been the intelligence and security services established in the same year, 1967. At the time, the coup perpetrators, including then sergeant Gnassingbé Eyadéma (then known as Étienne Eyadéma), quickly created institutions that have sustained the family’s power ever since. On taking over, Eyadéma banned all opposition political parties and in 1969 created the Rally for the Togolese People (Rassemblement du Peuple Togolais, RPT). He also created an officer corps exclusively drawn from his home village in the north. Eyadéma carefully constructed a clan-based, mono-ethnic power structure with his northern ethnic Kabye and particularly those drawn from his Paye village, where he recruited the majority of officers, whom he personally



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trained.5 The intelligence and security services consist of the National Intelligence Agency (Agence Nationale de Renseignements, ANR), Togolese National Gendarmerie (Gendarmerie Nationale Togolaise), and Togolese Armed Forces (Forces Armées Togolaises, FAT) under the Defense Ministry, as well as the national police force under the Ministry of Interior Security and Civil Protection.6 According to the US 2020 Human Rights Report on Togo, the police and gendarmerie are responsible for maintaining law and order, and the gendarmerie is also responsible for the border.7 The ANR “provides intelligence to police and gendarmes,” but it officially has no “internal security or detention facility responsibilities.”8 These security units, along with the ruling RPT party, were the key tools in President Gnassingbé Eyadéma’s executing a carefully constructed and highly personalized line of absolute control. In fact, analyst Andrew Manley described the selection of personnel for the army as “idiosyncratic.”9 According to the International Institute for Strategic Studies, the armed forces consist of 8,550 personnel (8,100 in the army, 200 in the navy, and 250 in the air force) as well as a paramilitary force of 750 people.10 The armed forces lack deployment capabilities in the region, while financial limitations have led to serious problems that also impact maintenance.11 The ANR’s size is unknown, and there is little information about it, but the United Nations reports on its officers engaging in the torture of political opposition.12 There are three significant events that demonstrate the central role of intelligence and security services in regime protection for the father and son. Indeed, these events highlight the power the authorities have over the population as well as the measures they take to protect the country’s leaders. It is important to note that all interventions were of a political nature, undergirded by the daily and constant gendarmerie and aggressive military relationship with particularly southerners in the Togolese society. The first event occurred in response to a report by Pierre Sane, of Amnesty International, about the Togolese military engaging in human rights abuses. The report Togo: Etat de terreur (Togo: State of terror) described the military killing opponents over the course of several decades.13 In response, Sane was branded as “Satanic,” deported from the country in 1999, charged with “conspiracy against the security of the state,” and not allowed to enter the country with a UN delegation in 2001.14 The second event occurred when citizens of Togo sought to follow regional trends with the National Convention process in Benin, which enabled the transformation from one-party statism to multiparty democracy. In Lomé, the National Convention started in July 1991 and ended in August 1991. It was apparent that the populace wanted to move toward forming and later

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declared itself a Sovereign Council. Popular human rights activist Joseph Kokou Koffigoh was appointed the Sovereign Council’s interim leader until free and fair elections could be held to choose a replacement for the incumbent Eyadéma. Acting outside the political parties but under Eyadéma, the army attacked the council.15 First the army surrounded Koffigoh’s home and arrested him, followed by dismantling the council and closing its physical offices. Furthermore, the military aggression forced participants to return home out of fear that they would be targeted. Compared to other convention processes in neighboring states, this was the abrupt and violent end of the Togolese experience. The third event demonstrates how the Togolese military acted during the internal power struggle between President Faure Gnassingbé and Kpatcha Gnassingbe, minister of defense from 2005 to 2007 and Faure’s half brother. In 2009 the president was leaving for an official state visit to China but learned about an imminent coup in Lomé. Faure canceled his trip and launched an investigation. In early November 2009, the military engaged in a four-hour gun battle with Kpatcha and other suspected officers. Kpatcha fled to the US Embassy for political asylum but was arrested.16 In events similar to those in January 1963 when Sylvanus Olympio was gunned down before entering the US Embassy, Kpatcha made it onto the grounds on November 2, 2009. However, diplomatic protocols prevented him from being granted political asylum, and he was forced to leave the embassy. Kpatcha was immediately arrested by officials from the attorney general’s office.17 Kpatcha spent several years in jail before he was brought to trial.18 In September 2011, Kpatcha was convicted and received a twenty-year sentence for planning a military coup against the presidency.19 These events demonstrate the power, impunity, and internal focus of the security services. Within Togo, the dominance of the clan and ethnic identity of the Kabye is undisputed. The security services and the ruling party make decisions that favor regime protection, which have implications for political and institutional reform. PROSPECTS FOR REFORM In assessing prospects for intelligence and security sector reform, one should examine the European Union (EU)’s efforts to establish relevant election management bodies and related processes for the February 2020 elections in Togo. The EU employed the norms based on the African Union’s Charter on Election and Governance, beyond its own and those of the United Nations, to guide and inform the elections. Yet when it was clear that the Togolese



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officials were not prepared to change, the EU ended the effort.20 That is an indication of what is likely to happen with reform efforts that could challenge more than fifty years of family rule. President Faure Gnassingbé, now in his fourth term, appears confident he can continue ignoring demands for reform. This is part of a broader trend in which other small West African states, such as Gabon, Burkina Faso, and even Benin, are adopting antidemocratic norms. This trend has reduced the ability of states like Nigeria and Senegal to influence the debate within the forums of ECOWAS in moving the region toward democratization.21 Indeed, without internal or external forces demanding meaningful reform, it is unlikely to come from Togo’s current political leadership. In terms of security threats to Togo, there is little concern about fellow ECOWAS regional member states. On the international level, however, anecdotal evidence has emerged that cocaine and other drug traffickers have taken advantage of weak and poorly managed African states and have merged with Togolese criminal networks. Against this background, Togo had traditionally served as an outlet of major informal West African networks, such as child trafficking.22 However, Togolese intelligence and security services have had their capacity built up by the French General Directorate for External Security (Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure, DGSE), which has successfully gravitated and partly integrated with sister organizations in Benin, Burkina Faso, and Ghana, creating conditions of preparedness when threats come near the borders of the country. Finally, beyond targeting Sylvanus Olympio’s son Gilchrist’s successor political party, the intelligence and security services have been able to engage with either formal or informal economic groups or networks to build their capacity. OVERSIGHT, GOVERNANCE, AND INTERNATIONAL PARTNERS Togolese’s intelligence capabilities rest in the ANR, gendarmerie, and military. Though the gendarmerie and the military are institutions within the ministerial presidential system, they are also directly answerable to the Office of the President. The intelligence and security services draw resources from the state, but that does mean they obey the rule of law. Scholar Christof Hartmann described the political impasse in the Gambia in 2016, noting that the small West African state’s autocratic leadership had secured the upper hand in thwarting democratic advancement in the region.23 Togo was and continues to be in the forefront of this development as well. Indeed, in Togo the intelligence and security culture developed with the objective of neutralizing any serious political opposition by legal or extralegal means.

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In this sense, Togo’s intelligence services also shaped society and civilmilitary relations. During the ongoing struggle between the Eyadéma regime and the Ewe, units of Togolese intelligence had the habit of entering the refugee camps to kidnap leading activists and conduct extrajudicial killings with impunity. This practice increased in Ghana after the late president Jerry Rawlings’s era, following the election of President John Kufuor in 2001.24 The aim was to spread fear and repress opponents to Eyadéma whether they were in- or outside of Togo. The effect of military units from Togo acting with impunity in the neighboring states of Ghana and Benin not only means the countries are complicit, but has also emboldened Togo’s intelligence officers. This has been facilitated by France’s limited disengagement in Gabon as well as the other former colonies of Burkina Faso and Benin, where France’s presence is more established and encouraged. Thus, Lomé’s intelligence culture has developed with impunity to engage in human rights abuses. The Togolese intelligence culture of repression, particularly of Ewe communities in refugee camps in northern Ghana and Benin, has been documented by Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, the UN, and other organizations. Human rights groups and international organizations have been forced to leave or restricted from working in the country, which has impeded their work. Meanwhile, the intelligence culture has not been willing or forced to reform. There is little information about Togo’s intelligence relationships. However, its services receive training from France’s DGSE.25 This has provided Togo with capabilities that have overwhelmed Gilchrist Olympio and other political opposition even in exile. A more recent report has suggested that Russia “is ready to equip the Togolese Army,” demonstrating the ability of the state now under Faure Gnassingbé to go beyond the traditional French partnership.26 Togolese intelligence’s actions have serious implications for peacekeeping training standards by ECOWAS conducted under the Kofi Annan International Peacekeeping Training Centre (KAIPTC) in Accra, Ghana. Based on the existing training protocols, countries share and exchange directing staff and doctrine, working toward possible oversight reform.27 Togo is expected to standardize with other neighboring states, but the FAT is a quasi-gendarmerie answerable directly to Eyadéma. It does not compare to neighboring government structures that follow constitutions, independent judiciaries, and regulations. Indeed, Togo’s intelligence and security services act to protect the dynasty rather than the state. After two decades, Gnassingbé has sown seeds among the Eyadéma family for another family member to take control. This is a precedent that the African continent now appears resigned to, having no alternative to autocrats who have reigned for decades.



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CONCLUSION In January 1963, Togolese president Sylvanus Olympio was killed trying to reach the US Embassy for refuge. Just four years later, another coup was launched and led to the Eyadéma family taking control over the country for fifty years. The country’s intelligence and security services are still impacted by these events. This chapter argued that the Eyadémas’ rule in Togo is the result of the securitization of society, whereby the intelligence and security services have blocked opposition to protect the Eyadéma family. To do this, the services have developed a culture of impunity, behaving in a manner in which human rights abuses are condoned and serious political opposition is not tolerated. NOTES  1. “Togo,” in The World Factbook (Central Intelligence Agency, 2021), https:// www.cia.gov/the-world-factbook/countries/togo/.   2.  “Togo,” Freedom House, 2021, https://freedomhouse.org/country/togo/freedom -world/2020.  3. “Togo’s Faure Gnassingbé ‘Wins Re-election’ Amid Fraud Protest,” BBC, February 24, 2020, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-51606972.   4.  Anja Osei, “Like Father, Like Son? Power and Influence across Two Gnassingbé Presidencies in Togo,” Democratization 25, no. 8 (2018): 1460–1480.   5.  Dirk Kohnert, “Political and Socio Economic Development (2019–2021),” in BTI 2021—Togo Country Report (Gütersloh: Bertelsmann Foundation, 2021), https:// www.econstor.eu/bitstream/10419/225334/1/BTI-2021-Togo-AuthorsVersion.pdf.  6. Togo 2020 Crime & Safety Report (US Department of State, April 9, 2020), https://www.osac.gov/Country/Togo/Content/Detail/Report/1afba1d9-f4a6-414b -b1e1-1867c0edd3f3.  7. Togo 2020 Human Rights Report (US Department of State, 2020), https:// tg.usembassy.gov/wp-content/uploads/sites/220/TOGO-2020-HUMAN-RIGHTS -REPORT.pdf.  8. Ibid.  9. Andrew Manley, “Togo: After Eyadéma,” UNHCR Paper no. 14 (United Nations, February 2003), 1–13, https://www.refworld.org/pdfid/3e4cb8084.pdf. See also “At the Helm,” Africa Confidential 38, no. 4 (January 31, 1997); “Last of the Dinosaurs,” Africa Confidential 43, no. 14 (July 12, 2002); Economist Intelligence Unit, Togo: Country Report Third Quarter 1994 (London: Economist Intelligence Unit, 1994), 7. 10. International Institute for Strategic Studies, “Sub-Saharan Africa,” Military Balance 120, no. 1 (2020): 507. 11. Ibid. 12.  Concluding Observations on the Third Periodic Report of Togo, United Nations, CAT/C/TGO/CO/3, August 27, 2019, 6, https://tbinternet.ohchr.org/_layouts/15/trea

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tybodyexternal/Download.aspx?symbolno=CAT/C/TGO/CO/3&Lang=En. See also “Togo Human Rights,” Amnesty International, 2021, https://www.amnestyusa.org /countries/togo/. 13.  “Togo: The Time Has Come to See Justice Done,” Amnesty International, July 1999, https://www.amnesty.org/en/documents/afr57/025/1999/fr/. 14.  “‘Satanic’ Sane deported,” Irish Times, May 22, 1999, https://www.irishtimes .com/news/satanic-sane-deported-1.187674; and Togo: The Time for Accountability Has Finally Arrived, (International Commission of Inquiry on Togo, February 2001), https://www.refworld.org/pdfid/3b83b7040.pdf. 15.  Manley, “Togo: After Eyadéma,” 7. 16.  “Togo Leader Gnassingbe’s Brother Jailed for Coup Plot,” BBC, September 15, 2011, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-14935349. 17. “Togo: President’s Brother Treated Humanely Following Arrest,” Voice of America, November 2, 2009, https://www.voanews.com/archive/togo-presidents -brother-treated-humanely-following-arrest. 18.  “Togo: Former Minister of Defense Kpatcha Gnassingbe, Sick, Asks to Be Released from Prison,” Teller Report, May 6, 2021, https://www.tellerreport.com /news/2021-06-05-togo--former-minister-of-defense-kpatcha-gnassingbe--sick --asks-to-be-released-from-prison.rkxeJQ-tq_.html. 19.  “Togo Leader Gnassingbe’s Brother Jailed for Coup Plot.” 20.  Togo’s government also blocked the main international observer group from entering the country. “Togo Election: Main Observer Group Barred from Monitoring,” Al Jazeera, February 19, 2020, https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2020/2/19 /togo-election-main-observer-group-barred-from-monitoring. 21.  Christof Hartmann, “ECOWAS and the Restoration of Democracy in the Gambia,” Africa Spectrum 52 no. 1 (2017): 86–99. 22.  “Borderline Slavery Child Trafficking in Togo,” Human Rights Watch, April 1, 2003, https://www.hrw.org/report/2003/04/01/borderline-slavery/child-trafficking -togo. 23.  Hartmann, “ECOWAS and the Restoration of Democracy. 24.  See Manley, “Togo: After Eyadéma.” 25.  Kohnert, “Political and Socio Economic Development,” 6. 26. “Moscow at the Ready to Equip Togolease Army,” Africa Intelligence, May 25, 2021, https://www.africaintelligence.com/central-and-west-africa_business /2021/05/26/moscow-at-the-ready-to-equip-togolese-army,109668805-bre. 27.  Hartmann, “ECOWAS and the Restoration of Democracy.” 86–99.

51 Tunisia An Uphill Battle with Intelligence Reform Florina Cristiana Matei and Jumana Kawar

In the aftermath of the 2011 Tunisian popular uprising, subsequent Tunisian governments sought to institutionalize new and transparent intelligence services subject to democratic civilian control and oversight.1 The most significant motivators behind Tunisia’s efforts to democratize its intelligence services were human rights abuses, violence, oppression, and censorship committed by the intelligence agencies under Zine El Abidine bin Ali’s dictatorial regime. A decade later, Tunisia is showing significant progress in developing democratic and effective intelligence agencies, but it has yet to find a balance between ensuring intelligence effectiveness and democratic reform. The legacy of bin Ali’s twenty-three-year autocratic rule in the security and intelligence services and the regional terrorism threat have been the most challenging obstacles to advancing the reform process. The path forward requires policy makers to pursue a more robust guidance and direction to the roles and missions of the intelligence agencies and conduct more effective formal oversight. This chapter is organized in five sections. Drawing from press accounts, secondary literature, and publicly available government documents, it argues that Tunisia’s intelligence culture has been plagued by abuses; although problems persist, the intelligence sector has been significantly transformed since 2011. The first part explores the country’s intelligence services under bin Ali from 1987 to 2011, demonstrating the nascent framework and abuses aimed at regime protection. In the second section, intelligence since the 2011 revolution is examined, with attention to democratic reforms and legal frameworks. Next, the third part highlights factors that shape the intelligence culture, including civil society’s role. The fourth section explores the framework and ensuing challenges surrounding intelligence control and oversight. 677

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The chapter ends with a conclusion highlighting the country’s future intelligence trajectory with particular attention to characteristics of the culture and oversight. INTELLIGENCE CULTURE UNDER BIN ALI Under bin Ali from 1987 to 2011, Tunisia’s government was an authoritarian regime that relied on political police, which consisted of organizations and individuals inside and outside the government gathering information on anyone who could potentially threaten the regime.2 The security apparatus carried out violence, surveillance, censorship, and human rights abuses against real and perceived political opponents.3 During this period, five main intelligence agencies operated with significant power. The Directorate of State Security (DSE) was responsible for coordinating the Directorate General of Special Services for General Intelligence and the Directorate of Technical Services for Technical Intelligence.4 The intelligence services lacked a legal framework, and the only civilian oversight present was bin Ali’s personal control of the Ministry of Interior (MOI), which helped bin Ali consolidate power. In 1967, the nondemocratic regime of Prime Minister (then president) Habib Bourguiba created the Directorate of National Security (GDNS) within the MOI, unifying the police and the Directorate of the National Guard (GDNG). The unification was in response to social unrest inside the country due to failing economy and Bourguiba’s authoritarian rule.5 In 1984 bin Ali led the GDNS through an in-depth reorganization of the MOI security services with a presidential decree, resulting in the separation of the GDNS and GDNG.6 The GDNS had three primary missions: “maintaining public order, monitoring borders and foreigners, and investigating all aspects of political, economic, social and cultural fields and reporting on them.”7 According to the same presidential decree, the GDNG had six missions: “maintaining public order, protecting land and maritime borders, intervening throughout the country as a force of second category, gathering intelligence in the field of politics, investigating social and economic fields[,] and providing civil protections.”8 In 1984 the General Directorate of Presidential Security and Protection of Prominent Officials (GDPSPPO) was created within the GDNS under the MOI. However, in 1987, after a coup led by bin Ali and following his seizure of power, he issued a presidential decree to remove the GDPSPPO from the MOI and placed it under his direct command, with regime protection its primary mission.9 The GDPSPPO was well armed and equipped with a separate intelligence service named the Presidential Security Sub-Directorate of Intelligence (PSSDI), which collected crucial intelligence for the regime’s secu-



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rity, including collecting information from all governmental departments.10 After bin Ali’s rise to power, the intelligence and security services were placed under his control to protect himself and his regime against internal and external threats. TUNISIA’S INTELLIGENCE AGENCIES FROM 2011 TO THE PRESENT In 2011 a popular uprising in the country termed the Jasmine Revolution ended bin Ali’s rule. Following the revolution, Tunisia has striven to bring forward free and fair elections and institutionalize freedoms, liberties, and civil rights. According to the Economist Intelligence Unit’s 2017 Democracy Index, Tunisia is a flawed democracy but nonetheless ranks sixty-nine in the world and second in the Middle East and North Africa region.11 Under this newborn democracy, Tunisia has been trying to transform its intelligence agencies from institutions that protect the nondemocratic regime into services for the country’s security. While the Jasmine Revolution is a turning point of great significance for the country’s intelligence agencies and its reform agenda, Tunisia has yet to achieve a balanced trade-off between transparency and accountability and the effectiveness of these intelligence services. In 2011 a group of experts led by Lazhar Akarmi, who was the minister of interior and in charge of security reform, published a white book discussing intelligence reform in its last chapter.12 The document failed to promote the principles of democratic governance of the security sector and only sought to strengthen the operational capabilities of the security sector to address security challenges.13 Among Tunisia’s first postdictatorship government’s steps to reform the country’s intelligence agencies was dissolving the Directorate of State Security, the Directorate General of Anti-Terrorism Prevention, and the Joint Committee for Intelligence and Border Control, run by the Central Directorate of General Intelligence.14 Critics opposed to abolishing the Directorate of State Security argued that it had a critical role in responding to security crises, including interagency coordination, filtering information, and sharing analysis.15 In 2014 the head of the Tunisian government issued a decree establishing the Defense Intelligence and Security Agency (DISA) to replace bin Ali’s Directorate of Military Security. The DISA served as a public institution with an administrative character, legal status, and independence, with the primary mission of intelligence collection on potential threats to the armed forces and the country.16

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Currently Tunisia’s intelligence community is comprised of the following agencies: the Directorate of National Security (GDNS) and the General Directorate of the National Guard (GDNG) within the MOI; and the DISA within the Ministry of Defense (MOD); the General Directorate of Presidential Security and Protection of Prominent Officials (GDPSPPO), within the Office of the President and under the direct command of the president.17 While Tunisia adopted a new constitution in 2014, it did not include a clear and robust legal basis for the intelligence sector’s role and oversight. In fact, the constitution does not address the intelligence services or security sector governance, only including several articles dealing with internal security and others focusing on the military.18 Academic analysis indicates that the National Constituent Assembly members’ lack of defense and security expertise prevented them from properly addressing reform of the security sector and ensuring oversight.19 ISSUES THAT SHAPE THE INTELLIGENCE CULTURE The regional security environment significantly influences Tunisia’s intelligence culture in working toward a balance between maintaining intelligence services’ effectiveness in dealing with increasing terrorist threats and establishing control and oversight to prevent abuse. Tunisia’s democratic reform agenda coincided with perilous security threats, chief among them terrorism connected with the protracted civil war in Libya as well as the rise of the Islamic State. Moh’d Alyamani, a Royal Jordanian Air Force officer, explained: “These terrorist groups presented an imminent and existential threat to Tunisia’s democracy project, especially with the return of thousands of Tunisian fighters from Iraq, Syria, and Libya.”20 Libya particularly posed a serious national security threat to Tunisia’s fragile democracy and tested the ability of Tunisia’s intelligence services to contain it. Frederic Wehrey argued, “The escalation and spillover of Libya’s conflict has posed mounting security challenges for Tunisia and exposed shortfalls in the country’s defense transformation, in the areas of capability gaps, interagency coordination, intelligence sharing, strategic planning, and in the military’s relationship with foreign security patrons.”21 Since late 2010, Tunisia’s government has improved intelligence collection and analysis on Libya and its security risks to Tunisia. For example, Tunisian military intelligence expanded the radius of its intelligence collection into Libya to include Tripoli, running its own human intelligence (HUMINT) sources, and conducts open-source analysis to better understand the armed groups and political factions in Libya.22



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Terrorist attacks have also prompted reform. For example, in response to the terrorist attacks in 2015, Tunisia’s government increased the military’s anti-terrorism role and created DISA. Legal experts have criticized DISA’s legal basis because the decree that created it is broad and does not clearly define “potential threats” and “security” or mention that it was created through the executive instead of a legislature.23 Similarly, the Tunisian government decided to reform its National Intelligence Agency in the aftermath of the 2016 assassination of Mohammed Al-Zawahiri, the Tunisian drone expert affiliated with Hamas, on Tunisian soil allegedly by Israeli intelligence. In 2016 the Office of the President presented the government with a study to reform the National Intelligence Agency’s mission to include collecting information, coordinating among all intelligence agencies, controlling the strategic options in the fields of gathering intelligence and analysis, developing the national intelligence plan, and planning international cooperation in the field of intelligence.24 Since the transition to democracy in 2011, Tunisia has attempted to boost intelligence coordination, cooperation, and sharing across Tunisia’s intelligence agencies and internationally with its intelligence counterparts. For this purpose, in 2017 Tunisia established the National Intelligence Center under government Decree no. 71, a terrorism-focused intelligence fusion center.25 Despite these reform endeavors, Tunisia still lacks intelligence forecasting capabilities—both at the strategic and operational levels—in part thanks to the protean internal conflict in Libya.26 Tunisia’s current intelligence agencies’ recruitment, education, training, and career development processes impact the intelligence culture and require further development. One personnel-related area that needs improvement, for example, is respect for human rights and rule of law. Civil society organizations have warned that Tunisia’s intelligence services (and government) may use the fight against terrorism as a pretext to limit citizens’ liberties and rights for personal or political versus actual security reasons, which could regress to authoritarianism, as the legal framework and oversight bodies are precarious and ostensibly permit such practices.27 As a North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) nonvoting member, Tunisia has received international support to bolster its surveillance technology for border security purposes.28 Analyst Edna Bonhomme explained: “The United States and Germany have contributed US$25 million and US$41 million, respectively, to surveillance technologies including mobile observation and securitization of the Tunisian-Libyan border” and “the Tunisian Ministry of Interior is directly receiving funds and equipment from two major industrialized nations to carry out the surveillance technology along the Libyan border and the Mediterranean Sea.”29 She warned about the use of mass

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surveillance technology in Tunisia in a manner that contradicts the democratic principles in the country.30 Bonhomme also highlighted an activist’s concern that the security sector “has undermined civilian political autonomy over anti-terrorist laws. The terrorist threat has been overemphasized compared to the reality.”31 The domestic intelligence education institutions, such as the School of Intelligence and Military Security, established in 2017, coupled with intelligence education provided by democratic allies and partners throughout the globe, could help improve intelligence professionalism.32 Likewise, the Bilateral Country Action Plan (BCAP), a partnership signed between the United States and Tunisia in 2017 aimed at strengthening Tunisia’s security institutions, may help boost intelligence effectiveness by procuring a fleet of US Cessna 208 Caravan reconnaissance aircraft and through the development and maturation of a Tunisian military intelligence cadre with US assistance in a military intelligence training center.33 CONTROL AND OVERSIGHT Several layers of control and oversight have been codified as part of the democratization of Tunisia’s intelligence apparatus. Currently, Tunisia’s democratic control and monitoring of the intelligence agencies is carried out by the executive, legislative, and judicial branches of the government, in addition to informal organizations—most notably the media. At the executive branch level, control and oversight are under the authority of the president and prime minister through the National Security Council (NSC), as well as civilian-led ministries. The NSC was created in 1987 under bin Ali to “collect, study, analyze, and assess all information and security data related to national security within the realms of domestic policy, foreign affairs, and defense policy in order to protect the state’s internal and external security and consolidate its foundations.”34 The NSC has seven specialized committees, including intelligence, national defense, civil defense, food security, transportation security, infrastructure security, and energy security.35 A 1990 presidential decree placed the intelligence committee, which includes representatives from the Defense Ministry, the Foreign Affairs Ministry, and the MOI, under the direction of the MOI, giving it an exclusive role in the country’s intelligence.36 The post–Arab Spring NSC, created by Decree No. 2017-70 on January 19, 2017, shifted the NSC’s focus from coordinating political police–related activities to strategic coordination of national security–related issues and courses of action.37



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In parallel, government Decree No. 2017-71 on January 19, 2017, established the National Intelligence Centre (NIC), a strategic-level intelligence fusion center, aimed at reducing rivalries and turf battles between the various intelligence agencies. The NIC has not yet become functional. The NIC, according to the Arab Weekly, “was not activated” due to a “lack of political will, although its activation will be very beneficial for both the sector (intelligence services) and the NSC.”38 Meanwhile control and oversight over the MOI intelligence services is the prerogative of the MOI, which rejects oversight on the grounds of national security. Scholars Anthony Dworkin and Fatim-Zohra El Malki argued that “the ministry remains resistant to . . . oversight . . . the rise of security threats in Tunisia in the last few years has made reform of the Ministry of the Interior more difficult, as many officials continue to believe that police transparency and accountability would be an impediment to fighting terrorism.”39 Moreover, academic Querine Hanlon noted how the MOI’s organizational chart being classified complicates mapping internal security structures and oversight mechanisms within the ministry.40 She described the MOI as a “proverbial black box of Tunisia’s security sector.”41 Since 2014, two committees in the Tunisian parliament have become responsible for the legislative oversight by dividing a defense committee in two. The first is the Committee on Administrative Organization and the Affairs of the Armed Forces (COAAFA), which oversees the public sector, administrative decentralization, and the military. The second is the Committee on Security and Defense (CSD), which monitors security- and defenserelated issues, including “holding discussions and hearings with government security officials to implement national security policies or to hold them accountable.”42 Moreover, the CSD committee can “research and suggest reforms to COAAFA and help them draft proposals regarding both military and policy institutions, but cannot vote on COAAFA’s bills before they head to the parliament.”43 One of the biggest challenges for these committees has been the lack of knowledge to help reform the security sector.44 In many instances, oversight of the intelligence and security services has been in reaction to security threats inside the country or to media raising the alarm.45 Media reports have prompted the committees or even several parliamentarians to start investigations related to illegal wiretappings in particular.46 Additionally, members of the parliamentary committees seem to be willing to strengthen their effectiveness in conducting oversight. The most recent example is the workshop organized by the Geneva Center for the Democratic Control of the Armed Forces (DCAF) in January 2019 to boost parliamentarians’ intelligence oversight expertise.47

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Judicial review of intelligence agencies was established by Law No. 26, which stipulates that surveillance “must be warranted by a judicial order issued by either an Investigative Judge or the Prosecutor of the Republic.”48 It further mandates, “The order must identify the specific types of communications subject to intercept and/or monitor for a period that cannot exceed four months every time it is granted, and that can only be renewed once.”49 The law also requires investigators to maintain a written record of their surveillance, and failure to receive prior judicial approval for interception of communications may result in imprisonment for up to one year.50 The Technical Agency for Telecommunications, established with Decree No. 2013-4506 in November 2013 under the Ministry of Communication and Information Technologies, is tasked with carrying out “communications surveillance operations on behalf of the prosecution to collect electronic data that can later serve as evidence before the courts.”51 One notable example of abuse was the decision by the Tunisian government in May 2016 to conduct mass video surveillance of citizens in several Tunisian cities, including the capital. Human rights groups’ condemnation resulted in the enactment of a law on the protection of personal data on May 25, 2018, replacing Law No. 63. It “requires private data controllers to apply for authorization from the INPDP [National Authority for Personal Data Protection] prior to processing personal data or transferring it abroad. The INPDP is also mandated to investigate privacy violations and to report those violations to the government.”52 Observers in Tunisia argue the judicial process remains challenging due to a lack of judiciary branch independence.53 Mass surveillance and the ways in which new technologies are employed in Tunisia present emerging challenges. Tunisian human rights activists are particularly wary of the collection of biometric data on privacy and civil liberties. In 2016 the Tunisian parliament voted down a draft law that would have expanded the government’s collection of this type of information.54 As Tunisia endeavors to foster freedom of the media, intelligence personnel, practices, and operations have been under informal scrutiny by civil society.55 Tunisia’s civil society and media have been advocating for intelligence reform, transitional justice, and oversight of the intelligence agencies and other security institutions in the midst of economic concerns. A 2019 International Republican Institute survey found that respondents identified the economy, including cost of living, high prices, and unemployment, as the most important problem facing Tunisia.56 Yet in the same survey, some respondents expressed nostalgia for the bin Ali dictatorship’s days, recalling lower unemployment despite the human rights abuses. Meanwhile, Tunisia has started connecting its civil society with the intelligence sector, as more think tanks conduct open-source intelligence studies.57 There is hope among



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intelligence experts in the country that journalists and media specializing in intelligence will increase participation in open-source analysis.58 In sum, while Tunisian governments have created democratic control and oversight mechanisms, their de facto and de jure oversight has not been fully effective. This is due to the precarious legal framework, which does not provide for clear rules and structures, as well as the lack of civilian expertise in intelligence, which permits intelligence abuse. CONCLUSION The story of Tunisia’s intelligence culture is a cautionary tale. Tunisia’s intelligence culture has consisted of a legacy of abuse and eroded state-civil society trust. Although Tunisia has established several official intelligence oversight mechanisms, oversight remains weak and inconsistent due to current frameworks and limited expertise. Another challenge for effective intelligence oversight is the current legal framework for intelligence, which permits intelligence agencies to transgress against and abuse Tunisian citizens. Yet informal oversight by civil society and the media has exposed intelligence transgressions and abuses, prompting change, and has been more effective than formal institutional oversight. The intelligence services still lack clear and well-defined rules and structures, which shapes the intelligence culture. Indeed, the lack of clarity complicates the task of effective institutional control and oversight, while intelligence effectiveness is still an area of concern that requires further improvements and reform. As Tunisia consolidates its democracy, it must continue transforming its intelligence culture in pursuit of an acceptable trade-off between effective and transparent intelligence agencies. To this end, Tunisian policy makers must press for and put into practice robust guidance on the roles and missions of the intelligence services, such as professionalizing the agencies and effective formal oversight. Moreover, media and civil society must continue to play an essential role as watchdogs of intelligence personnel’s activities and practices. If democracy remains “the only game in town” for Tunisia, intelligence reform must continue to be part of the game.59 NOTES 1.  The ideas and views expressed in this chapter are the authors’ only and do not represent the official view or policies of the US government or the US Department of the Navy.

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  2.  We used Linz and Stepan’s classification of nondemocratic regimes. See Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation: Southern Europe, South America, and Post-Communist Europe (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996). From independence from France in 1956 through 1987, Tunisia was ruled by Bourguiba, a secular nationalist and independence activist. “Political Transition in Tunisia,” Congressional Research Service (CRS) Report, August 11, 2015, 1–17.   3.  Lawrence Cline, “The Case of Tunisia,” in Security Forces in African States: Cases and Assessment, ed. Paul Shemella and Nicholas Tomb (New York: Cambria Press, 2017).   4.  The General Directorate of National Security (GDNS), which housed the General Directorate of Special Services (GDSS), featuring the Directorate of Studies and Documentation (DSD) and the Directorate of State Security (DSE); the Presidential Security Sub-Directorate of Intelligence (PSSDI), under the Presidential Security Guard (PSG); the General Directorate of Technical Services (GDTS), under the Ministry of Interior; The Tunisian Internet Agency (ATI), under the Ministry of Technology and Communications; and the Directorate of Intelligence and Investigations (DII), under the General Directorate of the National Guard. For detailed information on the specific roles and missions of each agency, see Bassem Bouguerra, “Reforming Tunisia’s Troubled Security Sector,” Atlantic Council Rafik Hariri Center for The Middle East, October 2014, 1–6; and Nouredinne Jeboun, Tunisia’s National Intelligence: Why “Rogue Elephants” Fail to Reform (Washington, DC: Georgetown University/New Academia Publishing, 2017), 30.  5. Jebnoun. Tunisia’s National Intelligence, 30.  6. Ibid.  7. Ibid., 18.  8. Ibid.  9. Ibid. 10.  Ibid., 30. 11.  The protests started in December 2010, when disenfranchised people identified themselves with Mohamed Bouazizi, a twenty-six-year-old fruit vendor, who set himself on fire. Indeed, by 2010–2011 Tunisians had become increasingly unhappy, on the one hand, because of the regime’s extreme repression, corruption, and nepotism, and on the other hand, because of the blatant socioeconomic gap between the developed seaside region and the poorer rest of the country. Ben Ali ultimately fled to Saudi Arabia in 2011. See “Political Transition in Tunisia,” 1–17. 12.  “State of Surveillance Tunisia,” March 2019, https://privacyinternational.org/ state-privacy/1012/state-surveillance-tunisia. 13. Querine Hanlon, Security Sector Reform in Tunisia: A Year after the Jasmine Revolution (US Institute of Peace Special Report, May 2012, 9). It should be noted that scholars use either the term “white book” or “white paper” for the same document. 14.  Cline, “Case of Tunisia,” 235. 15. Ibid. 16. Jebnoun, Tunisia’s National Intelligence, 74.



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17. The report is based on the following five categories: electoral process and pluralism, civil liberties, the functioning of government, political participation, and political culture. Tunisia’s scores were 6, 5.88, 5.71, 7.78, and 6.25 points (out of 10 possible). See “Tunisia Tops Arab Countries in EIU 2017 Democracy Index,” Agency Tunis Afrique Press, January 31, 2018. 18.  Cécile Guy, “La Constitution Tunisienne du 27 Janvier 2014 et la gouvernance du secteur de la sécurité” [The Tunisian Constitution of January 27, 2014 and the governance of the security sector], DCAF, 2014, http://www.dcaf-tunisie.org//admin Dcaf/upload/ejournal/documentfr_10223.pdf. 19.  Cline, “Case of Tunisia,” 227. 20.  Ibid., 47. 21  Frederic Wehrey, “Tunisia’s Wake-Up Call: How Security Challenges from Libya Are Shaping Defense Reforms,” Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, March 18, 2020, https://carnegieendowment.org/2020/03/18/tunisia-s-wake-up-call -how-security-challenges-from-libya-are-shaping-defense-reforms-pub-81312. 22. Ibid. 23. Hanlon, Security Sector Reform in Tunisia, 1–16. 24. “Twns tqrr e’eadh ensha’ jhaz almkhabrat b’ed hadth aghtyal almhnds alzwara” [Tunisia decides to re-establish the Intelligence Service after the assassination of engineer al-Zahrawi], Al-Yawm al-sabe, December 21, 2016, https:// www.youm7.com/story/2016/12/21/‫سنوت‬-‫ررقت‬-‫ةداعإ‬-‫ءاشنإ‬-‫زاهج‬-‫تارباخملا‬-‫دعب‬‫ثداح‬-‫لايتغا‬-‫سدنهملا‬/3020232; and “Who Killed Tunisian Drone Expert Mohammed Al-Zawari?,” Al Jazeera, December 12, 2018, https://www.aljazeera.com /programmes/aljazeeraworld/2018/12/killed-tunisian-drone-expert-mohammed-al -zawari-181204070318931.html. 25.  The center’s first success occurred a year later, when the Tunisian law enforcement agencies, using information from the intelligence agencies, took down a terrorist cell that operated in southern Tunisia. Ibid. 26.  Wehrey, “Tunisia’s Wake-Up Call.” 27.  In fact, as the Arab Weekly indicates, “The Security Law of 2003 . . . unfortunately . . . made it possible to track down and harass political opponents.” “Tunisia’s Rear-Admiral Akrout: Naitonal Security Inseparable from Intelligence,” Arab Weekly, October 01, 2020, https://thearabweekly.com/tunisias-rear-admiral-akrout -national-security-inseparable-intelligence. The Counter-Terrorism Law (CT) (Law 26 of 2015) seems to be more rigorous in terms of protecting human rights. 28. Edna Bonhomme, “Tunisia’s Surveillance State: Mass Monitoring Poses a Threat to Democratic Freedoms as the Case of Tunisia Shows,” Africa’s Country, December 11, 2019, https://africasacountry.com/2019/11/tunisias-surveillance-state. 29. Ibid. 30. Ibid. 31. Ibid. 32.  Yostra Ouanes, “Tunisia: The President Inaugurates an Intelligence School,” AA.com, June 30, 2017, www.aa.com/tr/fr/politique/tunisie-le-president-inaugure -une-ecole-du-renseignement/851908. 33.  Wehrey, “Tunisia’s Wake-Up Call.”

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34.  “Tunisia Arrests 11 Suspected Jihadists,” Adnkronos International, September 9, 2015. 35. Jebnoun, Tunisia’s National Intelligence, 29. 36. Ibid. 37. “Tunisia’s Rear-Admiral Akrout: National Security Inseparable from Intelligence,” Arab Weekly, October 1, 2020, https://thearabweekly.com/tunisias-rear -admiral-akrout-national-security-inseparable-intelligence. 38. Ibid. 39. Hanlon, Security Sector Reform in Tunisia, 1–16. 40.  Ibid., 9. 41.  Anthony Dworkin and Fatim-Zohra El Malki, “The Southern Front Line: EU Counter-Terrorism Cooperation with Tunisia and Morocco” (European Council on Foreign Relations Policy Paper, February 15, 2018), https://www.ecfr.eu/publica tions/summary/the_southern_front_line_eu_counter_terrorism_cooperation. 42. Hanlon, Security Sector Reform in Tunisia, 9. 43.  Mighri, Hamza, “Barriers to Tunisia’s Security and Defense Reform,” Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, September 11, 2018, http://www.carnegieen dowment.org/sada/77214. 44. Ibid. 45. Ibid. 46. Ibid. 47.  Florina Cristiana Matei and Jumana Kawar, “Tunisia’s Post–Arab Spring Intelligence Reform,” International Journal of Intelligence and CounterIntelligence 33, no. 1 (2020): 135–158; and Guy, “La Constitution Tunisienne du 27 Janvier 2014.” 48. “State of Surveillance Tunisia,” Privacy International, March 2019, https:// privacyinternational.org/state-privacy/1012/state-surveillance-tunisia. 49. Ibid. 50. Ibid. 51. Ibid. 52. Ibid. 53.  Bonhomme, “Tunisia’s Surveillance State.” 54.  Wehrey, “Tunisia’s Wake-Up Call.” 55.  Tunisia’s press became free in November 2011, with the abrogation of the Bin Ali regime’s restrictive Press Code and publication of Decree No 2011-115 Relating to Freedom of the Press, Printing, and Publishing. This law, coupled with DecreeLaw No. 41 on the Access to Administrative Documents of Government Bodies of May 26, 2011, grants Tunisians access to “all documents produced or received by government agencies as part of their public service duty, whatever the date of the said documents, their form or medium.” The 2014 Constitution also provides for press freedom and access to information. Equally encouraging was the enactment of Law No. 2016-22 on the Right of Access to Information and the subsequent creation (in September 2017) of the National Instance of Access to Information—an independent watchdog agency that ensures the law is observed effectively. Matei and Kawar, “Tunisia’s Post–Arab Spring Intelligence Reform.”



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56.  “Tunisia: Post-Election Poll Shows Bump in Optimism but Continued Distrust of Government,” The International Republican Institute, January 31, 2020, https:// www.iri.org/resource/tunisia-post-election-poll-shows-bump-optimism-continued -distrust-government. 57.  “Tunisia’s Rear-Admiral Akrout.” 58. Ibid. 59. Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation: Southern Europe, South America, and Post-Communist Europe (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996); Bruneau and Matei argue that democratic consolidation cannot be achieved without democratic reform of intelligence. See Thomas C. Bruneau and Florina Cristiana (Cris) Matei, “Intelligence in the Developing Democracies: The Quest for Transparency and Effectiveness,” in The Oxford Handbook of National Security Intelligence, ed. Loch K. Johnson (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 757–73.

52 Uganda An Intelligence Culture of Politics and Abuse Kasaija Phillip Apuuli

A country’s intelligence services are important tools for a government to protect security but can also be used to repress and control citizens.1 The British colonial government ruled Uganda “not with the secret ballot,” but “with the help of the secret police” as Henry Kissinger noted broadly about undemocratic countries.2 At independence in 1962, Uganda inherited the colonial security infrastructure, including the intelligence services. Though successive governments that have ruled the country established different intelligence outfits, the intelligence culture has largely remained unchanged since colonialism. That is, the objective has been to control and sometimes repress the citizens in Uganda. This chapter examines the interplay between intelligence organizations and politics in Uganda and describes how since independence, all the intelligence services have been used by the incumbent governments to carry out political work. A key aspect informing the intelligence culture has been that the intelligence organizations are known to harass real and perceived opponents of the existing regimes, which has led to human rights violations. This chapter finds that the intelligence services have shaped, continue to shape, and will shape Uganda’s politics in the future. This chapter proceeds in five parts. The first section details the development of intelligence services in Uganda from colonialism to the advent of the current government coming to power. Next, the chapter details the nonstatutory intelligence outfits and their activities. The third section examines the existing lack of oversight and accountability for intelligence in Uganda. In the fourth part, the chapter addresses the human rights abuses that have reportedly been committed by the intelligence services. The last section argues that the intelligence culture has been characterized by politicization and abuse. 691

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DEVELOPMENT OF INTELLIGENCE SERVICES IN UGANDA As a former British colony, the origins and nature of Uganda’s intelligence services “can only be derived from a grounding in the political economy of capitalism in its most developed stage-imperialism.”3 In this context, one can see how “the drive for cheap labor, the capture of domestic markets and the establishment of enclaves, and the quest for and exploitation of raw materials” led to conflict.4 Indeed, the establishment of capitalism in underdeveloped areas, like Uganda, was characterized by “a high level of violence.”5 Under the British Empire, the police force, namely the Special Branch, “was the main body carrying out intelligence work, but it was often assisted by local chiefs and colonial administrators or experts.”6 The colonial police and its local associates perpetrated brutal violence against the indigenous population.7 Following independence, the Police Force through its Special Branch was the most organized organ of state for collecting and analyzing intelligence.8 Nevertheless, the loyalty of the Special Branch under European officers was questioned by the independence government, which decided to replace the service. The intelligence culture—understood as the habits of intelligence behavior—was from that era until the present defined by repression and impunity. UNDER THE OBOTE GOVERNMENT, 1962–1971 Uganda became independent on October 9, 1962, with Milton Obote serving as prime minister, exercising the country’s executive powers. During the preindependence elections in 1961, the Uganda People Congress (UPC) political party, led by Obote, won the majority in Parliament, but it needed to form a coalition with the King Only (Kabaka Yeka, KY) (a party supporting the Buganda monarchy) to form the independence government. In October 1963, the king of the Buganda Kingdom, Edward Mutesa, was elected the ceremonial president of Uganda. In January 1964, the army (Uganda Rifles) mutinied over salaries, ranks, and the Africanization of the armed forces.9 In response, Obote’s government “sought to pacify the military by co-opting it into the political process,” with the mutineers being “allowed to stay on in the army” while the army received “a lot of privileges.”10 In fact, officers of the Ugandan army became the highest paid soldiers in Anglophone Africa.11 The mutiny also motivated the 1964 establishment of the General Service Unit (GSU), an elite paramilitary force whose main role was counterinsurgency.12 The GSU was created as an alternative secret police force to ensure the secu-



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rity of the government and reduce reliance on the army, whose loyalty was suspect after the mutiny.13 The GSU prompted concerns in the army that the government would eliminate it.14 This fear was well founded, as the GSU acquired more power and resources than the army.15 After the UPC-KY coalition government collapsed in 1966, the GSU played a key role in suppressing real and perceived dissent against the Obote government. In 1966, Obote replaced the independence constitution despite protests from the Buganda Kingdom. In turn, Obote sent the Uganda Army to Mengo (the seat of Buganda Kingdom) under the command of Colonel Idi Amin to suppress the Buganda dissent. In the ensuing fighting, King Mutesa was deposed; he fled to the United Kingdom, where he died in 1969. Obote abrogated the independence constitution and introduced a republican one in 1967, abolishing kingdoms. To contain the opposition against the government, Obote had used the GSU to depose the Buganda king.16 Indeed, the GSU personnel became the law, as they were allowed to kidnap, detain, arrest, and commit atrocities, while no charges could be brought against them, even when the crimes were committed in full view of witnesses.17 The GSU was supplemented by the police’s Special Branch in collecting and analyzing intelligence to neutralize political opponents.18 UNDER AMIN’S RULE, 1971–1979 In January 1971, Idi Amin stated eighteen reasons for overthrowing the Obote government, including “his seeking to divide the Uganda armed forces upon the advice of Akena Adoko, the head of GSU” and “wanting to downgrade the army by turning the Cabinet Office into another army [through bribery by the GSU].”19 Upon seizing power, Amin disbanded the GSU and in its place established two intelligence outfits: the State Research Bureau (SRB) and the Public Safety Unit (PSU). Eventually these services became “laws unto themselves” and were “instrumental in the perpetuation of state and anarchical terror in Uganda.”20 By the time Amin’s government was overthrown in 1979, the SRB and PSU employed more than 15,000 people, with thousands more serving as informers.21 The two services wreaked havoc on Uganda. In just the first year of Amin’s rule, they killed about 10,000 Ugandans.22 Overall, conservative estimates put the number of people murdered by personnel from the two organizations at 300,000, but a more realistic figure is 500,000.23

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UNDER THE OBOTE AND LUTWA GOVERNMENTS, 1979–1986 After Amin’s overthrow, a plethora of intelligence outfits were founded between 1979 and 1980. These intelligence services, including the National Security Service (NSS), were established by the short-lived governments of Yusuf Lule, Lukongwa Binaisa, and the Military Commission, primarily to collect internal intelligence.24 These services served as regime survival tools, not as state agencies protecting national security.25 In fact, Binaisa tried to use the NSS to secure his own presidential position.26 Meanwhile, the NSS generally continued the culture of abusing citizens’ rights. When Obote returned to power following the disputed December 1980 elections, the National Security Agency (NASA) was established to collect internal intelligence. The Obote government faced a guerrilla war launched and fought within a few kilometers of the center of Kampala. The insurgents opposed to Obote’s government included the National Resistance Movement/ Army (NRM/A), Uganda Freedom Movement (UFM), and Federal Democratic Movement (FEDEMO). In trying to quell the insurgency, the Obote government increasingly relied on brutal counterinsurgency tactics, with the intelligence services being central in advancing the counterinsurgency campaign.27 As an institution, NASA became the key for coercion, without which Obote would have been unable to maintain power.28 The intelligence service was staffed by people closely associated with Obote and his family members. This was in keeping with the earlier GSU model to protect the regime.29 NASA operatives tended to be militaristic and usually violated suspects’ rights.30 Furthermore, NASA operated under no legal framework, as it was arbitrarily established, and it was not only brutal but considered itself to be above all the other government institutions.31 Upon overthrowing Obote in July 1985, the Military Council regime led by General Tito Okello Lutwa disbanded NASA and established the Crack Force.32 The new force continued the culture of using excessive force against the civilian population in total disregard for their basic human rights.33 Abductions, disappearances, and arbitrary detention of civilians continued unabated, as members of the security and intelligence branches functioned with impunity. This is the context the NRM/A regime found when it took over the government in 1986. UNDER THE MUSEVENI GOVERNMENT, 1986–PRESENT When the NRM/A leadership came to power, it regarded security organizations that had served earlier governments as monsters that were used to terror-



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ize civilians.34 In fact, intelligence service reform was part of the restoration of security promised under the NRM’s Ten Point Programme.35 In 1987, the National Resistance Council (NRC) (then the interim parliament) enacted the Security Organisations Act (1987) Cap 305, establishing the Internal Security Organisation (ISO) and the External Security Organisation (ESO).36 The two organizations were tasked with collecting, receiving, and processing internal and external intelligence on Uganda’s security.37 Additionally, they were responsible for advising “the President, or any other authority as the President may direct, on what action should be taken in connection with that intelligence data.”38 The legislation officially gave security organizations a statutory basis for the first time in Uganda’s history.39 Indeed, after 1987 it became known who controlled the intelligence organizations and what their powers were.40 The 1995 Constitution (as amended), in article 218 (1), provides that “parliament may by law establish intelligence services and may prescribe their composition, functions and procedures.” Additionally, article 218 (2) prohibits creating an intelligence service unless it is approved by Parliament. These provisions further institutionalized the ISO and ESO’s legal framework. Generally, the Constitution defines the roles and limits of security organizations and provides that it is the duty of all security forces to observe and respect human rights and freedoms in performance of their functions.41 Though the ISO and ESO have generally been exemplary in their national security operations, human rights abuses continue to be reported. NONSTATUTORY INTELLIGENCE AND SECURITY SERVICES Though the 1995 Constitution (as amended) prohibits the establishment of intelligence services except by Parliament, Uganda’s recent political history has been characterized by insurgencies involving the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) and Allied Democratic Forces (ADF), among others. This has been compounded by a political opposition that is sometimes perceived by the incumbent government as being subversive. Consequently, this context has given rise to nonstatutory security/intelligence organizations whose methods and cultures are similar to those of the GSU, SRB, and NASA. Among the nonstatutory intelligence and security services that have been established are Local Defense Units (LDUs), Amuka Boys, Arrow Boys and Rhino Boys, Kalangala Action Plan (KAP), Popular Intelligence Network (PIN), and Crime Preventers. While LDUs, Amuka, Arrow, and Rhino Boys were established to support the army’s operations against the insurgencies and livestock

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rustling in Northern Uganda, West Nile, and Karamoja regions, the KAP and Crime Preventers’ activities have been very political. Generally, the government categorizes the nonstatutory security organizations as auxiliary forces. These forces are defined as “civilians who have been voluntarily mobilized and trained to take charge of local security . . . or augment . . . public law and order where the Police is inadequate or stretched.”42 The purported legal foundation of the auxiliary forces is sections 2 and 6(c) of the Uganda People’s Defence Forces Act (2005), which defines them as home guards, local defense forces, and stipulates that they are not members of the regular forces (UPDF) but have undergone state military training. Significanctly, there is no law that specifically regulates the existence and management of the auxiliary forces. Prior to the 2001 general elections, the KAP came to prominence and was established by presidential adviser on political affairs Major Roland Kakooza Mutale to ostensibly drum up support for incumbent president Museveni, who described it as “a political action group of the NRM which helps in gathering intelligence in disturbed areas.”43 The group attacked the political opposition and its supporters. Suspected political opposition supporters and civilians were arbitrarily arrested and detained by government security forces, including the KAP, who carried out many arrests wearing civilian clothes with no identifying insignia.44 Following widespread criticism, KAP went underground after the elections but attempted to resurface ahead of the 2016 elections.45 Yet it was overshadowed by the Crime Preventers. As the 2016 general elections drew near, Inspector General of Police General Kale Kayihura authorized the training of Crime Preventers throughout the country to work with police. The Crime Preventers was nominally a community policing initiative intended to curb crime in local communities and supplement security during the elections.46 By December 2015, the government reported more than one million recruits.47 Though these were not a gazetted force under the laws of Uganda, the president who commissioned them was also a candidate in the election.48 There were no clear recruitment procedures under the Crime Preventers program other than willingness to fight crime and perhaps a tacit pronouncement of inclination toward the NRM.49 In terms of its operations, Crime Preventers was meant to collect intelligence on crime, but its members engaged in multiple instances of human rights abuses, including torture, extortion, and arbitrary arrests.50 The political opposition and its real or perceived supporters were the main victims of the Crime Preventers’ activities.



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INTELLIGENCE ACCOUNTABILITY AND OVERSIGHT All intelligence services established in Uganda prior to the NRM government were beyond parliamentary scrutiny because they were created arbitrarily. However, the intelligence agencies—ISO and ESO—were created by a statute of Parliament. Ordinarily, this would mean they are accountable to and overseen by Parliament, but this is not the case. While Parliament appropriates funds for the intelligence services as part of the larger budget for the Office of the President, it does not oversee their operations. This is the case possibly because “intelligence activities in Uganda continue to be shrouded in secrecy, as is typical in transitional states.”51 Moreover, the Security Organisations Act (1987) provided that the established intelligence services would be headed by director generals appointed by the president and who report directly to the president. Parliament plays no role in the appointment of intelligence heads, as in other democracies. The intelligence services’ activities are supposed to be coordinated by the National Security Council (NSC), as required under article 219 of the Constitution and operationalized by the National Security Council Act (2000).52 In particular, the NSC, as in other countries, exists to advise the president on national security as well as to coordinate on policy matters relating to intelligence and security. However, as scholar Asiimwe Solomon Muchwa has noted, “The NSC has never been fully constituted . . . as the President has never appointed the five other members that are required to have a fully constituted council.”53 Additionally, there is a functional problem as the president, who is the main task giver and consumer of the intelligence, is also the NSC chair. This is a conflict, as the person to be informed and advised is also part of the council.54 Another issue involves the Security Organizations Act (1987), which established the ISO and ESO. This law actually predates the 1995 Constitution but has not been reviewed to conform with the latter and harmonized with other legislation, such as the National Security Council Act (2000) and UPDF Act (2005). These laws collectively contain duplication of roles and establish multiple advisory bodies. INTELLIGENCE CULTURE RUPTURES AND CONTINUITIES The current intelligence services have been lauded for promoting excellent civil-intelligence relations.55 This is because the population of Uganda is not terrorized by them as it was before 1986. Nevertheless, the intelligence culture of human rights abuses and engaging in politics has continued.

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Like previous governments in Uganda, the NRM has used the intelligence services to interfere with politics. The 2001 parliamentary and presidential elections are considered to be violent under the NRM regime. They involved the security forces (including elements of the intelligence services) taking control of the electoral process, with people in military uniforms terrorizing those not supporting candidate Museveni.56 After the elections, the Parliamentary Select Committee, established to investigate the violence, concluded that “some of the state agents initiated and executed election violence themselves, many candidates and agents who opted for violence employed state agents, especially the . . . ISO, . . . District Internal Security Organization (DISO), Gomborora (Sub-county) Internal Security Organization (GISO) . . . to execute violence on their opponents.”57 Likewise, the Supreme Court of Uganda condemned the extensive use of the security forces in the electoral process.58 Regarding human rights violations, members of ISO, ESO, and Military Intelligence especially have been found to be culpable. The three intelligence services have reportedly detained civilians when they do not have the mandate under the law. In 2019 the US Department of State observed that “the Chieftaincy of Military Intelligence (CMI) and ISO operated unofficial detention facilities called ‘safe houses’ in the Mbuya, Nakasero, and Kololo neighborhoods of Kampala, Kyengera in central Uganda, and the Kalangala Islands in Lake Victoria near Entebbe” where suspects were detained “without trial and exposed to torture and inhumane treatment.”59 In another instance, it was noted that “the Joint Anti-Terrorism Taskforce (JATT), a paramilitary group under the CMI, has no codified mandate but illegally detained numerous civilians suspected of rebel and terrorist activity. The JATT is a joint command whose members are drawn from the UPDF, Police, ISO, and ESO.”60 In 2017, then director general of ISO Colonel Kaka Bagyenda admitted that his officers had participated in arresting suspects involved in crimes.61 Persons held in intelligence services’ detention facilities (referred to as “safe houses”) describe being tortured and treated inhumanely.62 It has been reported that over seventy different types of torture techniques, both physical and psychological, are used, including electric shocks, exposure to hot furnaces smoldering with red pepper, submersion in water, and beatings on the limbs and joints.63 Though Uganda has adopted anti-torture legislation, the intelligence officers accused of committing torture have not been held accountable.64 In 2019 the Parliamentary Human Rights Committee was prevented from visiting an ISO “safe house” where it was suspected people were being held illegally and being tortured.65 This occurred after complaints in Parliament that several Ugandans had been detained and tortured in safe houses by the ISO and CMI.66



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CONCLUSION This chapter has explored the interplay between the intelligence services and politics in Uganda. Intelligence is one of the tools available to the state for ensuring security, but also used for controlling the citizens. In Uganda, the development of the intelligence services was a key part of British colonialism that was inherited by the postcolonial government. Following the subsequent political upheavals in Uganda, successive governments established intelligence organizations to serve their political interests. Generally, they created intelligence agencies starting with the GSU in 1964, focusing their energies on internal security because actual and perceived opponents of the incumbent governments were inside the country. Thus, the intelligence culture in Uganda is marked by the abuse of citizens’ fundamental rights. Upon assuming the leadership of the country, the NRM government attempted to address this culture by adopting legislation to manage the intelligence services, but the culture of abusing rights continued. As the government faced internal insurgencies and terrorist threats, nonstatutory intelligence and security services were created that perpetuated this culture. The character established by Uganda’s intelligence services since independence is one of repression, nonaccountability, and impunity. The overarching concern of the intelligence services in Uganda has been maintenance of internal security and incumbent regime survival. As a result, to a great extent, successive governments in Uganda have used, continue to use, and will use intelligence services in the future to serve their interests and not those of the general population. NOTES 1.  Dovydas Vitkauskas, The Role of a Security Intelligence Service in a Democracy (North Atlantic Treaty Organization, June 1999), 3. 2.  Henry Kissinger, Diplomacy (New York: Touchstone, 1995), 793. 3.  J. Oloka-Onyango, “Police Powers, Human Rights and the State in Kenya and Uganda: A Comparative Analysis,” Third World Legal Studies 9, no. 1 (1990): 4. 4. See D. W. Nabudere, The Political Economy of Imperialism (London: ZED Press, 1978). 5.  Oloka-Onyango, “Police Powers, Human Rights,” 5. 6. Benjamin J. Odoki, The Report of the Uganda Constitutional Commission: Analysis and Recommendations (Kampala, January 1, 1993), para. 15.74. 7.  P. G. Okoth, “History of Military Intervention in Ugandan Politics,” Transafrican Journal of History no. 22 (1993): 34. Okoth observed that the colonial security forces were largely constituted as instruments of coercion.

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 8. Odoki, Report of the Uganda Constitutional Commission, para. 15.74.   9.  Meshack Owino, “The 1964 Army Mutinies and the Making of Modern East Africa,” Canadian Journal of African Studies 3, no. 1 (2004): 200–202. See also Mark Beynham, “The East African Mutinies of 1964,” Journal of Contemporary African Studies 8/9, nos. 1/2 (1989/1990): 153–180; and “Troops in Uganda Mutiny over Pay: Britain Sends 400 Soldiers-Prime Minister Obote Says Calm Is Restored,” New York Times, January 24, 1964, https://www.nytimes.com/1964/01/24/archives /troops-in-uganda-mutiny-over-pay-britain-sends-400-soldiers-prime.html. 10.  Owino, “1964 Army Mutinies,” 201. 11.  Mark Leopold, Idi Amin: The Story of Africa’s Icon of Evil (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2020), 110. 12. Odoki, Report of the Uganda Constitutional Commission, para. 15.75. 13. Ibid. 14.  Okoth, “History of Military Intervention,” 47. 15. Leopold, Idi Amin, 112. 16. Andrew Agaba, “Intelligence Sector Reform in Uganda: Dynamics, Challenges and Prospects,” in Changing Intelligence Dynamics in Africa, ed. Sandy Africa and Jonny Kwadjo (GFN-SSR and ASSN, 2009), 46. 17. Stephen Hippo Twebaze, “Legislative Oversight of the Security Sector in Uganda (1986–2011)” (MA thesis, Kampala Makerere University, 2017), 4. 18.  Elijah Mushemeza, “In the Service of the Regime: Exploring the Relationship between Intelligence and the State in Uganda,” International Journal of Research in Humanities and Social Studies 3, no. 6 (2016): 31. 19. “The 18 Points Given by the Uganda Army under Major General Amin in Justification for Taking over Powers of Government on 25 January 1971,” in A Political History of Uganda, by S. R. Karugire (Kampala Fountain Publishers, 2010), 238–240. 20.  Khidu Makubuya, “Para-Militarism and Human Rights in Uganda” (paper presented at the International Seminar on Internal Conflicts, Makerere Institute of Social Research, Kampala, September 21–25, 1987), 5. 21.  Mushemeza, “In the Service of the Regime,” 32–33. 22. “Hostile to Democracy: The Movement System and Political Repression in Uganda,” Human Rights Watch, October 1, 1999, https://www.refworld.org /docid/45dad0c02.html. 23.  Agaba, “Intelligence Sector Reform in Uganda,” 47. 24.  Ibid., 48. 25. Asiimwe Solomon Muchwa, “Intelligence Oversight Systems in Uganda: Challenges and Prospects,” Intelligence and National Security (2021): 5. 26.  Agaba, “Intelligence Sector Reform in Uganda,” 48. 27.  Mushemeza, “In the Service of the Regime,” 33. 28.  Joshua B. Rubongoya, Regime Hegemony in Museveni’s Uganda, Pax Musevenica (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), 42. 29.  Agaba, “Intelligence Sector Reform in Uganda,” 49. 30.  Mushemeza, “In the Service of the Regime,” 33. 31.  Muchwa, “Intelligence Oversight Systems in Uganda,” 5.



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32. Ibid. 33.  Mushemeza, “In the Service of the Regime,” 33. 34.  Twebaze, “Legislative Oversight of the Security Sector,” 5. 35.  See NRM, “The Ten Point Programme,” point number 2, http://www.austria -uganda.at/dokumente/Ten-Point%20Programme.pdf. 36.  See The Security Organisations Act (1987), cap 305. Note that two other intelligence services exist: the Chieftaincy of Military Intelligence (CMI), the intelligence branch of the Uganda Peoples Defence Forces (UPDF), and the Criminal Investigations and Intelligence Department (CIID), the intelligence arm of the Uganda Police, combining the former Special Branch and Criminal Investigations Department. 37.  Zam Zam Nagujja, “Human Rights and Structure of Police and Internal Security Forces in Uganda,” Third World Legal Studies, no. 14 (1997): 126. 38.  The Security Organizations Act 1987, cap 305, clause 3 (A&B). 39. Odoki, Report of the Uganda Constitutional Commission, para. 15.76. 40.  Twebaze, “Legislative Oversight of the Security Sector,” 6. 41.  Article 221. 42. Government of Uganda-Ministry of Defense, “Position Paper on Auxiliary Forces” (Kampala, November 2006), 2. In possession of the author. 43.  Canada: Immigration and Refugee Board of Canada, Uganda: A Group Called the Kalangala Action Plan; Its Activities and Organizational Structure; Whether It Is Affiliated with the Government, UGA41659.E, July 7, 2003, https://www.refworld .org/docid/3f7d4e2e26.html (emphasis added). 44. Ibid. 45.  See Brian Lwanga, “Luweero Residents: Kalangala Action Plan Regrouping ahead of 2016 Polls,” URN, March 31, 2015, http://ugandaradionetwork.com/story /luweero-residents-kalangala-action-plan-regrouping-ahead-of-2016-polls. 46.  Rebecca Tapscott, “Where the Wild Things Are Not: Crime Preventers and Uganda’s 2016 Elections,” Journal of Eastern African Studies 10, no. 4 (2016): 693. 47. Ibid. 48.  Conor Gaffey, “Who Are Uganda’s Crime Preventers?,” Newsweek, January 14, 2016, http://www.newsweek.com/who-are-ugandas-crime-preventers-415704. 49.  Jude Kagoro, “The Crime Preventers Scheme: A Community Policing Initiative for Regime Security in Uganda,” Journal of Intervention and Statebuilding 13, no. 1 (2019): 47. 50.  Gaffey, “Who are Uganda’s Crime Preventers?” 51. Solomon Asiimwe, “The ‘Democratic Yardstick’ and Intelligence Services in Uganda’s Transitional Democracy,” African Peace and Conflict Journal 7, no. 1 (2014): 85. 52.  It states: “There shall be a National Security Council which shall consist of the President as chairperson and such other members as Parliament shall determine.” 53.  Muchwa, “Intelligence Oversight Systems in Uganda,” 6. 54. Ibid. 55.  Mushemeza, “In the Service of the Regime,” 36.

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56.  Uganda: Not a Level Playing Field—Government Violations in the Lead-Up to the Election (Human Rights Watch, 2001), https://www.hrw.org/reports/2001 /uganda/. 57.  Report of the Parliamentary Committee on Election Violence (Kampala: Uganda Parliament, July 2002), https://www.cmi.no/pdf/?file=/uganda/doc/Uganda -Election-Violence-Report.pdf (emphasis added). 58  Col. Dr. Besigye Kiiza v. Museveni Yoweri Kaguta, Electoral Commission (Election Petition No.1 of 2001) UGSC 3 (April 21, 2001). 59.  Uganda 2019 Human Rights Report (US Department of State, 2021), https://2017-2021.state.gov/wp-content//uploads/2020/02/UGANDA-2019 -HUMAN-RIGHTS-REPORT.pdf. 60.  Information Regarding Abuses Carried out by the ISO (Internal Security Organisation) in Uganda (Refugee Documentation Center, Ireland, November 23, 2010). https://www.justice.gov/sites/default/files/eoir/legacy/2013/06/11/abuses%20 carried%20out%20by%20ISO.pdf. 61.  Misairi Thembo Kahungu, “Uganda: We Are Not Hijacking Police Mandate, Says ISO Boss,” Daily Monitor, November 22, 2017, http://www.allafrica.com/stories /201711230128.html. 62. See Uganda 2019 Human Rights Report. 63.  Human Rights and Peace Center (HURIPEC), School of Law-Makerere University, The Abuse of Civil and Political Rights in the Era of Kisanja Hakuna Muchezo (Kampala: HURIPEC, Makerere University, February 2019), x, http://huripec .mak.ac.ug/wp-content//uploads/Docs/Publications/HURIPEC%20FINAL%20 REPORT%20FEBRUARY%202019_2.pdf. 64.  See Prevention and Prohibition of Torture Act, 2012, https://www.ulii.org/akn /ug/act/2012/3/eng@2012-09-18. 65. “MPs Blocked from Accessing Kyengera Safe House,” Daily Monitor, September 10, 2019, http://www.monitor.co.ug/uganda/news/national/mps-blocked -from-accessing-kyengera-safe-house-1846994. 66.  “Oulanyah Directs MPs to Visit Safe Houses,” Independent, August 30, 2019, http://www.independent.co.ug/oulanyah-directs-mps-to-visit-safe-houses/.

53 Western Sahara The Securitization of a Contested Saharan Region David Suarez

The Western Sahara, located in northwest Africa, has been the site of one

of the longest-running international disputes on the African continent. The territory that is currently labeled as the Western Sahara is divided into two political entities. One area is administered by the Kingdom of Morocco as its partial, or complete, “Saharan” provinces and is approximately 80 percent of Western Sahara proper. The other roughly 20 percent is governed by the Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic (SADR). There is a bitter stalemate between the Kingdom of Morocco and the region’s people, the Sahrawi (even though Morocco does not recognize the “Sahrawi” designation). The latter are represented by the leaders of the POLISARIO Front, who have pursued independence for the Western Sahara since 1973.1 The POLISARIO are militarily supported by the Sahrawi People’s Liberation Army (SPLA), which is the only entity that affords some security for the SADR. The SPLA has a complement of old and weathered Libyan, captured Moroccan, and former Soviet military hardware (some donated from Algeria) that is Russian, American, and European made. Estimates of the number of SPLA fighters range from three to seven thousand.2 Security for this region is nominally enhanced by the support of Algeria. However, even that support remains ambiguous. This chapter describes the intelligence mechanisms that each party in the region uses. In doing so, it highlights key moments that influenced the region’s security. It details the modern security landscape afforded by the tools of each party, namely the POLISARIO, Morocco, and Algeria. It also briefly reviews the sociocultural factors that have contributed to the Western Sahara’s insecurity. Finally, it deciphers who can surveil the region and secure not only the populations but the geopolitical environment.

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Morocco boasts an army, gendarmerie, and the Directorate for the Surveillance of the Territory (Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire, DST), which conducts Morocco’s foreign and domestic intelligence operations. Although “the DST is known as both an intelligence agency and a secret police force that sometimes carries out political espionage, the agency does conduct joint operations with allied foreign intelligence services.”3 The National Service for Counter-Terrorism (Service National Pour la Lutte Contre le Terrorisme), known also as the Bureau Central d’Investigation Judiciaire (BCIJ), operates as its counterterrorism unit, sometimes alongside other foreign intelligence services. In essence, Morocco has an extensive intelligence network that when activated can be very effective in not only preventing but also preempting terrorist activities. Algeria boasts the Directorate of Documentation and External Security (Direction de la documentation et de la sécurité extérieure, DDSE), which is led by Nour-Eddine Mekri. His expertise apparently is the Western Sahara, where “he witnessed the conflict firsthand during lengthy visits to Tindouf” (near the Algeria–Morocco border), which earned him the nickname “Mahfoud Polisario.”4 Both the Algerian and Moroccan intelligence services have blamed each other for misinformation campaigns surrounding the issues over the Western Sahara. Another agency that provides a semblance of security is the Mission for the Referendum in Western Sahara (MINURSO).5 It has been deployed by order of United Nations Security Council (UNSC) Resolution 690 since 1991, when both the POLISARIO and the Kingdom of Morocco agreed to a settlement plan that included the preparation of a referendum for the people of the Western Sahara. However, the little progress toward such a vote has been stymied. Other security functions have been to monitor the cease-fire that has been in place since 1988, reduce the threat of mines and unexploded ordinances, and oversee the exchange of prisoners. THE HISTORICAL STAGES OF INSECURITY IN THE WESTERN SAHARA The historical events that led to the divergent security mechanisms of each side began with the rise of anti-colonialism in Morocco against the French. These sentiments fused into Moroccan nationalism in the early 1950s.6 It was not until the rise of militant Moroccan nationalism after 1953 that many of the Western Saharans joined the Moroccan Liberation Army (MLA) to fight alongside Moroccan troops against Spanish and French control. Morocco achieved its independence on March 2, 1956. Scholar Pablo San Martín has explained that some tribal elders “based in the Spanish Sahara” congratulated



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the sultan on his return from exile in 1955 and asked for his assistance to liberate “the Sahara from colonialism but stressed that they would not wish to offer ‘in exchange the compromise of loyalty to the King of Morocco.’”7 The statement, with respect to the Spanish, was: “Although it occupies a part of our land, we so not wish to make war against it, because it did not enter by means of force or arms, but through an agreement with the Assembly of Forty (Ait Arbain). Therefore, what we want now is the French to leave; after that, we will not have any problem in achieving an accord with the Spanish.”8 According to scholar Tony Hodges, “thousands of Sahrawis became part of a broad, trans-frontier anti-colonial struggle only as recently as 1957–1958, when they responded to the insurrectionary appeals of the Moroccan Army of Liberation (Jaich at-Tahrir).”9 However, they were crushed by a combined French-Spanish operation called Hurricane (Ouragan) in February 1958. The next key moment was during the years of 1972–1973, when opposing resistance movements emerged that divided the Western Sahara population and merited support from opposing political forces. For instance, the “Blue Men” Resistance Movement (Mouvement de Résistance Les Hommes Bleus, MOREHOB) developed in Morocco, but its leader switched sides at least twice. This phenomenon was not unique to the disparate groups that proliferated. Not only was MOREHOB split between supporters of unification with Morocco and those who desired independence, but there were other groups (August 21 Movement; Sahrawi National Union Party, PUNS) vying for the hearts of the Spanish Saharans.10 Finally, in May 1973 the POLISARIO appeared.11 John Mercer has explained this was the “first effective grouping of the nomads” whose purpose was to liberate the lands of the Spanish Sahara from foreign domination.12 Mercer noted that “this liberation movement . . . had gradually absorbed the able-bodied men of all tribes except the proMorocco Tekna in the north and the pro-Mauritania Delim and Barik Allah in the south.”13 For the next fifteen years, the POLISARIO and the Moroccan armed forces battled to a stalemate in the deserts of the Western Sahara. Even though the United Nations (UN) had been involved since the mid-1960s, it was not until 1988 that it proposed a settlement plan, which went into effect in April 1991. The plan was to implement a referendum that would allow the people of the Western Sahara to choose between integration with Morocco or independence. This process was to take several years because of the issue of how to identify individuals, families, and tribes that could claim to be “residents” or inhabitants of the Western Sahara. The essence of the UN operation would include “MINURSO consisting of civilian, military, and police components to carry out all tasks leading to the referendum.”14 Yet this UN peacekeeping operation is now in question because the POLISARIO

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declared the twenty-nine-year-old cease-fire null because of a breach by Moroccan forces in Guergerat on November 13, 2020. In addition, UN negotiations have been suspended since March 2019. These events have aided the way both sides now approach their security. Morocco, for the most part, is actively engaged in depriving the POLISARIO of any type of intelligence advantage on the ground. It has constructed a sand berm, lining this perimeter with several pockmarked military installations, on its eastern side of the seventeen-hundred-mile long “wall” with the use of landmines. It also has the ability, if necessary, to interdict intrusions by air with its US-supplied air force contingents of F-16s and F-5s. In addition, Morocco has begun to make use of drones, not only for disinfection of areas in Morocco proper caused by the COVID-19 virus, but also for monitoring any disruptions along the sand berm. In fact, there was an alleged use of an unmanned combat aerial vehicle (UCAV), reported by several news outlets, to kill the POLISARIO chief of police, Adah el-Bendir, in early April 2021 near Tifariti.15 Currently the Royal Moroccan Armed Forces (Forces Armées Royales Marocaines, FAR) has at least one operational drone squadron (Escadron Drones).16 The FAR has used drone technology since the 1990s for intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR) and currently is in the process of acquiring improved technologies from abroad.17 The kingdom also will have a total of five early warning Thales radar systems from France that will complement its monitoring of the frontier along the sand berm, along with other possible surveillance acquisitions from Lockheed Martin.18 These developments are meant to ensure the security of Morocco’s Saharan provinces (the Western Sahara). In contrast, the SPLA has lost most of its “fighting” veterans to age and its military hardware to inoperability and lack of maintenance. Indeed, most “of the equipment supplied by Libya (during Muammar al-Gaddafi’s rule), North Korea and Algeria, on top of the armoured vehicles taken from Morocco’s army at the start of the conflict, is no longer in working order.”19 The POLISARIO’s dwindling list of supplies includes a fleet of Toyota 4×4 vehicles outfitted with 14mm machine guns, Russian-made multiple rocket launchers, 120 mm mortars and Soviet-made T-62 tanks. It does not have a formal intelligence agency apart from the doubling of functions via its fledgling “military” units. The only fallback would be to rely on Algerian intelligence assets. Algeria has hosted the SADR and its refugee population south of the city of Tindouf. It is a military rival to Morocco in the air and on the ground. It has considerably more helicopters (four times as many, including attack helicopters to Morocco’s none) that can serve to transport troops quickly in a large-scale war. Yet it is questionable whether the Algerian gov-



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ernment would seek to confront Morocco in support of the POLISARIO and upset the security balance of the region. THE SOCIOCULTURAL DIMENSIONS OF THE WESTERN SAHARA The main issue that has complicated the security of the region stems from the Spanish withdrawal from the Western Sahara. It began with the crisis in Spanish leadership and the momentous “Green March” decision taken by King Hassan II of Morocco, which produced the Madrid Accords of November 1975. Spain formally withdrew from the region and ceded administrative control of the Spanish Sahara to Morocco and Mauritania in 1976.20 Morocco and Mauritania partitioned the Western Sahara between them, and the POLISARIO relocated to Algeria.21 However, before Spain committed itself to leaving the Western Sahara, Morocco had approached the International Court of Justice (ICJ) to adjudicate its and Mauritania’s claims to the territory. Morocco presented the case to the UN in October 1974. Subsequently, the UN General Assembly adopted a resolution to have the ICJ hear the case. The ICJ ruled: “The materials and information presented to it [the ICJ] do not establish any tie of territorial sovereignty between the territory of Western Sahara and the Kingdom of Morocco . . . [that] might affect the application of resolution 1514 (XV) . . . of the principle of self-determination through the free and genuine expression of the will of the peoples of the Territory.”22 Morocco largely interpreted the 1975 ruling in its favor, whereas the POLISARIO claimed that the judgment by the ICJ was undeniable proof of the right to Sahrawi self-government. The ensuing conflict pitted the FAR and Mauritanian military against the military wing of the POLISARIO, the Sahrawi Popular Liberation Army (Ejército de Liberación Popular Saharaui, ELPS).23 With military support from Algeria and Libya, the ELPS managed to hold and at times take control of certain towns in the Western Sahara and southern Morocco, until the construction of a massive sand berm was completed in 1987, which divided the land and brought the conflict to a stalemate.24 The African Union unsuccessfully attempted to mediate and provide for a process of decolonization in 1979 and 1980 using a select Wise Men Committee (Comité des Sages).25 Since 1991, a cease-fire between Morocco and the POLISARIO has been in place and is monitored by MINURSO. Direct UN intervention in 1990 attempted to bridge the differences between the parties, and by 1991 the UN had resolved to organize a referendum over the territory’s future.26 Despite mediation efforts by several notable envoys appointed by the UN, the international organization has failed to reach an arrangement between the POLISARIO and Morocco that would allow for a

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referendum. Thus, Morocco administers the area west of the sand berm and claims full rights to all the Western Sahara, while the POLISARIO has access only to a sliver of the land east of the sand berm as well as the “camps” outside of Tindouf currently under the protection of Algeria. Instead of the referendum process clarifying the status of the region, the issue opened a debate about who exactly is a true Sahrawi. Estimates of the number of eligible Sahrawi voters have been muddled by Moroccan settlers in the Western Sahara and “Sahrawi” who live in southern Morocco.27 Morocco has stated that any decision on the fate of the Western Sahara must include those Sahrawi who live in southern Morocco; these former residents migrated after Moroccan independence in 1954. The king’s interpretation of the ICJ, for instance, was grounded not on the Western conception of sovereignty and statehood but on Islamic juridical tradition. This interpretation hinges on the use of “allegiance.” In particular, an “allegiance made by subjects to the king was tantamount to a collective recognition that the king is the sovereign, the temporal leader whose legitimacy is at once hereditary and spiritual.”28 However, King Hasan II appeared to set aside the rest of the ICJ’s conclusions. Mauritania, for its part, agreed with the king’s sentiments, as it had already colluded with Morocco to partition the Western Sahara. On the other hand, the POLISARIO suggests that guidelines for voter identification should be based on the last Spanish census of the region, conducted in 1975. The problem of the Western Sahara traditionally seemed to be very isolated and largely disregarded by the international community. However, over the last ten to fifteen years, the “Berber movement” has gained new ground in its quest for recognition in language and culture.29 The Sahrawi, who have claimed to be descendants of the Berber, have appropriated these goals for their own cause and have sought an independent land, separate from the Kingdom of Morocco. The issue of identity has pitted the intelligence services of Morocco against Sahrawi activists in the Western Sahara. The Sahrawi in both Moroccanadministered Western Sahara and the territories governed by the SADR have campaigned against the repression they have suffered at the hands of the Moroccan police and intelligence services. However, information about these claims from Moroccan authorities is scant because they either are unwilling to divulge access to these reports or deny such incidents. Human rights activists have complained of being denied travel in Morocco, improper treatment of Sahrawi political prisoners, journalists being arbitrarily detained, and other Sahrawis not being given the right to a fair trial. Almost all these instances are reported by local nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) or in collaboration with the more well-known international NGOs Human Rights Watch (HRW)



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and Amnesty International (AI). These cases are supported to a certain degree by the annual US Department of State Country Report on Human Rights Practices for Morocco.30 Moroccan intelligence services have increased their activities in recent years, especially since the September 11, 2001, attacks in the United States, to interdict and disrupt Islamist cells in Morocco. They have argued that the refugee zones of the Sahrawi and the ranks of the POLISARIO have been infiltrated by Islamist networks. It is true that over the last twenty years, the imminent threat from Islamist groups affiliated with Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM) and Islamic State in the Greater Sahara (ISGS) has transformed the Western Sahara from a narrow bilateral dispute to a transborder regional security dilemma. Reports from 2012 indicated that militias fighting in northern Mali had recruited several youths from among the Sahrawi refugee camps in Tindouf, Algeria. The author had interviewed some of the heads of the SADR in 2014 but was told that there were no Islamists among them. Nonetheless, today there are concerns that a growing number of militias loosely affiliated with Islamist networks are preying on the disgruntled and restless younger generation and may begin to threaten not only the security of the region but also the nature of the conflict over the Western Sahara. WHO MONITORS THE WESTERN SAHARA? Operationally, since there is no formal intelligence apparatus for the SADR or POLISARIO, security oversight or the monitoring of intelligence activities is nonexistent. One can speculate that the SADR may depend on Algeria as a counterweight for external or “foreign” activities within its slim domain. However, this does not seem evident. For example, while visiting the Sahrawi camps, the author observed no visible Algerian presence, military or otherwise. In fact, on exiting the Tindouf airport terminal, initially the author was greeted by both Algerian and POLISARIO “military” escorts. However, after an approximately thirty-mile ride outside of Tindouf, the convoy arrived at a demarcated “border,” separating the Sahrawi free zone from Algeria proper. The Algerian contingent remained behind, while the POLISARIO convoy moved on toward the main Sahrawi camp—Rabouni—where the main headquarters is located. On a couple of occasions, the author did observe UN vehicles in the area. The United Nations High Commisioner and other humanitarian agencies participate in supporting the Sahrawi refugee population with food, water, and other relief work. Still, apart from MINURSO, there is no serviceable organizational tool that has any capacity for monitoring intelligence activities on behalf of the POLISARIO.

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For several years, human rights organizations have urged the UN to include a human rights dimension in the mission of MINURSO, but this has always been objected to by Morocco. Thus, intelligence accountability has not been forthcoming and will continue to be a problem for the duration of the Western Sahara dilemma. Organizations such as Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International continually report on claims by Sahrawi in Western Sahara proper about police harassment, beatings, arbitrary detention, and incarceration. Due to threat of Islamist terror cells, counterespionage, and counterterror operations, Moroccan officials have at times been lauded by other countries and organizations. For instance, a 2015 report by the UN Human Rights Council commended Moroccan intelligence services as “the most powerful intelligence agency in the Middle East and North Africa because of their ability to ensure national security and prevent terrorism and security breaches in the country.”31 Since the Trump administration’s recognition of Morocco’s sovereignty over the Western Sahara in a quid pro quo for Morocco’s normalization of relations with Israel, there has been no insistence by the United States on challenging the kingdom’s belligerence in the Western Sahara. The Biden administration has followed this same path. This is not surprising because the United States has a free trade agreement (FTA), and supports several educational and cultural exchanges with Morocco.32 The United States supports Morocco’s intelligence activities as a layer of defense against terror cells and illicit traffickers, who use this route to traverse the Mediterranean into Europe. It has also had a strong military relationship with Morocco since the Cold War era, readily providing the kingdom with American-made weaponry. France has tacitly supported Morocco since its independence. It is less likely to criticize activities, or become embroiled, in the Western Sahara and prefers to cooperate with Morocco’s secret services to prevent terrorist attacks. France has suffered through waves of terrorist incidents since 2012.33 Spain has several active pro-independence Sahrawi groups and has even allowed the hosting of official representatives of the SADR.34 It seeks a diplomatic solution to the problem. The UN and the African Union also seek a peaceful solution with both political entities rather than forcing another military confrontation in the already conflict-prone continent of Africa. Overall, there seems to be no effort to reform the MINURSO mission by adding a critical human rights dimension, and other interested parties, from state actors to intergovernmental organizations, prefer an accommodation that suits their interests. Thus, these factors have produced no direct institutional monitoring system in the Western Sahara that can adequately ascertain the intelligence activities of either side. Information that can be gleaned from the region is either propagandized, obfuscated, or simply given little attention.



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CONCLUSION The Western Sahara has been a quagmire of insecurities since its “founding.” It is a divided populous whose disputed origins complicate the issue of its securitization. Both sides contest the region’s history, as each appropriates key events and personalities as part of its heritage. The POLISARIO has no viable operational intelligence service unless it procures the aid of Algeria. However, Algeria has not attempted to intervene directly in support of an intelligence infrastructure for the POLISARIO, as this might induce a more severe reaction from Morocco. In August 2021, Algeria severed diplomatic relations with Morocco because of serious developments that it perceived as “hostile actions.” This includes an apparent claim by the Algerian government of the use of Pegasus spyware by Moroccan intelligence services to monitor more than six thousand Algerian officials. Despite their common Sunni Islam faith, similar cultural traits, and both being Maghrebi states, ideological and political differences remain, stymieing regional security cooperation. It is also unfortunate that there is no overriding agency that can wholly securitize the region. Hopes have faded for the UN and its mission, MINURSO, to provide for some type of outline that could enhance human—food, resources, and economic—security. In the latest conflagration, several dozen members of the POLISARIO occupied the road that leads from Morocco via the Western Sahara to Mauritania. It was taken by the group because they claimed that Moroccan construction of this road was a violation of the cease-fire. Morocco, on the other hand, considers the occupation a violation of the 1991 agreement. Thereafter, hostilities escalated. The POLISARIO’s security is tied to the Algerian government, and Algeria is not prepared to conduct a war that may be “far greater than any potential benefits.”35 In the meantime, Moroccan intelligence services will continue to control Sahrawi activities in Western Sahara proper, while Algeria will profit from the rivalry and allow the POLISARIO to conduct its border skirmishes. The great actors in the region, including the United States, will remain ambivalent, influencing a desire to maintain the status quo. NOTES 1.  POLISARIO is the Spanish acronym for the Frente Popular de Liberación para Saquiat el-Hamra y Río de Oro (Popular Front for the Liberation of Saquiat el-Hamra and River of Gold). The POLISARIO is the former militant, now guardian entity spearheading the independence of the region claimed and administered by the Kingdom of Morocco, called the Western Sahara.

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  2.  Peak strength was asserted to be about twenty thousand during the late 1970s and early 1980s.   3.  “Morocco, Intelligence, and Security,” Encyclopedia.com, 2019, https://www .encyclopedia.com/politics/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/morocco -intelligence-and-security.  4. Akram Kharief, Farid Alilat, and Jihâd Gillon, “Morocco/Algeria: Military Leaders in the Shadows,” Africa Report, March 5, 2021, https://www.theafricareport .com/70321/morocco-algeria-military-leaders-in-the-shadows/.   5.  MINURSO, Mission des Nations Unies pour l’Organisation d’un Référendum au Sahara Occidental (The United Nations Mission for the Organization of a Referendum in the Western Sahara), “was established by UN Security Council resolution 69 [sic] of 29 April 1991, in accordance with ‘the settlement proposals,’ as accepted on 30 August 1988 by Morocco and the” POLISARIO Front. “The Secretary-General’s implementation plan, approved by the Security Council, provided for a transitional period during which the Special Representative of the Secretary-General would have sole and exclusive responsibility over all matters relating to a referendum in which the people of Western Sahara would choose between independence and integration with Morocco. The Special Representative would be assisted in his tasks by a deputy special representative and by an integrated group of United Nations civilian, military and police personnel, to be known as the United Nations Mission for the Referendum in Western Sahara.” United Nations, MINURSO, “United Nations Mission for the Referendum in Western Sahara: MINURSO Mandate,” updated May 27, 2016, http:// www.un.org/en/peacekeeping/missions/minurso/mandate.shtml.   6.  By the end of the Second World War, there were already nationalist ruminations among young Moroccans.   7.  Pablo San Martin, Western Sahara: The Refugee Nation (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2010), 67.   8.  Briones, Felipe, Mohamed Limam Mohamed Ali, and Mahayub Salek, “Luali: ‘Ahora o Nunca, La Libertad.’” (Alicante: Universidad de Alicante, 1997), 38–39. Quoted in San Martín, Western Sahara, 67.   9.  Tony Hodges, “The Origins of Sahrawi Nationalism,” Third World Quarterly 5, no. 1 (January 1983): 30–31. 10. Stephen Zunes and Jacob Mundy, Western Sahara: War, Nationalism, and Conflict Irresolution (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 2010), 103. 11.  Erik Jensen, Western Sahara: Anatomy of a Stalemate, 2nd ed. (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2005), 15; and John Mercer, “Cycle of Invasion and Unification in Western Sahara,” African Affairs 75, no. 301 (October 1976): 504. 12.  Ibid., 504. 13.  Ibid. (emphasis in original). 14. Anna Theofilopoulou, “The United Nations and Western Sahara: A NeverEnding Affair,” United States Institute of Peace, Special Report 166 (July 2006): 3. 15.  Umberto Profazio, “Remote Warfare Spreads to Western Sahara,” NATO Defense College Foundation, April 10, 2021, https://www.natofoundation.org/maghreb /remote-warfare-spreads-to-western-sahara/.



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16. Federico Borsari, “Rabat’s Secret Drones: Assessing Morocco’s Quest for Advanced UAV Capabilities,” Italian Institute for International Political Studies, July 22, 2021, https://www.ispionline.it/en/pubblicazione/rabats-secret-drones-assessing -moroccos-quest-advanced-uav-capabilities-31207. 17.  This includes drone platforms from Israel, Turkey, France, and China (via the United Arab Emirates). 18. Etienne Copel, “Morocco/Algeria: The Armed Forces behind the Western Sahara Conflict,” Africa Report, March 4, 2021, https://www.theafricareport .com/69722/morocco-algeria-the-armed-forces-behind-the-western-sahara-conflict/. 19.  François Soudain, “Morocco/Algeria: Western Sahara Conflict Shows Signs of Escalation,” Africa Report, March 2, 2021, https://www.theafricareport.com/69335 /morocco-algeria-western-sahara-conflict-shows-signs-of-escalation/. 20. The Green March (al-Massira al-Khadra) was “a well-coordinated procession by some 350,000 Moroccan civilians” and government officials “into Western Sahara” on October 21, 1975. “The Green March was instrumental in pressuring Spain into abandoning its plans for self-determination in its last African colony and to arrange for the territory to be instead partitioned between Morocco and Mauritania with no role for either the POLISARIO Front or the [Sahrawi] people generally.” The march, along with the domestic crisis caused by the terminal illness of Spain’s leader Generalissimo Francisco Franco, led Spain to “accede to Rabat’s wishes and sign the Madrid Agreement on” November 14, 1975, “which provided for Madrid’s full and final withdrawal from the Western Sahara by late February 1976.” Anthony G. Pazzanita, “Green March,” in Historical Dictionary of Western Sahara, 3rd. ed. (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2006), 178–179. The Madrid Accords are also known as the Declaration of Principles on Western Sahara by Spain, Morocco, and Mauritania. United Nations Treaty Collection, Declaration of Principles on Western Sahara by Spain, Morocco and Mauritania 988, No. 14450 (New York: United Nations, 1983), 259, http://peacemaker.un.org/sites/peacemaker.un.org/files/MA-MR-ES_751114 _DeclarationPrinciplesOnWesternSahara_0.pdf. Also found in the UN Dag Hammarskjöld Library is UN Security Council Third Report by the Secretary-General in Pursuance of Resolution 379 (1975) Relating to the Situation Concerning Western Sahara, DAG Digital Library, S/11880 (November 19, 1975), http://repository .un.org/bitstream/handle/11176/71032/S_11880-EN.pdf?sequence=2&isAllowed=y. However, “the full text of the agreement was never published, either at the time or at any point since.” Pazzanita, “Madrid Agreement (Of November 14, 1975),” in Historical Dictionary of Western Sahara, 248. 21.  Previously, the origin and base of operations for the POLISARIO was in Mauritania (or along the border with Mauritania and the Western Sahara), but the group subsequently relocated to Algeria after the Madrid Accords., 22.  Reports of Judgments, Advisory Opinions and Orders, “Western Sahara, Advisory Opinion of 16 October 1975,” International Court of Justice, 68. 23.  Translated into English as the Sahrawi People’s Liberation Army (SPLA). It is the armed forces of the POLISARIO. 24.  In addition to construction of the sand berm by Morocco, the geopolitical consequences brought about by the end of the Cold War (1989–1990) severely curtailed

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support for the POLISARIO Front. The disintegration of the Soviet Union in 1991 and the beginning of the Algerian Civil War with the Islamic Salvation Front (Front Islamique du Salut, FIS) diminished both diplomatic and direct military aid to the POLISARIO. 25.  Faten Aggad and Pierre du Toit Botha, “Revisiting the Western Sahara Conflict,” Africa Insight 35, no. 1 (April 2005): 70. 26.  Based on UN Resolution 621 (September 20, 1988); and UN Reports on the Situation Concerning the Western Sahara, S/21360 (June 18, 1990), p. 9, para. 23, stating that “a referendum will be organized in Western Sahara to enable the people of the Territory to decide their own future freely and democratically. The referendum will be organized and conducted by the United Nations, in cooperation with the OAU, during a transitional period”; S/22464 (April 19, 1991), p. 10, para. 37, states that “the purpose of the referendum is to enable the people of Western Sahara to choose freely between integration with Morocco and independence.” 27.  Estimates vary. Freedom House states there are 567,000 (2015), and the CIA World Fact Book projections were 570,866 (July 2013 est.). These estimates, however, include the whole of the population within the Western Sahara, with much of that demographic influx due to Moroccan immigration. These numbers do not include the Sahrawi refugee camps near Tindouf, Algeria. POLISARIO sources indicated that they harbored more than 165,000 in the 1980s, but the MINURSO mission had counted only about 150,000 eligible Sahrawi voters by 1998. United Nations, “MINURSO Background,” accessed May 23, 2016, http://www.un.org/en/peace keeping/missions/minurso/background.shtml. 28.  International Crisis Group (ICG), “Western Sahara: The Cost of the Conflict,” Middle East/North Africa Report, no. 65 (June 11, 2007): 2. 29.  Berbers seek not only more autonomy in certain regions of North Africa (Kabylia, the Atlas Mountain region in Morocco, and across much of the Sahel) but also more protection for their cultural rights—specifically in language and customs. 30.  2020 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Morocco (US Department of State, Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights and Labor, March 30, 2021), https:// www.state.gov/reports/2020-country-reports-on-human-rights-practices/morocco/. 31.  “Moroccan Intelligence Agency, Most Powerful MENA Region: UN,” Morocco World News, July 16, 2015, https://www.moroccoworldnews.com/2015/07/163418 /the-moroccan-intelligence-agency-is-the-most-powerful-agency-in-the-mena -region-un. 32.  The author was a benefactor of one of these cultural exchanges because he was a US Peace Corps volunteer in Morocco in 2002–2003. Our service was shortened when a threat to the volunteers prompted the agency to evacuate all American Peace Corps personnel after only eight months of service. The Peace Corps eventually returned and has been sending volunteers to Morocco since 1963. 33.  From 2012 to 2017, France recorded at least twenty-five Islamist terror incidents that killed over 270 people. University of Maryland National Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism, Global Terrorism Database, 2021, https://www .start.umd.edu/gtd/search/Results.aspx?expanded=no&casualties_type



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=f&casualties_max=&start_yearonly=2012&end_yearonly=2017&dtp2=all&succ ess=yes&country=69&ob=GTDID&od=desc&page=1&count=50#results-table. 34.  The SADR has two “embassies” in Spain. The author was able to visit the Madrid location during his dissertation research, while the other is in Barcelona. 35.  Hassan Abennay, “What Happened at Guergerat,” al-Muzaharat.com, December 23, 2020, https://almuzaharat.com/2020/12/23/what-happened-at-guerguerat-an -essay-by-hassan-abennay/.

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54 Zambia Security Intelligence as a Special Branch of Presidentialism Jeremy Gould

The

Zambia Security Intelligence Service (ZSIS) is a notoriously secretive agency. The only official information available concerning its mandate and organization is the Zambia Security Intelligence Service Act (No. 14 of 1998). Interestingly, the official file of that ten-page act available on the Zambia Parliament website is missing three pages. That may well be unintentional, but the point remains that any attempt to provide a credible portrait of this enigmatic agency must deal with the fact that a great many of the puzzle’s pieces are missing. This chapter examines the Zambian intelligence culture by analyzing the ZSIS with attention to key events that have made information about the service public. Making use of limited available records, it demonstrates how the secrecy surrounding intelligence has fostered an image of a corrupt and politicized intelligence culture. This chapter draws from two sets of materials that offer distinct perspectives on ZSIS. The first is a data set consisting of legal and journalistic materials related to legal actions against Zambia’s second president, Frederick Chiluba, and his director of intelligence, Xavier Chungu, in the mid-2000s. These materials expose details regarding a covert ZSIS bank account (Zamtrop) at the London branch of the parastatal Zambia National Commercial Bank, through which President Chiluba and Director Chungu operated what the Zambian press termed a “Matrix of Plunder.” The second collection of records is transcripts of Zambian parliamentary debates concerning ZSIS’s vote in the annual state budget. Records are limited, however, as there are no transcripts available online before 2002, and a series of debates held in the 2000s is also missing. On a positive note, the transcriptions are verbatim and of good quality, there is an abundance of material, and the speakers and their affiliations are meticulously noted. Hence, 717

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this record of elected legislators’ interventions concerning the ZSIS—often candid, and clearly embedded in a specific political moment—provides a credible overview of the concerns that ZSIS evokes in the minds of the Zambian people. ZSIS is enigmatic as well as paradoxical. As the record reveals, the service has typically been the object of widespread fear and mistrust. At the same time, the ZSIS enjoys unwavering support among elected politicians across the political spectrum. The notion that “security is a costly, but priceless commodity” is an oft-repeated sentiment, and ZSIS is portrayed as the “first line of defence for our country.”1 The governing party of the day tends to bang this drum most loudly, but opposition politicians also bemoan the service’s inadequate funding. Support for ZSIS is seen as a test of patriotism, and no politician wants to come up short. Indeed, as one ruling party minister remarked in Parliament: “There is no way that any Zambian, especially one that holds one passport and one home, can ever vote against this vote.”2 Nonetheless, the ZSIS has been an object of criticism. THE COLONIAL PEDIGREE OF ZAMBIAN INTELLIGENCE The Zambia Security Intelligence Service was established through Act No. 43 of 1973.3 Known in the parliamentary record as the Office of the President, Special Division (and more popularly as OP or Special Branch), its functions, according to the prevailing Zambia Security Intelligence Service Act, include protecting “the general public against threats and acts of espionage, subversion, sabotage and acts intended to overthrow or undermine the legitimate Government,” collecting, evaluating, and disseminating intelligence; coordinating and overseeing “activities relating to security intelligence of any ministry or department of Government, the armed forces and Police Service”; and advising the government on security classified material and “activities of foreign investors and behaviour of foreign markets.” In its current manifestation, ZSIS is a postcolonial creation of Zambia’s “single-party participatory democracy.”4 ZSIS nevertheless had institutional precursors under the constitutional order of colonial Northern Rhodesia. During its colonial era from 1924 to 1964, Northern Rhodesia was governed by the United Kingdom. Little is on record concerning the colonial government’s intelligence activities before the Second World War, but Britain clearly expanded security intelligence in response to the emergence of anticolonial nationalist activities in the late 1940s. The British Security Service (MI5) posted the “first officer responsible solely for special branch work” to Northern Rhodesia in 1949.5 The focus of this security liaison officer (SLO)



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to the colonial government was political intelligence, and the SLO’s task seems to have been primarily “to counter the challenge to [colonial] authority from essentially peaceful nationalist groups.”6 Nearing Zambia’s 1964 independence, the Northern Rhodesian government’s intelligence apparatus was caught up in a divisive struggle. Competition between the territorial (Northern Rhodesian) government and that of the Central African Federation based in Salisbury (now Harare) mirrored the fractious relationship prevailing between British intelligence and the Colonial Office.7 The latter was by the early 1960s firmly resigned to Zambian independence and was at odds with racist politicians in the federal government set on ensuring settler dominance. On the other hand, white settlers and MI5 found a common bond in their anxiety over perceived communist designs on postcolonial Africa. The British government was eager to sustain lines of communication and, if possible, cooperation with the new nationalist governments in the field of security intelligence. As the inevitable victory of the African nationalists became apparent, British interests shifted away from shoring up colonial rule to blocking perceived global geopolitical threats from the Soviet Union and China. While British intelligence labored to keep Zambia within its sphere of influence, founding president Kenneth Kaunda’s government sought to exorcise the colonial legacy. The extent to which Zambia succeeded in effecting a total rupture with the archives, organization, and practices of colonial intelligence is unclear. How was intelligence organized in the new republic? Did colonial-era agents stay on after independence? Available documentation does not provide clear answers. Philip Murphy notes that the “transfer of responsibility for the security machinery of a colonial territory was among the most sensitive issues that confronted the British in the run-up to independence.”8 As with most aspects of decolonization, the key bottleneck facing the new Zambian government was the acute shortage of trained Africans to shoulder expert and managerial tasks. It is not inconceivable that Africans played a role in the Special Branch operations attached to colonial police stations; it is unlikely, however, that colonial intelligence incorporated indigenous Africans within its strategic leadership. The indigenous leadership of Zambia’s security intelligence probably needed to be conjured up from scratch. To illuminate this process, we have a detailed account of the transition from colonial to postcolonial security intelligence in Zambia. This takes form of Roy Christie’s journalistic portrait of one John Henry Poremba Brumer, a Polish immigrant turned Southern Rhodesian intelligence operative.9 By this account, Brumer insinuated himself into President Kaunda’s trust soon after Zambian independence in 1964, and Kaunda allegedly gave Brumer the task

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of designing Zambia’s fledgling intelligence apparatus. Christie’s narrative is deeply suspect on several counts, and there are few grounds for taking it at face value.10 That said, its insistence on the security intelligence vacuum facing President Kaunda and his commanding role in rebuilding Zambia’s intelligence capacity jibe with contemporary anecdotes. This lends credence to the idea that Zambia’s new security intelligence service was strongly driven by the president’s concerns. The colonial and postcolonial elements in Zambia’s security intelligence service are in any case reflected in the agency’s colloquial name: Office of the President, Special Branch. ZSIS IN THE THIRD REPUBLIC The first decade of Zambia’s independence was a time of deepening political turmoil as President Kaunda’s governing United National Independence Party (UNIP) faced growing challenges from several opposition parties. This period also saw the birth of a nascent political intelligence organ known colloquially as the KK Boys, the primary function of which was to supply the president with sensitive political intelligence.11 In 1973 President Kaunda imposed a single-party constitution on the country, and Parliament, monopolized by UNIP lawmakers, enacted the first ZSIS Act. The new service was shielded totally from public scrutiny. Notably, ZSIS’s budgetary allocations were not publicly debated in Parliament, and the presence of intelligence operatives was felt by ordinary Zambians to be both malicious and ubiquitous.12 As the service’s first director, Vernon Mwaanga reminisced, “There was a time . . . when members of the public were afraid even to pass outside the headquarters of the Zambia Security Intelligence Service because there were rumours going round that if you pass outside that building, you will disappear inside.”13 Similarly, opposition lawmaker Douglas Syakalima explained, “From 1964 to 1972, the service was operating in a normal manner,” but after becoming a one-party state the service “became very oppressive and, in some instances, people stopped thinking because they were meant to understand that even if you were thinking alone, the members of the Zambia Security Intelligence Services were listening to you.”14 Remnants of this legacy persisted after the restoration of multiparty democracy in 1991. Indeed, in the words of opposition legislator Sakwiba Sikota, “the image we have of the Zambia Security Intelligence Service is that of a fearful organisation.”15 For the general citizenry, Sikota claimed, “this particular department is probably the most despised and feared in Zambia.” Against this background of fear and mistrust, the massive public uproar sur-



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rounding the so-called Zamtrop conspiracy, which came to light in 2002, was not surprising. Suddenly, the worst suspicions that many Zambians had about the complicity of ZSIS with abuses of power at the highest level seemed officially vindicated. The structure and geographic reach of the ZSIS are unknown, and the internal breakdown of the ZSIS budget allocation itself is not available. From the ZSIS vote’s presentation speech in Parliament it is evident that ZSIS strives to maintain an office block and staff housing in each of Zambia’s 117 districts. In addition to facilities and accommodation, staff training is a recurrent budgetary element as are, in recent years, investments in information and communications technology (ICT) and “modernization.” Data is not available on the size or use of operational funds. THE ZAMTROP TRANSCRIPTS In 1991 Parliament revised the Constitution, restoring a multiparty dispensation. The 1991 parliamentary and presidential elections brought the Movement for Multiparty Democracy (MMD) and its president, trade unionist Frederick Chiluba, to power. The MMD campaigned on a platform of radical political and economic change and received an overwhelming share of the ballot. However, as historian Bizeck Phiri explains, “The first ten years of the Third Republic produced a character of democratic practice that was not dissimilar to that of the Second Republic.”16 In the words of opposition lawmaker Douglas Syakalima, “Many were still drunk with the habits of the one-party State.”17 President Chiluba initiated wide-ranging reforms, privatizing much of an unproductive parastatal economy, while retaining many aspects of his predecessor’s autocratic style of government. By the end of his second fiveyear term, Chiluba was profoundly unpopular. In 1999, the independent Post newspaper published an article declaring that “Chiluba is a thief.” The president sued Fred M’membe, the editor of the Post, and others, for defamation. Based on information leaked from within the intelligence system, the defendants subpoenaed the records of a covert ZSIS bank account in London.18 The Zamtrop transcripts seemed to indicate Chiluba had, indeed, stolen public funds. On the basis of this information, Chiluba’s successor, President Levy Mwanawasa, appealed to Parliament to lift Chiluba’s immunity to enable his prosecution for corrupt practices. Parliament complied, and the former president found himself in court, co-charged with his alleged accomplice, ZSIS director Xavier Chungu for abuse of office.

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Zamtrop was a ZSIS bank account overseen by the president and used for ZSIS operations. It was also apparently used to move money around for any business ordained by the president. A report prepared by the World Bank, which draws on a ruling of the English High Court, provides a succinct summary of the case against President Chiluba and his co-conspirators. The authors claim that, “The Zamtrop conspiracy centered on the alleged misuse of a significant portion of US$52 million of Zambian Ministry of Finance funds that had been transferred into a bank account (known as Zamtrop) at the Zambia National Commercial Bank Limited in the United Kingdom.”19 The report explains that, “Funds originating in the Zambian Ministry of Finance entered the account from the official state budget as a result of the overpayment of debts originating in fraudulent contracts with Wilbain Technology, Inc., and Systems Innovations, Inc.—corporations based in Delaware and Virginia, United States, respectively.” Funds were then “routed through Access Financial Services Limited (AFSL), a Zambian non-bank financial institution, and into the control of the various other individuals and companies to make payments and purchases on behalf of the conspirators.” The total amount of the misappropriations was estimated to be US$25,754,316. The Zamtrop incident was deeply embarrassing for the service. Indeed, the only time that a cut in the allocation to ZSIS was proposed in Parliament occurred in the wake of these disclosures.20 More tangibly, several “friends of the service” were convicted and jailed, while former director Chungu fled the country. Revelations about Zamtrop led Parliament to lift President Chiluba’s constitutional immunity, and he was subsequently prosecuted in a Lusaka magistrate’s court, as well as in the High Court of England and Wales. Surprisingly, perhaps, the two legal processes produced different outcomes. In 2007 Chiluba was convicted on civil charges in London, but in Lusaka he was acquitted of all criminal charges in 2009. The domestic acquittal was justified on the basis of Chiluba’s (unsubstantiated) claim that the Zamtrop account contained not only Zambian public monies, but also funds he had received from “friends in the region” for his unspecified “patriotic” projects.21 Perhaps more than anything else, Chiluba’s acquittal in a Zambian court demonstrates the tacit ethos of opacity and impunity surrounding both the president and the intelligence services. ENDURING CONCERNS Debates on the floor of the Zambian National Assembly from 2002 to 2020 reveal a set of recurring issues associated with ZSIS. Above all else, support to ZSIS is justified by a narrative of existential dangers to the nation. Virtually



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all parliamentary speakers agree that Zambia is the target of various kinds of threats, and that the incontrovertible value of the ZSIS is in preempting these threats. Most threats are seen to have an “external” source, such as terrorism; trafficking in drugs, arms, and people; economic espionage; and sabotage. For example, then vice president Rupiah Banda justified the government’s allocation to ZSIS on the basis that “Zambia could be a fertile ground for conflicts engineered by foreign forces to further their economic interests.”22 Related to this anxiety about external threats is disquiet about the extent to which Zambia’s intelligence apparatus should be exposed to external scrutiny. As noted by historian Bizeck Phiri, “During the Second Republic, as a result of Zambia’s support for the liberation struggles, there was apprehension in the government that if defence and intelligence budgetary allocations were exposed through debates in parliament, the country’s enemies would assess and undermine the country’s defence capabilities, thus compromising the government’s ability to preserve and defend the sovereignty of Zambia.”23 Indeed, former ZSIS chief Vernon Mwaanga recalled that when the MMD government came to power in 1991 “the Vote of the Zambia Security Intelligence Services first came to this House for debate.”24 Concerns about exposing ZSIS to public scrutiny persist to the present. In 2007 the deputy minister of energy and water development asked the House: “Is it in order for us to proceed with the debate of this Motion when the neighbouring countries are listening and we might expose what they are not supposed to hear?” Likewise in 2020, Home Affairs Minister Stephen Kampyongo pleaded, “We should not debate these important institutions on the Floor of the House because, sometimes, when people get emotional, they veer off and might debate in a manner that exposes our nation.”25 For the most part, however, a more liberal approach to intelligence has prevailed. Opposition MP Elijah Muchima insisted, “Since we are in democratic dispensation . . . we have to show the world that we have nothing to hide by openly discussing this institution.”26 A persistent concern that elected legislators have had about ZSIS is its relationship to the ruling party.27 Opposition legislators, in particular, complain about ZSIS “abuses” that cater to the government’s interests. Notably, there are complaints about the service’s alleged partisan bias in connection with national elections. While nothing has come to light in Zambia that compares to the intimate interference in electoral processes by the intelligence services in Zimbabwe discussed by Blessing-Miles Tendi, there are two related problems of political abuse.28 First, ZSIS agents allegedly harass opposition candidates (primarily through surveillance), and second, agents are seen to be involved in election rigging. Opposition MP Request Muntanga described an example in which “ballot boxes were being carried by an officer from the intelligence service” away from a polling station.29

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Opposition legislator and prominent lawyer Chifumu Banda noted, “As security officers, they must learn to distinguish criticism from subversive activities.”30 Some opposition MPs, however, would prefer to see ZSIS concerned only with external threats to national security. Internal security should be the sole provenance of the police. Douglas Syakalima, for example, proposed that “colleagues in the Zambia Security Intelligence Service must look outside, but they should not look inside because the police can deal with people inside the country.”31 This view no doubt reflects the opposition’s desire to cordon off campaigning and electioneering from ZSIS interference. But it may also channel the deeply rooted premise in Zambia’s political culture according to which, as the Supreme Court recently found, the president is “the overall authority on everything” and should thus be beyond scrutiny.32 Indeed, in the parliamentary debates, politicians bemoan the role of ZSIS in skewing the political playing field in favor of the ruling party but are less exercised by the key lessons of Zamtrop: that the veil of secrecy around ZSIS scales up and intensifies the president’s ability to undertake clandestine operations in which his or her personal interests, political and financial, may be at variance with the greater good. In the aftermath of the Zamtrop revelations, many parliamentarians sought to justify the lack of oversight over the intelligence apparatus. As ruling party MP Jonas Shakafuswa argued, “We will never understand the operations of the system because we are not supposed to be party thereof and, also, because their operations are supposed to be covert.”33 Indeed, politicians on both sides of the aisle have been reluctant to assume direct responsibility for the way ZSIS operates. Opposition legislator Peter Machungwa, for example, declared that “the Zambian public and I do not want to know if, for example, one operative spent US$50,000 or US$100,000 to pay a girl to put a foreigner in a compromising situation in order to obtain information. We just want to know that the threat is removed and not all the details involved.”34 This, then, suggests that the potential for political abuse revealed by the Zamtrop scandal remains firmly entrenched in Zambia’s politico-legal culture. Such actions are “lawfully illegal,” as President Chiluba famously claimed, underscoring the unfettered character of his presidential mandate.35 The people’s representatives appear to tacitly accept this. THE KATUMBI CONNECTION Zambia’s opaque intelligence culture has repercussions beyond Zambia’s borders. A well-documented illustration can be found in interventions by Chiluba’s ZSIS director, Xavier Chungu, in the politics of Zambia’s neighboring



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countries. In 2000, a UN Security Council committee report found that ZSIS director Chungu appeared to be providing illicit arms and gems to UNITA leaders based in the Congo, thus contravening UN sanctions.36 Chungu has been particularly active in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. He recently declared that he and Chiluba pressured former Katanga governor Moïse Katumbi to support rebel leader Laurent-Désiré Kabila’s military action against Congolese president Mobutu Sese Seko. Katumbi, who ran a chain of businesses in Zambia, allegedly contributed US$20 million to future President Kabila’s guerrilla army.37 The push for regime change succeeded in 1997. Supplanting Mobutu with Kabila may well have been in Zambia’s national interest, even if the regimes of Kabila, who was assassinated in 2001, and his son, Joseph, who succeeded him, were not harbingers of stability and prosperity in the beleaguered Democratic Republic of the Congo. Over the years, Chungu had diverse interactions with Moïse Katumbi, and personal financial considerations appear to have played an important role. According to the Zamtrop transcripts, Katumbi, one of the richest men in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, received $50,000 from the ZSIS London account. Toward the end of Chiluba’s second term—that is, roughly the same time that Chungu was running guns and gems to Kinshasa—Katumbi’s elder brother, Raphael Soriano (aka Katebe Katoto), allegedly conspired with senior Zambian officials “to misappropriate US$21 million of Zambian government money in a bogus arms scam.”38 A London High Court judge found that Chungu had facilitated the deal.39 After Chiluba exited in 2001, Katumbi came under investigation by the Task Force against Corruption set up by President Mwanawasa to investigate Chiluba’s alleged “Matrix of Plunder.” Katumbi subsequently left Zambia. In December 2007, however, the Zambian state’s charges against Katumbi were dropped. A senior Zambian official indicated that this decision had been taken “out of concern over Zambia’s economic interests in the Copperbelt, as well as over the possible consequences of a diplomatic crisis between the DRC and Zambia over [then Katanga Governor] Katumbi’s extradition.”40 As part of the deal, Katumbi is reported to have forfeited properties in Zambia worth US$2 million to the Zambian government.41 Director Chungu was also indicted by President Mwanawasa’s Task Force and also fled Zambia. After Mwanawasa’s death in August 2008, Chungu returned to Zambia. Allying himself with the new president, MMD’s Rupiah Banda, Chungu avoided prison. While no longer an official employee of the intelligence services, Chungu remained active in statecraft, even enjoying a brief stint as President Banda’s permanent secretary to Luapula Province.42 Chungu also remained engaged with Congolese politics, most recently rallying public support for Katumbi’s erstwhile political ally, current president

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Félix Tshisekedi. Many observers suspect that Katumbi harbors presidential ambitions, and if he does indeed rise to power in the Congo, Chiluba’s and Chungu’s long-term assessments of Zambia’s security interests will be vindicated. At the same time, it would not be surprising to learn that Chungu has played a role in facilitating a US$500 million contract to build a road and toll bridge between Katanga and Zambia over the Luapula River. This project is to be carried out by contractor Rene Hutton-Mills, who happens to be Moïse Katumbi’s brother-in-law.43 CONCLUSION Fred M’membe, former publisher of the independent Post newspaper, recently broke with the tacit taboo surrounding ZSIS and offered his reflections on the future of the service. He points to a shift in the understanding of the tasks of security intelligence: “Whereas previously the emphasis was on the security of the state and the survival of the regime, now there is a strong emphasis on human security and human rights and freedoms.” 44 M’membe believes that “intelligence is a critical function at all levels of decision-making,” and yet regrets how “its very ubiquity seems to have obscured it from visibility to public inquiry.” He suggests that the secrecy surrounding ZSIS must be dismantled, arguing that “whilst operational techniques of covert collection of information are secret, the rest of our intelligence activities should be open and above board.” Such a shift begins, in M’membe’s view, with a more general transformation of intelligence culture. He argues that “mechanisms of control of our civilian intelligence structures” must be strengthened “to ensure full compliance and alignment with the Constitution, constitutional principles and the rule of law.”45 The goal should be “intelligence services that are fully conscious and proud of our multiparty democratic and constitutional foundations” and that behave in “an ethical and lawful manner.”46 These sentiments resonate with what many of Zambia’s elected officials have been saying over the last twenty years, but does M’membe’s vision of a new intelligence culture stand a chance? ZSIS serves as a pliable tool available to the discretionary whims of an unfettered presidency, and it is only a matter of personal style that determines the ends to which the chief executive makes use of the service. As long as the ZSIS is opaque to oversight, and the president unfettered by law, there exists a systemic predilection for human error. Addressing this conundrum is not simple. President Mwanawasa’s “War on Corruption” from 2003 to 2008 did evident damage to ZSIS without achieving any substantial systemic reforms.



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The Zambian constitution affirms the nation’s commitment to a democratic dispensation and, as M’membe affirms, the security intelligence apparatus must be an integral part of that order. This cursory survey of the Zambia Security Intelligence Service begs the question of what kind of democracy can be commensurate with the prevailing politico-legal setup. NOTES   1.  Rupiah Banda, National Assembly debate, March 6, 2008. All transcriptions of debates in the Zambian Parliament (National Assembly) are available at www .parliament.gov.zm.   2.  Gunstone Chola, National Assembly debate, March 6, 2008.  3. Charles Mwalimu, “Police, State Security Forces and Constitutionalism of Human Rights in Zambia,” Georgia Journal of International and Comparative Law 21, no. 2 (1991): 221.   4.  That is, the Second Republic from 1973 to 1991.   5.  Philip Murphy, “Intelligence and Decolonization: The Life and Death of the Federal Intelligence and Security Bureau, 1954–63,” Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 29, no. 2 (May 2001): 108.  6. Ibid., 103.   7.  Between 1953 and 1963, Northern Rhodesia fell under the Central African Federation (CAF), along with the colonies of Nyasaland (Malawi) and Southern Rhodesia (Zimbabwe). The CAF was primarily a project of Southern Rhodesia’s white settler population and met with staunch resistance from the emerging black nationalist groups.   8.  Murphy, “Intelligence and Decolonization,” 103.  9. Roy Christie, For the President’s Eyes Only: The Story of John Brumer, Agent Extraordinary (Johannesburg: Hugh Keartland Publishers, 1971). 10.  For the President’s Eyes Only is a secondhand journalistic account, the sources of which remain opaque. It was written by a white South African from an unapologetically Southern Rhodesian perspective, in the heat of the struggle for Zimbabwean independence, in which the Zambian and Southern Rhodesian governments were essentially at war. 11.  KK refers here to President Kenneth Kaunda. The KK boys allegedly “did a lot of work” enabling Zambian defense forces to “quell military takeovers” (Afrika Chungu, National Assembly debate, March 28, 2002). 12.  Bizeck Jube Phiri, “Zambia,” in Security and Democracy in Southern Africa, ed. Gavin Cawthra, Andre du Pisani, and Abillah Omari (Johannesburg: Wits University Press, 2007), 211–212. 13.  National Assembly debate, April 3, 2007. 14.  National Assembly debate, March 7, 2008. 15.  Sakwiba Sikota, National Assembly debate, March 7, 2008. 16.  Phiri, “Zambia,” 208.

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17.  Douglas Syakalima, National Assembly debate, March 7, 2008. 18.  Author’s personal communication with Fred M’membe, 2003. The Zamtrop transcripts entered the public record via two abuse-of-office trials against now former president Chiluba, one in a Lusaka magistrate’s court and a second in the English High court in London. See Paul Lewis, “Shifting Legitimacy: The Trials of Frederick Chiluba,” in Prosecuting Heads of State, ed. Ellen Lutz and Caitlin Reiger (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 130–50. 19.  For a Chiluba case study, see E. van der Does de Willebois, E. M. Halter, R. A. Harrison, J. W. Park, and J. C. Sharman, The Puppet Masters: How the Corrupt Use Legal Structures to Hide Stolen Assets and What to Do about It (Washington, DC: The World Bank, 2011), 184; and Republic of Zambia v. Meer Care & Desai, [2007] EWHC (Ch) 952. 20.  Dipak Patel, National Assembly debate, March 2, 2002. 21.  Frederick Chiluba, “Here I Stand: Verbatim Testimony of Second Republican President Dr. Frederick Chiluba” (Lusaka: ZDS Press Service, 2009), mimeo. 22.  Vice President Rupiah Banda, National Assembly debate, March 6, 2008. 23.  Phiri, “Zambia,” 211–212. 24.  Vernon Mwaanga, National Assembly debate, April 3, 2007. 25.  Affairs Minister Stephen Kampyongo, National Assembly debate, November 11, 2020. 26.  MP Elijah Muchima, National Assembly debate, December 20, 2016. 27.  Zambia has never had a coalition government and is always governed by the party of the president. 28. Blessing-Miles Tendi, “State Intelligence and the Politics of Zimbabwe’s Presidential Succession,” African Affairs 115, no. 459 (2016): 203–224. 29.  Opposition MP Request Muntanga, National Assembly debate, September 24, 2009. 30.  Chifumu Banda, National Assembly debate, March 6, 2008. 31.  Douglas Syakalima, National Assembly debate, December 20, 2016. 32. SCZ/8/185/2012. 33.  Jonas Shakafuswa, National Assembly debate, November 16, 2010. 34.  Peter Machungwa, National Assembly debate, November 16, 2010. 35.  Chiluba, “Here I Stand,” 19. 36.  “Letter Dated 10 March 2000 from the Chairman of the Security Council Committee Established Pursuant to Resolution 864 (1993) Concerning the Situation in Angola Addressed to the President of the Security Council,” S/2000/203, https://reliefweb.int/report/angola/angola-report-panel-experts-violations-security -council-sanctions-against-unita, §154. 37. Chris Phiri, “Ex-Zambia Spy Chief Wades into DRC Politics. . . . Xavier Chungu Reveals How Katumbi Contributed $20 Million to Liberate Congo,” Zambia Reports, April 16 2019, https://zambiareports.com/2019/04/16/ex-zambia-spy-chief -wades-drc-politics-xavier-chungu-reveals-katumbi-contributed-20-million-liberate -congo/. 38.  Brothers Moïse and Raphael are the sons of Nissim Soriano, a Jewish businessman who fled Nazi occupation of his native Rhodos (Greece) for the Belgian Congo



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in 1938. According to Jan Kees van Donge the “business and political practices [of Moses Katumbi and his brother Katebe Katoto] seem to be interwoven to the extent that an outsider cannot make a clear distinction.” Jan Kees van Donge, “The Plundering of Zambian Resources by Frederick Chiluba and His Friends: A Case Study of the Interaction between National Politics and the International Drive towards Good Governance,” African Affairs 108, no. 430 (2009): 80; and Jeroen Cuvalier, The Impact of the Global Financial Crisis on Mining in Katanga (Antwerp: IPIS 2009), 21. 39. For more details and further schemes involving Chungu and the Soriano/ Katoto/Katumbi family, see Republic of Zambia v. Meer Care & Desai, [2007], ruling of the High Court of England and Wales (EWHC (Ch) 952). 40. Ibid. 41. Cuvalier, Impact of the Global Financial Crisis. 42.  “Ex-spy Boss Xavier Chungu Appointed PS,” WiredProject316, November 1, 2011, https://wiredproject316.wordpress.com/2011/11/01/flash-ex-spy-boss-xavier -chungu-appointed-ps/. Chungu and Chiluba both hail from Luapula, and Katumbi is married to the daughter of the region’s paramount chief, the Mwata Kazembe. 43. “Qui est l’entrepreneur hongrois René Hutton-Mills, beau-frère de Moïse Katumbi et constructeur des routes d’exportation des minerais?” [Who is the Hungarian entrepreneur René Hutton-Mills, brother-in-law of Moïse Katumbi and builder of mineral export routes?], CongoVirtuel.com, January 7, 2021, https://congovirtuel .com/information/qui-est-lentrepreneur-hongrois-rene-hutton-mills-beau-frere-de -moise-katumbi-et-constructeur-des-routes-dexportation-des-minerais/. 44. Fred M’membe, “Do We Need the Intelligence Services?,” Socialist Party of Zambia, February 7, 2021, https://socialistpartyzambia.com/tag/zambia-security -intelligence-service/. 45. Ibid. 46. Ibid.

55 Zimbabwe An Intelligence Community against Each Other and Everyone János Besenyö

The activities of Zimbabwe’s intelligence services are little known to the international community. While the former head of the Central Intelligence Organisation, Ken Flower, and other researchers on the Cold War and the world of intelligence have written several books about them, they only explore the Rhodesian government and the first decade of Zimbabwe. In the last two decades, only a few studies, mostly criticisms from human rights organizations, have been published about the activities of the Zimbabwean security services. The documents of the services—apart from a targeted leak—cannot be researched, so it is necessary to rely on the limited public materials and reports. This chapter describes the history and culture of Zimbabwean intelligence organizations. It examines the events leading up to the establishment of the national intelligence service, the Central Intelligence Organisation (CIO), its formation, and its operation, under both minority and majority governments. It also explores the environment influencing the activities of intelligence organizations (CIO, military, and police forces), power struggles between Zimbabwean political forces, the influence of foreign intelligence services, activities, and cooperation or rivalry between the organizations. The analysis focuses on two main periods. The first is the colonial and then the Rhodesian period, which began in the early 1900s and lasted until 1980. During this period, the organizations engaged in secret service activities that served the interests of a foreign—mostly British—and a minority elite, which was clearly visible in the composition and operation of the organizations. The second era is the “Zimbabwean period,” from 1980 to the present, in which the new majority African government has built a more despotic system than before, and in which the most important means of repression have been the 731

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secret services. The services are also actively involved in the battles between the various power groups and are even fighting each other, as evidenced by the events of the military coup in 2017. In the period since then, significant changes have taken place within the security services, but how this will affect their future role and activities is not yet predictable. BACKGROUND The territory of the Republic of Zimbabwe in the southern part of the African continent was first governed between 1889 and 1914 by the British South Africa Company established by Cecil Rhodes.1 Then, under the name of Southern Rhodesia, it was granted extensive self-determination within the British Empire. The British oversaw the country’s foreign policy and had a veto over legislation that directly affected Africans. In 1953, Southern Rhodesia, Northern Rhodesia (modern-day Zambia), and Nyasaland (modernday Malawi) joined the union and formed a federal state (the Central African Federation, CAF), which disintegrated on December 31, 1963, allowing Zambia and Malawi to gain independence.2 Southern Rhodesia remained a British colony, but on November 11, 1965, the leaders of the European community living there unilaterally declared their secession from the British and established Rhodesia. As a result, a fifteen-year civil war erupted between members of the European and African communities, also involving neighboring countries. Eventually the European minority–led state became isolated, causing opposing parties agreed to hold elections in the country, which were won by the Zimbabwe African National Union (ZANU), led by Robert Mugabe.3 The new leadership created a Soviet-type one-party system and then launched a bloody pogrom against the Ndebele tribe with the involvement of the security services.4 In the 1990s and 2000s, Mugabe’s failed “agrarian reform” resulted in a collapse of the country’s agricultural sector. Unemployment and inflation have risen sharply, and the country’s economy has stagnated.5 Mugabe could only maintain his power by introducing ever-increasing control with the help of the security service and other government agencies, suppressing opposition forces and falsifying election results, for which the international community had sanctioned Zimbabwe. Eventually the entire population of the inoperable country turned against him, and the president of Zimbabwe was deprived of his power in 2017 by his own party and allies in a military coup.



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THE ESTABLISHMENT AND OPERATION OF THE RHODESIAN SECRET SERVICE, 1913–1980 Intelligence activities were carried out in the 1880s and beyond by the British South Africa Company’s Police, a unit set up for policing. From the early 1900s, the XB section within the Criminal Investigation Department (CID) of British South Africa Police (BSAP) was responsible for intelligence activities.6 In June 1954, under the leadership of Basil Maurice de Quehen, the Federal Intelligence and Security Bureau (FISB) was established, which carried out intelligence activities together with various units of the police for the CAF and MI5.7 The primary task of the FISB was monitoring the activities of various political and other African national movements in Rhodesia, especially those that followed communist/socialist ideology or had the support of the Soviet Union and China.8 The FISB also monitored the conflicts in neighboring countries, in close cooperation with the South African (Bureau of State Security, BOSS) and the Portuguese (Polícia Internacional de Defesa do Estado, PIDE; later Direção-Geral de Segurança, DGS) intelligence services.9 In 1960, under the leadership of William Crabtree, the Special Branch (SB) was established within the police, which was solely responsible for intelligence activities in Rhodesia.10 The establishment of an independent intelligence service was set up in August 1963 upon the order of Winston Field, the prime minister of Rhodesia, following the dissolution of the CAF. The Central Intelligence Organisation (CIO) was located in the prime minister’s office. Its first leader was Ken Flower, who held this position for eighteen years. Flower established good relationships with intelligence organizations in Portugal, South Africa, the United Kingdom, and other Western European countries.11 The SB came under double control. The police commissioner remained the organization’s head, but it continued to be an integral part of the CIO and was responsible for internal intelligence. The FISB ceased to exist, but most of its subordinates joined the CIO, and some continued their careers in the South African or British secret services.12 The police also set up the Police Anti-Terrorist Units (PATU), tasked with intelligence and other matters.13 The Rhodesian army also had limited intelligence capabilities, which merged in 1973 in the Directorate of Military Intelligence (MID) established within the CIO. In July 1975, the army leadership established the Rhodesian Intelligence Corps (RIC), which was mainly in charge of topographical intelligence and the Army Counter Intelligence (ACI).14 Both organizations carried out only limited tasks. The Special Forces Intelligence Centre (SFIC) was set up in August 1978 but was soon merged into the MID.15 Meanwhile, the CIO was responsible for the country’s security and external and internal

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intelligence. It coordinated the work of intelligence organizations within the country, liaising and cooperating with foreign intelligence services as needed.16 The organization consisted of six branches:17 • Branch I (Internal) actually consisted of SB staff and was responsible for counterintelligence and countersubversion. SB had smaller provincial Special Branch officers and district SB offices in each province that sent their reports to the center on a daily basis. The organization was made up of the following departments: 1.  The European/Counter Intelligence Desk was responsible for monitoring migrants arriving in the country as well as foreign visitors, especially those from socialist countries who were considered hostile spies. The desk was also responsible for monitoring right-wing organizations within the country, foreign diplomatic missions, and journalists visiting Zimbabwe. 2.  The Terrorist Desk primarily provided intelligence information to the armed forces about the activities of various armed groups and liberation organizations. 3.  The Counterterrorist Organization/Z Desk carried out various actions against liberation organizations. A secret chemical and biological warfare (CBW) program was carried out between 1975 and 1980, which included several CBW attacks against guerrillas.18 4.  The Projects Section was responsible for the implementation of various covered operations, which were often carried out abroad. 5.  The task of the Nationalist Desk was to observe and integrate into African national movements and political parties. It was merged with the Terrorist Desk in the late 1970s. 6.  The task of the Trade Unionist Desk was to integrate into the trade union movements and to observe them. 7.  The Administration, Finance, Training and Liaison Section was responsible for the administrative operation of the CIO and for liaising with South African government bodies. The files and reports of the CIO were stored here, and various forged documents were also produced here. 8.  The Ground Coverage Special Scheme (GCSS) collected intelligence information and other intelligence (grassroots intelligence/ rumors) from police units operating within the country. • Branch II (External) was responsible for foreign intelligence and established close links with the British, American, Portuguese, South African, Greek, Italian, French, Malawian, Sudanese, and Gabonese intelligence services. Several of the agents served in a covered position in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.



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• Branch III (The Directorate of Military Intelligence/DMI) provided intelligence to the army, but its quality varied, so at the suggestion of Flower, military intelligence personnel were directed here, resulting in a significant improvement in the efficiency of the branch.19 • Branch IV (Government Telecommunications Agency) was responsible for electronic intelligence, radio reconnaissance, encryption, decryption, and the interception of various communications devices. • Branch V (Close Security) was responsible for protecting government officials and their families. • Branch VI (Government Protective Security) was responsible for the protection of critically important government objects. The country, which became independent in 1965, soon drifted into civil war and served as a Cold War site in Africa. The Zimbabwe African People’s Union (ZAPU) received assistance from the Soviet Union, while ZANU received assistance from China and Yugoslavia. Rhodesia forged closer ties with Portugal and South Africa.20 During the civil war, the CIO focused primarily on action against the Zimbabwean liberation organizations and the countries that supported them. Rhodesian agents successfully integrated into these organizations, and several of their members worked as informants for the agency.21 The CIO was also responsible for the organization and the leadership of special operations, which were carried out jointly with special forces units of the army. These not only focused on defending the country but also carried out preventive strikes in the surrounding states. They established the Mozambican National Resistance (Resistência Nacional Moçambicana, RENAMO) in 1975, which successfully engaged the communist government in Mozambique; thus they could provide only limited support to the ZANU/ ZAPU guerrillas.22 The highly successful organization could intercept, arrest, and torture anyone at any time. The CIO also carried out several kidnappings and assassinations against the leaders and members of liberation movements, for example in 1975 in Lusaka against Herbert Chitepo.23 The organization was under direct political control, taking action against critics of the government when necessary and fulfilling illegal mandates. For example, the organization was actively involved in the conduct of the 1980 elections by influencing and then falsifying the results.24 Although the organization formally coordinated the work of other intelligence organizations in Rhodesia, it was unable to reduce competition between them and even contributed to the competition itself.25

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Figure 55.1.  Intelligence community in Rhodesia, 1978

THE ZIMBABWE SECRET SERVICE, 1980–2020 After Robert Mugabe took control of the country in 1980, the secret services were transformed. The CIO was no longer controlled by the prime minister but was placed under the authority of the minister in charge of the security services. The organization continued to be led by Ken Flower until June 1981, when Derrick Robinson took over.26 The SB, run by Daniel Stannard until 1994, was permanently removed from the structure of the police forces and merged into the CIO staff. 27 To replace the SB, a police intelligence unit, the Police Internal Security and Intelligence Unit (PISI), was established under the authority of the commissioner of the police. The MID was removed from the CIO organization and was headed by the newly appointed Richard Stannard. Intelligence organizations originally reported to the president through the CIO but also used their own channels several times. As Mugabe provided tasks to intelligence organizations and often made them “compete” with each other, the rivalry between them intensified.28 The CIO and other intelligence organizations have been restructured with the help of China, Russia, and North Korea.29 Some of the former agents were discharged and joined South African intelligence.30 The new leaders used the expertise of those who remained but did not trust them, as several became



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paid agents of the South African intelligence services. More former guerrillas joined the organization, with Europeans largely being replaced by the early 1990s. At that time, the organization had a staff of 1,007.31 Additionally, ZAPU and ZANU were each other’s opponents in the civil war, and their opposition continued within the CIO, which also reduced the organization’s effectiveness.32 Opposition between the two organizations emerged in other areas of government work. Consequently, Mugabe decided to oust ZAPU, which consisted mainly of Ndebele tribe members, from the government. On his instructions, the CIO, PISI, and military intelligence organized Operation Gukurahundi, in which more than twenty thousand Ndebele tribe members were executed and at least as many were imprisoned and tortured.33 The CIO and, to a lesser extent the MID, continued to be involved in conflicts in the region, but now not on the side of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) and Western countries. Rather, they were on the side of Angola and Mozambique, which became members of the socialist camp against South Africa. Guerrillas were trained and terrorist attacks were planned, financed, and carried out against South African targets.34 In addition, combat troops were sent to Mozambique as part of military assistance against the RENAMO.35 The previously unified intelligence organization became increasingly divided. In the 1990s the internal “war” between Shadreck Chipanga, the director general, and his deputy, Lovemore Mukandi, pushed the organization to the brink of inoperability, so Mugabe replaced them both in 1998. A new director general was appointed, Brigadier General Elisha Muzonzini. His deputy became Brigadier General Happyton Bonyongwe, with whom more soldiers came to the organization, generating another conflict within the service.36 Meanwhile, Mugabe, like his predecessors, used the CIO to restrain and destroy groups opposed to him and his policies.37 The organization was actively involved in Mugabe’s flawed “economic reforms,” in which the well-functioning farms of white farmers were confiscated and then divided among Africans who were unable to cultivate them, leaving the country’s agriculture in ruin. They also played a significant role in influencing parliamentary elections and falsifying their results. During the 2000 elections the secret service, in cooperation with the police and other state agencies, not only observed the activities of the Movement for Democratic Change (MDC), but also harassed, arrested, tortured, or even murdered several politicians and activists.38 Operations carried out by the CIO included Operation Tsuro to influence and win the 2002 elections. Operation Murmbatsvina was aimed against those living in slums in big cities because they supported the MDC rather than the ruling party. Operation Makovotera Papi served to win over the rural population, mainly engaged in agriculture, who were subjected to forced education or threatened with torture to achieve their support of ZANU-PF.39

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In addition, Operation Chimumumu served to break the self-confidence of opposition forces that performed well in the election. The CIO intervened in similar ways in subsequent elections, supporting the ruling party.40 According to the press, the organization set up death brigades to help liquidate those who opposed the government.41 The CIO, which had a staff of between eight and ten thousand, had no oversight from any state body, and its activities could not be restricted.42 This is because the CIO had been established during the colonial period on the basis of an order from the prime minister, which gave the organization a wide margin of maneuver. Even after the country became independent, the operation of civilian secret services was not regulated by law, so the CIO could do everything that Mugabe approved. Although the country’s constitution was adopted in 2013 and addresses the security sector in detail, its contents were usually ignored by the intelligence services. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the law on secret services has not been enacted to this day.43 CIO agents can arrest anyone anywhere without justification and detain them, and many are subjected to torture. The budget of the organization is approved by the president. Neither the minister of finance nor the Parliament has any oversight. The amount of the official budget is supplemented by the CIO from various prohibited economic activities and crimes.44 Financial resources are often used for operations against opposition forces (Operation Spiderweb, Operation Black Hawk) and other covert operations. The intelligence organization consisted of six branches in the early 2000s:45 1.  Internal Branch: Deals with in-country intelligence and counterintelligence. It has two units, Counter Intelligence (CI) and Serious Crimes Unit (SCU). 2.  External Branch: Is responsible for countering external threats to the country and for foreign intelligence. It consists of two units, analysis and liaison. 3.  Security Branch: Also consists of two units, Close Security Unit (CSU) and (Government Protection Security Inspectorate (GPSI), which are responsible for the protection of government leaders and high-priority sites. 4.  Economics Branch: Is made up of the Policy Planning Unit and the Economic Analysis Unit, which provide analysis and advice on government economic policy. 5.  Administrative Branch: Provides the CIO with logistical and administrative support. It is divided into five units: personnel, training, finance, resource management, and transport. 6.  Branch Six: There is no reliable information about the activity of this branch.



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The organization has offices in all provinces, which are managed by the provincial intelligence officer (PIO). District intelligence officers (DIOs) are subordinated to PIOs. Ground coverage teams are subordinates of DIOs, who direct the work of agents and informants. The CIO has built a nationwide network of agents and informants whose members monitor all areas of government functions and the private sector.46 With the help of China, Japan, and Iran, they have set up and operate their surveillance and interception system, with which they can intercept almost any communications.47 Zimbabweans living abroad are also closely monitored. The CIO’s personnel are recruited from various ZANU organizations, mostly the National Youth Training Service and the Youth Brigades (Green Bombers). Only the most reliable, cross-checked individuals become members of the CIO. The organization’s agents are taught at the Intelligence Academy (Robert Gabriel Mugabe University of Intelligence/RGMSI), established with Chinese assistance in 2007, where—amongst others—Chinese instructors also teach.48 In addition to teaching various espionage techniques, the school also focuses on cyber warfare. Many believe that the school is also a spy center operated jointly by the Chinese and Zimbabwean secret services.49 The CIO was integrated into ZANU’s organization in such a way that it was impossible to decide whether it was serving the state or just the ruling party. After 2008, the relationship between Mugabe and the organization deteriorated, partially due to the fact that the prime minister, with the support of the Zimbabwe National Liberation War Veterans’ Association, set up another intelligence unit within the Department of War Veterans’ Affairs, which reported directly and exclusively to him. Its employees received their salaries only irregularly, often late, in 2008 and 2009, which was a serious challenge for the organization. Meanwhile, the leaders and some members of the organization received a significant income from various economic activities and even crimes.50 As a result, several CIO leaders and officers left the organization and even passed on sensitive information to quite a few foreign services.51 It also did not help that internal materials were leaked by unknown sources, including the personal information of 481 agents and the addresses of special, undercover operatives of the CIO.52 The issue of Mugabe’s succession has been raised several times since the 2000s, sparking power struggles within ZANU-PF and various levels of government, including the CIO and military intelligence led by Lieutenant General Constantino Guveya Chiwenga. Chiwenga supported Emmerson Mnangagwa’s candidacy as secretary of the secret service from 1980 to 1988, while the CIO supported the candidacy of Solomon Mujuru, former commander of Zimbabwe Defence Forces, and later Joice Mujuru after the mysterious death of the original candidate.53 The fight for succession was

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won in 2017 by Mnangagwa, who teamed up with the leaders of the army to replace Mugabe with a coup and then occupied the prime minister’s chair. The new president submitted the bill to the CIO, whose several leaders and members were tortured and executed, while more than 450 of the lucky ones were forcibly retired. Isaac Moyo was appointed head of the agency and carried out another round of personnel changes.54 In the period since the coup, the country has continued to destabilize. Cooperation between the armed and law enforcement agencies and the intelligence services remain problematic, and power struggles continue.55 In addition to the CIO, the military and police also have intelligence organizations, but little information is available on these. The Military Intelligence Directorate (MID) and the Military Intelligence Unit (MIU) are responsible for the covert operations of the army, and electronic intelligence and eavesdropping capability has been built up in recent years with the help of Iran and Russia.56 The Police Internal Security and Intelligence Unit (PISI) is an independent intelligence unit. Although these organizations are theoretically designed to serve the security of armed bodies, they are actively involved in various power struggles, repression, and surveillance of opposition forces and civil society.

Figure 55.2.  Intelligence community in Zimbabwe, 2005



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CONCLUSION If one looks at the functioning of the intelligence services in the country’s history, it is clear that they have been used mainly to control and oppress the country’s population, and only to a lesser extent to protect it. The United Kingdom, which colonized the area, and during the Cold War, South Africa and Portugal, and later China, the Soviet Union, North Korea, and Iran, played a significant role in the establishment and operation of intelligence organizations. On the one hand, this multifaceted effect has helped intelligence personnel to acquire more knowledge and increase their abilities, and on the other hand, “diversity” has given rise to new clashes in an already fragmented intelligence society. The situation is complicated by the fact that since 1980 no government has developed uniform requirements and regulations for secret service activities. The reforms have been poor, and no uniformly trained, equipped secret service has been established. It is a problem that although the secret services are under the supervision of a minister, they communicate with the government and the leaders of the various power groups, bypassing that minister. Although for years it was the CIO that coordinated the work of the other services, it is now just one intelligence service. As the responsibility of the services, including their powers, have not been properly clarified, they often come into conflict with each other. Because of this, the sharing of information and their cooperation are problematic, which has a negative impact on the security sector, government work, and the security of the country. The intelligence culture is overpoliticized, and intelligence management is not transparent. Additionally, the intelligence agencies are involved in various illegal activities with no civilian oversight. Because of their activities over the past decade, the population does not trust them and sees them as a threat. There is a concern that the various groups of the elite leading the country are constantly fighting each other, and the secret services are being used as a political tool. This also increases the contradictions between the services, for which reason the secret services are now waging a kind of war against each other. On one side are the CIO and PISI, opposed by the military intelligence on the other side. Although Mugabe has fallen out of power, his successors are using similar oppressive, subjugating means. Their power continues to be provided by the secret services and armed organizations.

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NOTES   1.  Chengetai J. M. Zvobgo, A History of Zimbabwe, 1890–2000 and Postscript, Zimbabwe, 2001–2008 (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2009), 48–49.  2. Alois S. Mlambo, A History of Zimbabwe (Pretoria: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 119–122.  3. Filipe Ribeiro de Meneses and Robert McNamara, The White Redoubt, the Great Powers and the Struggle for Southern Africa 1960–1980 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017), 266–285.  4. Zvobgo, History of Zimbabwe, 257–264.   5.  Alois S. Mlambo, “Becoming Zimbabwe or Becoming Zimbabwean: Identity, Nationalism and Statebuilding,” Africa Spectrum 48, no. 1 (2013): 59–62.   6.  Henrick Ellert, “The Rhodesian Security and Intelligence Community 1960– 1980,” in Soldiers in Zimbabwe’s Liberation War, ed. Terence Ranger and Ngwabi Bhebe (London: James Currey, 1995), 90. See also Glenn A. Cross, “Intelligence in the Rhodesian Counterinsurgency,” in African Intelligence Services: Early PostColonial and Contemporary Challenges, ed. Ryan Shaffer (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2021), 91–120.   7.  Philip Murphy, “Intelligence and Decolonization: The Life and Death of the Federal Intelligence and Security Bureau, 1954–63,” Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 29, no. 2 (2001): 108–110.   8.  Tapiwa B. Zimudzi, “Spies and Informers on Campus: Vetting, Surveillance and Deportation of Expatriate University Lecturers in Colonial Zimbabwe, 1954– 1963,” Journal of Southern African Studies 33, no. 1 (2007): 193–208.   9.  Filipe Ribeiro de Meneses and Robert McNamara, “Parallel Diplomacy, Parallel War: The PIDE/DGS’s Dealings with Rhodesia and South Africa, 1961–74,” Journal of Contemporary History 49, no. 2 (2014): 368. 10.  Richard Wood, So Far and No Further: Rhodesia’s Bid for Independence during the Retreat from Empire 1959–1965 (Victoria: Trafford Publishing, 2004), 47–48. 11.  Nigel West, The Friends: Britain’s Post-war Secret Intelligence Operations (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1990), 167; and Blessing-Miles Tendi, “State Intelligence and the Politics of Zimbabwe’s Presidential Succession,” African Affairs 115, no. 459 (April 2016): 208–209. 12. Wood, So Far and No Further, 152, 172–173; and Murphy, “Intelligence and Decolonization,” 122. 13.  Bruce Hoffman, Jennifer M. Taw, and David Arnold, Lessons for Contemporary Counterinsurgencies: The Rhodesian Experience (Santa Monica, RAND/Arroyo Center, 1991), 22–23. 14.  Henrick Ellert, The Rhodesian Front War: Counter-insurgency and Guerrilla War in Rhodesia, 1962–1980 (Harare: Mambo Press, 1989), 20. 15.  Jakkie Cilliers, Counter-Insurgency in Rhodesia (London: Routledge, 2015), 223–235.



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16.  Richard Wood, A Matter of Weeks Rather Than Months: The Impasse between Harold Wilson and Ian Smith Sanctions, Aborted Settlements and War 1965–1969 (Victoria: Trafford Publishing, 2012), 130. 17.  Ellert, “Rhodesian Security and Intelligence Community,” 88–103; Hoffman, Taw, and Arnold, Lessons for Contemporary Counterinsurgencies, 28–34; and Ellert, Rhodesian Front War, 19–21. 18.  Ian Martinez, “The History of the Use of Bacteriological and Chemical Agents during Zimbabwe’s Liberation War of 1965–80 by Rhodesian Forces,” Third World Quarterly 23, no. 6 (2002): 1163–1167. 19.  Ken Flower, Serving Secretly. An Intelligence Chief on Record: Rhodesia into Zimbabwe, 1964 to 1981 (London: John Murray, 1987), 17; and Cilliers, CounterInsurgency in Rhodesia, 221–223. 20. Ellert, Rhodesian Front War, 54–65. 21. Hoffman, Taw, and Arnold, Lessons for Contemporary Counterinsurgencies, 30–31; and Fay Chung, Re-living the Second Chimurenga: Memories from the Liberation Struggle in Zimbabwe (Stockholm: Nordic African Institute, 2006), 83, 115–116, 274. 22.  Charles D. Melson, “Top Secret War: Rhodesian Special Operations,” Small Wars & Insurgencies 16, no. 1 (2005): 57–82; and Ribeiro de Meneses and McNamara, White Redoubt, 150–151, 200. 23.  Abiodun Alao, Mugabe and the Politics of Security in Zimbabwe (Québec: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2012), 233. 24.  Tendi, “State Intelligence,” 208. 25.  Hoffman, Taw, and Arnold, Lessons for Contemporary Counterinsurgencies, 50–51. 26.  Nigel West, Historical Dictionary of International Intelligence (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015), 374. 27.  Sue Onslow, “Interview with Dan Stannard,” University of the West of England Rhodesian Forces Oral History Project, October 24, 2008, http://researchdata .uwe.ac.uk/104/240/roh-oh-sta-da1-appr.pdf. 28. Tendi, “State Intelligence,” 206; and Peter Stiff, Cry Zimbabwe: Independence—Twenty Years on (Alberton: Galago, 2000), 231–232. 29.  Drifting Towards Darkness: An Exploratory Study of State Surveillance in Post-2000 Zimbabwe (Media Policy and Democracy Report, November 2019), 3; and Benjamin R. Young, “An Emotional Relationship: Trust, Admiration, and Fear in North Korea–Zimbabwe Relations, 1976-1988,” S/N Korean Humanities, 4, no. 2 (September 2018): 129–149. 30. Alao, Mugabe and the Politics of Security in Zimbabwe, 112–113. 31.  John Hatchard, Individual Freedoms and State Security in the African Context: Case of Zimbabwe (Harare: Baobab Books, 1993), 22, 31, 53. 32.  Tendi, “State Intelligence,” 211–212. 33.  Knox Chitiyo, The Case for Security Sector Reform in Zimbabwe (London: Royal United Services Institute, 2009), 3; and Norma J. Kriger, Guerrilla Veterans in Post-war Zimbabwe: Symbolic and Violent Politics, 1980–1987 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 132–140.

744

Chapter 55

34.  Roy Licklider, New Armies from Old: Merging Competing Military Forces after Civil Wars (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2014), 59; and Paul Jackson, “The Civil War Roots of Military Domination in Zimbabwe: The Integration Process Following the Rhodesian War and the Road to ZANLA Dominance,” Civil Wars, 13, no. 4 (2011): 371–395. 35. Chitiyo, Case for Security Sector Reform in Zimbabwe, 3, 7. 36.  Tendi, “State Intelligence,” 213–215. 37.  Geoffrey Feltoe, “Report on the Internal Security Forces in Zimbabwe,” Third World Legal Studies 14, article 3, http://scholar.valpo.edu/twls/vol14/iss1/3. 38.  Cheryl Hendricks and Lauren Hutton, Providing Security and Justice for the People: Security Sector Reform in Zimbabwe, ISS Paper 199 (Pretoria: Institute for Security Studies, 2009), 8; and John Brinkley, Zimbabwe and the Politics of Torture (Washington, DC: US Institute of Peace, 2002), https://www.usip.org/publica tions/2002/08/zimbabwe-and-politics-torture. 39. Licklider, New Armies from Old, 60; and Chitiyo, Case for Security Sector Reform in Zimbabwe, 4–6. 40.  JoAnn McGregor, “Surveillance and the City: Patronage, Power-Sharing and the Politics of Urban Control in Zimbabwe,” Journal of Southern African Studies 39, no. 4 (2013): 783–805; and Jocelyn Alexander and JoAnn McGregor, “Introduction: Politics, Patronage and Violence in Zimbabwe,” Journal of Southern African Studies 39, no. 4 (2013): 749–63. 41.  “I Was in a Zimbabwe Death Squad,” Mail & Guardian, April 5, 2007, https:// mg.co.za/article/2007-04-05-i-was-in-a-zimbabwe-death-squad/. 42. Chitiyo, Case for Security Sector Reform in Zimbabwe, 12. 43.  An Inside Job—Zimbabwe: The State, the Security Forces, and a Decade of Disappearing Diamonds (London: Global Witness, September 11, 2017), https:// www.globalwitness.org/en/campaigns/conflict-diamonds/inside-job/. 44.  Financing a Parallel Government? The Involvement of the Secret Police and Military in Zimbabwe’s Diamond, Cotton and Property Sectors (London: Global Witness, June 2012), https://cdn.globalwitness.org/archive/files/library/financing_a_par allel_government_zimbabwe.pdf. 45.  Zimbabwe Security Forces, Southern Africa Report, July 2011, http://cdn .entelectonline.co.za/wm-122882-cmsimages/documents/zim.pdf. 46. The Zimbabwe Human Rights Forum, Communications & Political Intelligence Surveillance on Human Rights Defenders in Zimbabwe: A Research Report (Year 1), 2014, http://www.hrforumzim.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/01 /BPUK15104_Insides.pdf. 47.  Drifting towards Darkness: An Exploratory Study of State Surveillance in Post-2000 Zimbabwe, Media Policy and Democracy Report, November 2019, https:// www.mediaanddemocracy.com/uploads/1/6/5/7/16577624/zimbabwe_report_2nd _pages.pdf. 48. Zimbabwe Human Rights Forum, Communications & Political Intelligence Surveillance; and Drifting towards Darkness, 16–17.



Zimbabwe

745

49. Ibid.; “Concern over Acquisition and Use of Surveillance Tools in Zimbabwe,” MISA, March 10, 2021, https://zimbabwe.misa.org/2021/03/10/concern -over-acquisition-and-use-of-surveillance-tools-in-zimbabwe/. 50.  Overview of Security Situation (Zimbabwe), Institute of Security Studies, https://issafrica.org/country-file-zimbabwe/security-situation. 51.  Zimbabwe Security Forces. 52. West, Historical Dictionary of International Intelligence, 374. 53.  Tendi, “State Intelligence,” 213, 218. 54. Muza Mpofu, “CIO Members Tortured by Army during Mugabe Coup Demand Compensation, 450 CIOs to Be Fired,” MyZimbabwe, February 9, 2018, https://www.myzimbabwe.co.zw/news/16368-cio-members-tortured-by-army -during-mugabe-coup-demand-compensation-450-cios-to-be-fired.html. 55. “Mnangagwa in Search of Enemies,” Africa Confidential, August 6, 2020, https://www.africa-confidential.com/article/id/13044/Mnangagwa_in_search_of _enemies. 56.  Drifting towards Darkness, 16.

Index

Abderemane, Ahmed Abdallah, 136, 137 Abdul-Majeed, Jamal, 648 Abidjan Peace Accords, 588 Abubakar, Abdusalami, 501 ACS. See American Colonization Society Act 526. See Intelligence Agencies Act Adam, Nourredine, 110–11 Addo, Nana Akufo, 282, 286–87 ADSU. See Anti-Drug and Smuggling Unit Afar-Issa rivalry, with Djibouti, 175, 176 AFL. See Armed Forces of Liberia AFPRC. See Armed Forces Provision Ruling Council Africa, map of, xv African Lion exercise, 562 African National Congress (ANC), South Africa, 22, 615–22, 624 African Party for the Independence of Guinea and Cape Verde (PAIGC), 306–7; Kohl on, 307 African Union (AU): Algeria member of, 9; Liberia and, 356; Nigeria and, 505; Seychelles member of, 577

African Union Commission, CISSA of, xxiv, 205–6 Afwerki, Isaias: human rights abuses, corruption and totalitarian rule, 211; intelligence service control, 211–12, 220; Plaut on, 215–16, 219 Ahmed, Abiy, 245, 247, 248 Ahomadégbé, Justin T., 30 AIC. See Anti-Imperialism Center Akarmi, Lazhar, 679 Algeria: ALN intelligence agency, 1, 3; AU member, 9; CFR counterterrorism efforts, 10; DDSE of, 8, 704; DRS intelligence service, 3–7, 8–9, 11; DSS intelligence service, 5, 6, 9, 10; ethnic relations in, 7; FIS in, 4; FLN intelligence agency, 1, 2; France colonization of, 1, 7; geography of, 1, 5, 7; GWoT ally, 8; indigenous population in, 7; intelligence culture issues, 5–8; intelligence history, 2–5; intelligence reform, 8–10; intelligence services self-sufficiency, 10–11; international cooperation, 8–10; Islamic history in, 7–8, 11; MALG intelligence service, 2–3, 9; military, intelligence

747

748

services and elite class combined power in, 5–6; military role in, 1–2, 5–6, 11; political challenges in, 2; politicization in, 2, 6–7, 10; presidents of, 3–5; protests from 2019–2020, 5; surveillance in, 8, 11 Algerian Civil War (1991–2002), 4 Algerian War of Independence (1954– 1962), 1, 2 Ali Nafie, Nafi, 646 Alley, Alphonse, 31–32 all of society intelligence culture, of Cameroon, 95, 99–100, 105 All People’s Congress (APC), Sierra Leone, 586–87 All Sources Information Fusion Unit (ASIFU), Mali, 411 ALN. See National Liberation Army Althumani, Diwani, 662 Aludjo, Ahmadou, 98; SEDOC established by, 102 Alves, Nito, 17 American Colonization Society (ACS), Liberia and, 354 Amin, Idi, 658, 693 AMISOM. See AU Mission to Somalia AML/CFT. See anti-money laundering/ combatting the financing of terrorism Amnesty International, xxi; on Egypt human rights violations, 189–90; on Equatorial Guinea human rights violations, 203; Nigeria SSS and, 505; on Togo military human rights abuses, 671 ANC. See African National Congress Andregg, Michael, xxiii–xxiv Angola: arms sales to, 21; attempted coup of 1977, 15, 17; background on, 16–19; China relations, 23, 25–26; CIA and, 16; Cold War and, 16, 19; corruption scandals, 25; Cuba and, 15, 16, 17, 19; diamond international interest, 16,

Index

21; DISA intelligence service, 16, 17–18; Executive Outcomes private military contractor, 21; illiberal movements in, 25; independence of 1975, 16; intelligence services ruling party hegemony protection, 15; international authoritarian populism, 15, 24–26; Israel relations, 21; Lourenço as president in 2017, 24, 26; Ministry of the Interior in, 17– 18, 20; MINSE intelligence service, 18–21; MPLA, FNLA, UNITA military conflict, 16; multiparty democracy and security services, 15, 19–22; Neto as president in, 17, 18; New York tripartite accords and, 19; ODP and BVP paramilitary in, 18; oil production in, 16, 21, 24–25; political hegemony in 2000s, 15, 22–24; dos Santos, E., as president of, 18, 24–25; São Tomé and Príncipe relations, 548; Soviet Union relations, 15, 25–26; state security police character, 15, 17; U.S. Clark Amendment and, 16 Angola Civil War, 15 Angolagate scandal, 21 ANIGE. See National Intelligence Agency, Burkina Faso ANLK. See Cameroon National Liberation Army Annual Information Plan, Cabo Verde, 85 ANR. See National Intelligence Agency ANS. See National Security Agency, Chad ANSI. See National Strategy and Intelligence Agency ANSICE. See National Agency for Cyber Security and Electronic Certification ANT. See National Army Anti-Corruption Commission, Sierra Leone, 590



Index

Anti-Drug and Smuggling Unit (ADSU), of Mauritius MPF, 435–36, 440 Anti-Imperialism Center (AIC), Libya, 367 Anti-Money Laundering and Combating of Financing of Terrorism Act (2012), Sierra Leone, 590–91 anti-money laundering/combatting the financing of terrorism (AML/CFT), Comoros, 140 Anya-Nya group, South Sudan, 633–34, 644 APC. See All People’s Congress Apithy, Sourou M., 30 Aptidon, Hassan Gouled, 175 AQIM. See Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb Arab League, Algeria member of, 9 Arab Spring (2010), 25; Egypt after, 185, 190–91 Argrell, Wilhelm, xix Armed Forces of Liberia (AFL), reform of, 356–59 Armed Forces of São Tomé and Príncipe (FASTP), 543, 547 Armed Forces of the Democratic Republic of Congo (FARDC): reforms of, 165 Armed Forces Provision Ruling Council (AFPRC), The Gambia, 267 Arnold, Chase, 280 Arusha Accords, 530 Arusha Peace and Reconciliation Agreement, Burundi, 69–70; on police and military ethnic quotas, 71, 78; on SNR, 72 ASIFU. See All Sources Information Fusion Unit Assoumani, Azali, 138 AU. See African Union AU Mission to Somalia (AMISOM) intervention, 577–78, 603, 607–9

749

authoritarian country, xxiii; Angola authoritarian populism, 15, 24–26; Eritrea as, 214; Morocco monarchic, 445; of Seychelles and René, 570– 73, 577–79 Aziz, Abdel, 425 Bado Seleste (Zero Three or 03) intelligence service, Eritrea, 220 Bakos, Nada, 44 Banda, Hastings Hamuzu, 392, 397–99 Barnard, Niël, xxii Barre, Siad, 601–6, 609, 611 Barrow, Adama, 265; SIS and NIA reform, 271–72 al-Bashir, Omar, 641–42, 645–47, 649–50 BASP. See Presidential Guard Basutola Congress Party (BCP), Lesotho, 336–39 Basutoland Mounted Police (BMP), Lesotho, becoming NSS, 336–37 BBC. See British Broadcasting Cooperation BCAP. See Bilateral Country Action Plan BCIJ. See National Service for Counterterrorism BCP. See Basutola Congress Party BDP. See Botswana Democratic Party Bédié, Henri Konan, 150, 156; military coup against, 151 Belgium: Burundi 1962 independence from, 69, 70; DRC colonial power in, 160; Lumunba DRC removal by, 161–62; Mubutu support by, 160, 162, 166; Rwanda colonization, 528 Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), of China, Djibouti and, 174, 178–79, 181 Ben Bella, Ahmed, 3 Bendjedid, Chadh: ANP, FLN and DRS coup against, 4, 6; DGDS dismantled by, 3; MS distrust by, 3

750

Index

Benin, 671–72; Alley as president of, 31–32; Boko Haram terrorism response, 39; corruption in, 37; coups in, 30–31; DRM intelligence service, 35–36; DRT law enforcement agency, 35; DSLD intelligence service, 31–32, 35–37; DST intelligence service, 34, 36; FLRD military junta, 33; independence from France 1960, 29; instability period 1960–1972, 29, 30– 32; intelligence as state terror tool, 33–35; intelligence culture public mistrust, 38; intelligence culture under democratic rule, 29, 35–38; intelligence service presidential decree, 30; Kérékou military regime, 33–35; leadership rivalries, 36; after National Conference of 1990, 29, 35–38; national intelligence future, 38–39; one-party rule with military dictatorship, 29, 33–35; postindependence intelligence, 30–32; presidentialization in, 29, 30, 39–40; RIFU and, 39; SLD intelligence service, 30, 33–34; Talon as president of, 36, 39; training weakness in, 36–37; transnational criminal groups in, 39; Yayi as president of, 36; Zinsou as president of, 32 BIIS. See Bophuthatswana Intelligence and Security Service Bilateral Country Action Plan (BCAP), between Tunisia and U.S., 682 bin Ali, Zine El Abidine, 677, 678–79 biometric ID cards, 436 Birmingham School of Cultural Studies, of Hoggart and Hall, R., xx BIS. See Internal Brigade of Security Black October riots (1988), Algeria, 3 Blundo, Giorgio, 490 BMD. See Botswana Movement for Democracy

BMP. See Basutoland Mounted Police BNI. See Bureau of National Investigations Boinett, Wilson, 325 Bokassa, Jean-Bédel, 113 Boko Haram terrorism, 99, 487; Benin response to, 39; Nigeria and, 506, 507 Bongo Ondimba, Ali, 256; attempted coup against, 259; poor health of, 261 Bongo Ondimba, Omar El Hadj, 256; corruption of, 258, 260; France support of, 258; PDG political party of, 257 Bophuthatswana Intelligence and Security Service (BIIS), South Africa and, 615 Botswana: CID and DIS functions, 44; Cold War communism suppression, 44; Directorate on Corruption and Economic Crime, 44, 45, 51; FIA and, 45, 51; independence of 1966, 44; intelligence history, 44–46; intelligence oversight and reform, 49–52; Khama as president of, 47, 48; Masire as president of, 44; Masisi as president of, 47–48; Maundeni oversight critic, 51; National Security Act, 44; Police SB intelligence duties, 44; politicized intelligence culture, 43, 46–49, 52; Tsholofelo on 1923 intelligence activities, 44; Tsholofelo on oversight in, 50; Vision 2016 initiative, 45. See also Directorate on Intelligence and Security Services Botswana Defense Force, 44, 45–46, 51 Botswana Democratic Party (BDP), DIS support of, 49 Botswana Movement for Democracy (BMD), DIS target of, 49 Botswana Police Service, 46, 51 Bouchnik-Chen, Rapheal, 47



Index

Boumédiène, Houari: coup against Ben Bella, 3; MALG replaced by MS, 3; military control by, 3 Bouraima, Issifou, 31–32 Boussouf, Abdelhafid, 2 Bouteflika, Abdelaziz: corruption in regime of, 4; DRS disbanded by, 4–5, 6–7, 9, 11; resignation of, 5 Bozizé, François, 108–9 BPV. See Popular Brigades of Surveillance Brazil: Guinea-Bissau relations, 312; São Tomé and Príncipe relations, 548 BRI. See Belt and Road Initiative Brigade against Terrorism and Organized Crime (BSIAT), Burkina Faso, 61–62 Britain. See Great Britain British Broadcasting Cooperation (BBC), on SNR atrocities, 73 British Secret Intelligence Service (M16), Malawi and, 392, 393 British Security Service (M15): Ghana Special Branch coordination with, 280; Kenya and, 320–21, 324; Lumunba removal by, 161–62; Malawi and, 393 BSIAT. See Brigade against Terrorism and Organized Crime Buhari, Muhammadu, 502, 505 Bureau of Counterterrorism and Countering Violent Extremism, counterterrorism operations of, 10 Bureau of Documentation and Security (DDS), of Habré, 124; CIA training of, 125; Déby disbanding of, 127; U.S. backing of, 125 Bureau of National Investigations (BNI), Ghana, 282, 284–85, 287; as political weapon, 283 Burkina Faso: ANR intelligence service oversight, 60; AQIM restaurant attack, 55; army reorganization,

751

59–60; autocrat intelligence network before 2016, 55–56; BSIAT security, 61–62; CNR government, 56–57; collective intelligence in, 63–64; corruption in, 58; coups in 19801982, 56; democratic election in 2016, 55, 59; France administrative and security influence on, 56; in G5, 62; independence in 1960, 56; insurgency, 55–56; intelligence service inward orientation, 56; jihadist attacks in, 62–64; Kaboré as president of, 56; law on ANR management, 61; Mali border war with, 56; national security challenges in 2016, 55–56; operational intelligence sharing, 62; reform and reorganization, 59–62; solid steps in, 63–65; VDPs local citizens group, 64, 65; volatile history of, 56–59 Burundi: Arusha Peace and Reconciliation Agreement, 69–70, 71, 72, 78; Belgium favor for Tutsis, 70; civil war in, 71; CNDDFDD rebel group ruling party, 70, 77; historical framework, 70–72; household books surveillance, 75; Hutus majority population in, 70; Imbonerakure RE-SNR nexus, 70, 73, 74–75; independence from Belgium in 1962, 69, 70; intelligence services, 72–74; military coups in, 70–71; Ndadaye as president of, 71; Ndayishimiye as president of, 72, 76; Nkurunziza as president of, 71–74, 76; police and military ethnic quotas, 71, 78; political violence in, 69, 77; Pretoria Protocol and, 71; RDF attacks by, 76; Rwanda rivalry with, 76–77; SNR character during election campaigns, 75–76; SNR intelligence service, 69, 72–77 Bush, George W., 40

752

Index

Cabo Verde: analysis and discussion, 89–91; Annual Information Plan, 85; CCPIC and OECPIC of, 88, 93n24; CEDSN 2011, 86–87; CNCS, MDN, PNPIC of, 88; ECOWAS and, 89; evolution and organization, 84–86; geography of, 84; Government Program of the VIII Legislature, 87; Military Intelligence Service, 85; multilateral mechanisms for, 91; national legislation and regulatory framework, 86–89; National Security Council of, 84, 85; PN, PJ, FA, SNPC reforms, 83, 89; PNSD of, 87; SIR intelligence system, 83, 84–86, 90–91; SSN in, 83–84, 87; state secret, 85, 92n9; Strategic Concept of Defense and National Security 2005, 84 Cabral, Luis, 307 CAF. See Central African Federation Callamard, Agnes, 48 Camara, Ibraima Pap, 308–9 Camara, Moussa Dadis, 295, 297–98 Cameroon: all of society intelligence culture, 95, 99–100, 105; Aludjo as president of, 98, 102; Biya as president of, 95, 98–99; coup proofing in, 104; embedded intelligence services, 100–101; Forchive as intelligence chief, 98–99; France and Great Britain colonial rule, 95–98; Fulani jihadist war in, 97; Germany and, 95–98; government conservatism and society revolutionary tendencies, 103; independence in 1960, 98; intelligence culture influences, 103–4; intelligence history, 96–99; intelligence role, 99–100; international diplomatic relations, 104; multipolity, multiethnic nature, 103; presidency paramountcy, 104; primary intelligence service, 102; RDPC and, 100; RIFU and, 39;

separatist and Islamist insurgencies in, 95, 99; Sokoto Empire and, 96– 98, 103; UPC and, 95, 98 Cameroon Armed Forces (FAC), divisions of, 100 Cameroon National Liberation Army (ANLK), 98 Campos-Serrano, Alicia, 206 Canada, CLAT established by, 142 Caprivi African National Union (CANU), 475 CAR. See Central African Republic Cardoso, Humberto, 90 Carnation Revolution (1974), in GuineaBissau, 307 Casamance separatist movement, Senegal, 555, 557, 562 CCER. See Centre for Coordination and Exploitation of Intelligence CCM. See Party of the Revolution CCOS. See Operational Security Coordination Commission CCPIC. See Critical Infrastructure Protection Coordination Commission CDP. See Congress for Democracy and Progress CDRs. See Defense of the Revolution CEDAD. See Extraordinary Committee for the Defense of Democratic Acquisitions CEDOC. See Documentation Center CEDSN. See Strategic Concept of Defense and National Security CEEAC-ECCAS. See Economic Community of Central African States Central African Bush War, 108; international forces in, 109 Central African Federation (CAF), 392 Central African Republic (CAR): armed groups in, 109; autocratic leaders in, 108; background on, 107–9; Bokassa as president of, 113; Bozizé as president of, 108–9; CEDAD intelligence service, 110–11; Chad influence on, 112;



Index

China relationship, 112; Cold War and, 114; demographics on, 107–8; Djotodia as president of, 109; DSDE current intelligence service, 111, 115; EUTM-RCA military operation in, 113; foreign relations and activities, 112–15; France presence and knowledge of, 113; human resource issue, 111; independence from France in 1960, 108; intelligence history and culture, 109–11; intelligence service changes in, 109–10; international presence in, 112; Kolingba as president of, 108; lack of economic development in, 108, 111; MINUSCA Force presence in, 112–14; multiple coups and wars of, 107; Patassé as president of, 108; Soviet Union relations, 114–15, 119nn33–34; Touadéra as president of, 109, 114–15; U.S. humanitarian aid to, 112 Central Directorate of Military Intelligence (DGRM), ROC, 517; atrocities of, 520, 521 Central Executive Body for Critical Infrastructure Protection (OECPIC), Cabo Verde, 88, 93n24 Central Intelligence Agency (CIA): Angola and, 16; Bush and politicization of, 40; Congress 1947 passing of, 38; DDS training by, 125; Devlin of, xxii, 161–62; on informants, 490; Lumunba DRC removal by, 161–62; Morocco and, 449; Mozambique and, 463–64; Somalia training, 603–4, 608–9 Central Intelligence and Documentation Center (CIDC), ROC, 516–18, 521 Central Intelligence and Security Unit (CISU), Sierra Leone, 589, 590, 592–94 Central Intelligence Committee (CIC): DIS reporting to, 49–50; Nigeria reporting to, 500

753

Central Intelligence Organisation (CIO), Zimbabwe, 731–33; branches of, 734–35, 738 Central Intelligence Section (SCR), Rwanda, 529 Central Intelligence Service (CIS), Madagascar, 382, 384, 386, 387 Central Special Office (CSO), Egypt, 187 Centre for Coordination and Exploitation of Intelligence (CCER), Chad, 122–23 Centre for Research and Coordination of Intelligence (CRCR), of Déby, 127 CESOS. See Security Operations Command Center CFR. See Council on Foreign Relations Chad: ANS and, 127–28; ANSICE cyber security, 128–29; ANT and, 121–22, 126; CAR influenced by, 112; CCER intelligence service, 122–23; DDS in, 124–25, 127; under Déby as president, 112, 126–29; DGSSIE and, 128; France and U.S. support, 129–30; French military intelligence in, 122, 129; FROLINAT rebel movement, 123; in G5, 62; GNN in, 122; under Habré as president of, 124–27; independence from France in 1960, 121; intelligence culture of presidential protection, 121; under Malloum president of, 123–24; under Oueddel president of, 123–24; Presidential Guard in armed forces, 126; RIFU and, 39; Toumbalbaye as first president of, 121–23; violent conflicts in, 121 Chadian Security Unit (CTS), 122 Chakwera, Lazarus McCarthy, 400 Chilembwe uprising, Malawi, 394, 396 Chiluba, Frederick, 717 China: Angola relations, 23, 25–26; BRI and Djibouti, 174, 178–79, 181; CAR relations, 112; Guinea-Bissau

754

Index

relations, 312; Nigeria relations, 508; ROC relations, 515; Seychelles relations, 576–77; Sierra Leone relations, 592 Chungu, Xavier, 717, 724–25 CIA. See Central Intelligence Agency CIC. See Central Intelligence Committee CID. See Criminal Investigation Department CIDC. See Central Intelligence and Documentation Center CIO. See Central Intelligence Organisation CIS. See Central Intelligence Service CISSA. See Committee of Intelligence and Security Services CISU. See Central Intelligence and Security Unit Clark Amendment, U.S., Angola and, 16 CLAT. See Coordination for the Fight Against Terrorism CLSPT. See Liberation Committee of São Tomé and Príncipe CMRN. See Military Committee of the National Recovery CNCS. See National Cybersecurity Center CNDD. See National Council for Democracy and Development CNDD-FDD. See National Council for the Defense of Democracy-Forces for the Defense of Democracy CNR. See National Council of the Revolution; National Intelligence Coordination CNRA. See National Council for the Algerian Revolution CNRD. See National Committee of Reconciliation and Development COAAFA. See Committee on Administrative Organization and the Affairs of the Armed Forces Cold War, xxi; alliances, xxiii; Angola and, 16, 19; Botswana communism

suppression, 44; CAR and, 114; DRC and, 163, 166; Egypt and, 186; Guinea and, 292, 299; Kenya post-, 324; Morocco and, 447, 451, 462; Namibia and, 474; Seychelles and, 573; South Sudan and, 633; Tanzania involvement in, 656, 657, 665; Zimbabwe and, 731, 735, 741 collective intelligence, in Burkina Faso, 63–64 colonial independence: Benin 1960 from France, 29; Burundi 1962 from Belgium, 69, 70; CAR 1960 from France, 108; Chad 1960 from France, 121; Côte d’Ivoire 1960 from France, 148; Djibouti 1977 from France, 173; Equatorial Guinea 1968 from Spain, 199, 200; Eswatini 1968 from Great Britain, 228; Gabon 1960 from France, 256; The Gambia 1965 from Great Britain, 265; Guinea 1958 from France, 292; Guinea-Bissau 1974 from Portugal, 307; Kenya 1963 from Great Britain, 321; Madagascar 1960 from France, 379; Mauritania 1960 from France, 420; Mauritius 1968 from Great Britain, 432; Mozambique 1975 from Portugal, 461; Nigeria 1960 from Great Britain, 499; São Tomé and Príncipe 1975 from Portugal, 542, 544; Senegal 1960 from France, 556; Sierra Leone 1961 from Great Britain, 586; Tanzania 1961 from Great Britain, 656; Togo 1960 from France, 669; Uganda 1962 from Great Britain, 691; Zambia 1964 from Great Britain, 719 COMESA-MASE. See Common Market for Eastern and Southern Africa Maritime Security Programme Committee for State Security (KGB), of Soviet Union: MALG at training of, 3; in Somalia, 604



Index

Committee for the Protection of Journalists, Botswana, 50 Committee of Intelligence and Security Services (CISSA), of African Union Commission, xxiv; Equatorial Guinea and, 205–6 Committee on Administrative Organization and the Affairs of the Armed Forces (COAAFA), Tunisia, 683 Committee on Security and Defense (CSD), Tunisia, 683 Common Market for Eastern and Southern Africa Maritime Security Programme (COMESA-MASE), 141, 142–43 Communications Security Ltd. Act (2002), South Africa, 617 Comoros: Abderemane as first president of, 136, 137; AML/CFT and, 140–41; Assoumani as president of, 138; background on, 136–38; CLAT organization and, 135, 142; COMESA-MASE and, 141, 142; Constitution of 2001, 138; coups in, 137–38; Denard and, 137; description of, 136; Djohar as interim head of, 137; DNDPE in, 135, 139– 40, 142–43; DNST in, 135, 140; FIU in, 135, 140–43; France relationship, 136; intelligence community, 138–42; mercenaryism in, 137, 138; Soilih and, 136–37; U.S. and UN ties to, 138; U.S. counterterrorism cooperation with, 139 Compaoré, Blaise: CDP electoral machine of, 57; insurgent groups support by, 58; regime of, 57–58; RSP of, 57–58 Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA): Liberia, 335–56; South Sudan, 628, 631–32, 635 Condé, Alpha, 295–98 Congolese Consultative and Support Mission of the EU (EUSEC RD

755

CONGO), Second Congo War intervention, 166 Congolese Workers Party (PCT), ROC, 514–15 Congress for Democracy and Progress (CDP), Burkina Faso, 57 Constitution of 2010, Angola, 22–23, 24 Conté, Lansana, 293–95 Coordination for the Fight Against Terrorism (CLAT) organization, Comoros and, 135, 142 corruption: of Afwerki, 211; Angola scandals, 25; in Benin, 37; of Bongo Ondimba, 258, 260; Botswana on, 44, 45, 51; Bouteflika regime of, 4; in Burkina Faso, 58; of Compaoré RSP, 58; in Eswatini, 229, 234; in Ethiopia, 239, 248; in Guinea, 291; in Guinea-Bissau, 305, 311; of Kipilimba, 655; in Nigeria, 506; of ROC, 513, 517; in Senegal, 558, 562; in Sierra Leone, 589, 590; in Somalia, 609; in South Sudan, 636; in Sudan, 642, 649; in Tanzania, 660 Corruption and Economic Crime Act (1994), Botswana, 45 Côte d’Ivoire (Ivory Coast): administrative division in, 152; AQIM attack in, 153; Bédié as president of, 150–51, 156; colonial and early postcolonial era, 148–50; ECOWAS and, 155; ex-FN combatants in, 152; FACI in, 149; FN armed movement in, 148, 151– 52; France relationship, 149; Gbagbo as president of, 147, 148, 151, 156; Houphouët-Boigny as president of, 147–55; independence from France in 1960, 148; international relations of, 154–55; Israel relationship with, 154–55; multiparty politics in, 150–51; multiple presidency security reforms, 147; Ouattara as president of, 147, 148, 150–55; political crisis in, 148; post-Houphouët-Boigny era,

756

Index

150–55; transnational terrorism in, 153 Council on Foreign Relations (CFR), on Algeria counterterrorism efforts, 10 counterterrorism: Algeria CFR efforts, 10; Bureau of Counterterrorism and Countering Violent Extremism operations, 10; Comoros and U.S. cooperation for, 139; Djibouti efforts, 174 coup d’état: Angola 1977 attempted, 15, 17; ANP, FLN and DRS coup against Bendjedid, 4, 6; against Bédié by military, 151; in Benin, 30–31; Bongo Ondimba attempted, 259; Boumédiène against Ben Bella, 3; Burkina Faso 1980-1982, 56; Burundi military, 70–71; Cameroon proofing against, 104; CAR multiple, 107; Comoros multiple, 137–38; Egypt 1952, 186, 194; Equatorial Guinea multiple, 199, 202; Gbagbo attempted, 148; Ghana multiple, 281, 282; Guinea-Bissau instability and, 305, 308, 311, 313; Jawara overthrow of, 265, 267; Kouandété as specialist in, 31–32; MPLA 1977 attempted, 15, 17; Nkurunziza attempted against Niyombare, 71–72; of Obiang Nguema Mbasogo, 201; São Tomé and Príncipe attempts, 545; Tanzania stopped by Britain, 655. See also insurgencies CPA. See Comprehensive Peace Agreement CRCR. See Centre for Research and Coordination of Intelligence Criminal Investigation Department (CID): Botswana, 44; Eswatini, 230–31; Kenya, 320, 321, 324; Lesotho, 345; Malawi, 392, 393, 396–99; Sudan, 643; Zimbabwe, 733 Criminal Investigation Police (PIC), São Tomé and Príncipe, 547

Critical Infrastructure Protection Coordination Commission (CCPIC), Cabo Verde, 88 CSD. See Committee on Security and Defense CSN. See National Security Council CSNG. See National Security Adviser CSO. See Central Special Office CTS. See Chadian Security Unit Cuba: Angola relations, 15, 16, 17, 19; New York tripartite accords and, 19 Curtis, Sean, xviii Daddah, Moktar Ould, 420 Dahomey. See Benin Dahomey Liberation and Rehabilitation Front (FLRD), Benin, 33 Darfur genocide, 641 Daura, Lawal, 502 Davies, Philip H. J., xix DCoC. See Djibouti Code of Conduct DDJB. See Djibouti Department of Immigration and Border Police DDR. See disarmament, demobilization, and reintegration DDS. See Bureau of Documentation and Security DDSE. See Directorate of Documentation and External Security Déby, Idriss, 112, 132n42; ANS established by, 127–28; as Chad president, 126–29; CRCR established by, 127; DDS disbanding by, 127; death in 2021 of, 121, 130; DGSSIE and, 128; foreign relations under, 129; Mitterrand support of, 127; MPS insurgent movement, 126–27 DED. See Department of Research and Information Defence Intelligence Agency (DIA), Nigeria, 500–501 Defense and Security Forces (FDS), Côte d’Ivoire, 151 Defense Intelligence and Security Agency (DISA), Tunisia, 679



Index

Defense of the Revolution (CDRs), Burkina Faso, 57 Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda (FDLR), Rwanda 1994 genocide perpetrated by, 77 Democratic Party of Equatorial Guinea (PDGE), 201 Democratic Party of Ivory Coast (PDCI), 149 Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC): background, 160–61; Belgian intelligence service in, 161; Belgium colonial power in, 160; CEEAC-ECCAS and, 166; Cold War and, 163, 166; current intelligence services, 164–65; Devlin of CIA in, xxii, 161–62; FARDC reform, 165; HRW on abuses in, 165; independence in 1960, 160; intelligence services early history, 161; Kabila, J., as president of, 160–61, 164, 167; Kabila, L., as president of, 160, 163–64, 167; Lumunba and, 160–62; Mobutu as dictator from 1965-1997, 160–67; Mobutu era, 161–63; reform and international links, 165–67; ROC and, 519; Rwanda role, 533; seven major intelligence services, 164–65; state security and foreign interests monitoring, 164; Tshisekedi as president of, 161 Denard, Bob, 137 Deng Xiaoping, 26 Department of Documentation and Immigration (DGDI), Gabon, 259–60 Department of Intelligence and Security (DRS), Algeria, 3, 8, 11; Bouteflika disbanding of, 4–5, 6–7; civilian brutality by, 5; civilians distrust of, 9; Islamist nationalism opposition by, 4; special forces troops of, 4; Toufik as chief of, 4, 6 Department of Military Intelligence (DMI), 499

757

Department of Research and Information (DED), Mauritania, 422 Department of State Services (DSS), Nigeria. See State Security Service Department of Surveillance and Security (DSS), Algeria, 6, 10; subunits of, 5, 9 Devlin, Larry, xxii, 161–62 DGDI. See Department of Documentation and Immigration DGDS. See General Delegation for Documentation and Security DGED. See General Directorate for Studies and Documentation DGIDIE. See General Directorate of Internal and External Information and Documentation DGRE. See General Directorate of External Research DGRG. See General Intelligence and Territory Surveillance Directorate of the National Police DGRM. See Central Directorate of Military Intelligence DGS. See General Directorate of Security DGSE. See State Security General Directorate DGSN. See General Delegation to National Security; General Directorate for National Security DGSSIE. See General Directorate of Security Services for National Institutions DIA. See Defence Intelligence Agency Dibba, Musa, 272 Diendéré, Gilbert, 58 Direction of Information and Security of Angola (DISA), Angola: coup investigation, 17; coup participants purge, 17; dissolution and rebranding of, 17–18; establishment of, 16; law on mercenaryism and authority of, 17 Directorate for Homeland Intelligence (DRT) law enforcement agency, Benin, 35

758

Index

Directorate for Military Intelligence (DRM), Benin, 35–36 Directorate for the Surveillance of the Homeland (DST), Benin: Kérékou disbanding of, 34; staffing of, 36 Directorate for the Surveillance of the Territory (DST): Côte d’Ivoire, 150; Morocco, 704 Directorate of Air and Frontier Police (DPAF), Senegal, 560 Directorate of Documentation and External Security (DDSE), Algeria, 704; Islamic fighters followed by, 8 Directorate of External Services (DSE), Ouattara establishment of, 153 Directorate of General Intelligence Service (GIS), Sudan, 641–42, 646– 49, 651–52 Directorate of Intelligence and Security (DIS), Sierra Leone, 589–90 Directorate of Military Security (DSM), Mali, 407–8, 409 Directorate of National Security (GDNS), Tunisia, 678, 680, 686n4 Directorate of Security Intelligence, Kenya, 319, 322–24 Directorate of State Security (DSE), Tunisia, 678, 686n4 Directorate of Territorial Surveillance (DST), Cameroon, 101 Directorate of the National Guard (GDNG), Tunisia, 678, 680 Directorate of the Service for Liaison and Documentation (DSLD), Benin, 35–37; Bouraima as head of, 31–32; Kouandété as head of, 31; units of, 31 Directorate on Corruption and Economic Crime, Botswana, 44, 45, 51 Directorate on Intelligence and Security Services (DIS), Botswana, 43; on BDP support, 49; BMD and UDC target of, 49; Central Intelligence Committee report from, 49–50;

formation in 2008, 44; Gwatiwa on human rights violation and politicization of, 46; Human Rights Council on, 46; journalists arrests, 50; Kalafatis killing, 46; Kgosi as director general of, 47, 51; Khama 2021 harassment by, 48; regime security of, 45; Security Service Act of 2007 on functions of, 45; Tsholofelo on, 47; UDC election rigging by, 49; UDC harassment from, 48–49; World of Oath relationship with, 48 DIS. See Directorate of Intelligence and Security, Sierra Leone; Directorate on Intelligence and Security Services, Botswana DISA. See Defense Intelligence and Security Agency; Direction of Information and Security of Angola disarmament, demobilization, and reintegration (DDR) process, Liberia, 356, 362n10 Djibouti: Afar-Issa rivalry with, 175, 176; Aptidon as president of, 175; China BRI and, 174, 178–79, 181; contested sovereignty in, 174; counterterrorism efforts, 174; DCoC in, 177–78, 181; DDIB in, 180; France independence in 1977, 173; France SDECE and, 175, 180; FRUD insurgency 1991–1994, 176; intelligence culture, 177–79; intelligence history, 175–77; international military agreements, 173–74; IOG as president of, 173, 175–76, 181; IOM, EU and, 180; multilateral foreign military presence, 173, 177; oversight and reform, 179–80; PLAN and, 179–80; PRS and, 180; RPP in, 173; SDS of, 175–76; UMP ruling coalition, 176–77, 179, 181; U.S. relations, 177; wealth disparity in, 174



Index

Djibouti Code of Conduct (DCoC), 177; Jeddah Amendment, 178, 181; NATO, ISCs, NFPs, and IMO, 178 Djibouti Department of Immigration and Border Police (DDJB), 180 Djohar, Mohamed Said, 137 Djotodia, Michel, 109 Dlamini, Barnabas Sibusiso, 231 DMI. See Department of Military Intelligence DNDPE. See National Directorate of Documentation and State Protection DNST. See National Directorate of Territorial Surveillance Documentation and Security Service (SDS), Djibouti, 175; election intimidation techniques, 176 Documentation Center (CEDOC), Gabon, 257 Doe, Samuel, 355 Doumbouya, Mamady, 291, 296 DPAF. See Directorate of Air and Frontier Police DRC. See Democratic Republic of the Congo DRM. See Directorate for Military Intelligence DRN. See General Delegation for National Intelligence Droukdel, Abdelmalek, 8 DRS. See Department of Intelligence and Security DRT. See Directorate for Homeland Intelligence drug trafficking: in Guinea-Bissau, 305, 308–9, 312–14; Mauritius and, 435– 36, 440; in São Tomé and Príncipe, 546; in Senegal, 555; Tanzania interception of, 663–64 DSDE. See State Documentation Service Directorate DSE. See Directorate of External Services; Directorate of State Security

759

DSLD. See Directorate of the Service for Liaison and Documentation DSM. See Directorate of Military Security DSS. See Department of Surveillance and Security DST. See Directorate for the Surveillance of the Homeland; Directorate for the Surveillance of the Territory, Côte d’Ivoire; Directorate of Territorial Surveillance; Office of Territorial Surveillance DynCorp, Liberia AFL reform and, 356–58 Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC), Nigeria SSS and, 507 Economic Community of Central African States (CEEAC-ECCAS): DRC and, 166; Sierra Leone and, 591 Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS): Cabo Verde and, 89; Côte d’Ivoire and, 155; Guinea as member of, 298; Guinea-Bissau and, 312–13; on Jammeh presidential exit, 265; Liberia and, 355, 356; Nigeria and, 505; Sierra Leone and, 591; Togo and, 670, 673, 674 EEZ. See exclusive economic zone EFCC. See Economic and Financial Crimes Commission Egypt: after Arab Spring, 185, 190–91; armed forces of, 186; Cold War and, 186; coup of 1952, 186, 194; CSO creation, 187; Ghali assassination, 187; HRW and Amnesty International on human rights violations, 189–90; intelligence, secrecy and media, 185, 193–94; intelligence and security services, 186–87; intelligence history, 187–90; international relations, 192–93;

760

Index

Israel as military threat, 186; Israel relations with, 192; media control, 185, 193–94; Military Intelligence and Reconnaissance Administration, 187; military reliance, 191; Mubarak as president of, 185, 187, 189–90, 194; Mukhabarat intelligence service, 186, 188–91, 193–94; Muslim Brotherhood and, 188–90, 192; Nasser as president of, 186, 188–89, 194; Non-Aligned Movement and, 186; as occupant of Ethiopia, 240; Sadat as president, 189; Al-Sisi as president, 191, 192–94; Special Section in, 188; SSIS, 186, 191; U.S. relations, 192 Eisenfeld, Beth, 43 ELF. See Eritrean Liberation Front elite class: Algerian People’s National Army Intelligence services ties, 10; Algeria power of, 5–6 Embaló, Umaro Sissoco, 308, 312 embedded intelligence services, Cameroon: DGSN as, 101; FAC in, 100; interarmy military regions and, 101; military and paramilitary forces as, 100–101 EPLF. See Eritrean People’s Liberation Front EPRDF. See Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front Equatorial Guinea: Amnesty International on human rights violations in, 203; background, 200–202; Campos-Serrano on, 206; CISSA and, 205–6; coups in, 199, 202; geography of, 200; HRW on human rights abuses, 203; Jammeh exile into, 265; Lúcia Sá and Sanches on autocratic rule in, 202; Macias Nguema as president of, 199; McFerson on mafia state of, 204; military role in, 203; Mswati protection by, 232; National Intelligence Agency in, 205; Nguema

as president of, 200–201; Obiang as president of, 199–204; oil wealth in, 202; oversight and intelligence relations, 204–6; security and government, 202–4; Soviet Union relations, 205; Spain independence in 1968, 199, 200; Sundiata on, 199; U.S. bilateral aid to, 205 Equity and Reconciliation Commission (IER), Morocco, 453 Eritrea: Afwerki as president of, 211, 213–14, 220–21; as authoritarian country, 214; background, 212–16; ELF liberation movement, 213; EPLF intelligence in, 213–15, 217– 18; Ethiopia 1993 independence, 211, 213, 239; external threats, 215; foreign security relations, 220–22; Great Britain administration and Ethiopia ceding, 213; Halewa Sewra intelligence service, 213–14; human rights abuses, 211, 220–22; intelligence culture repression and coercion, 211, 215; intelligence operations, 216–20; intelligence oversight, 212, 220–22; intelligence service composition, 217–18; Italy colonization of, 212–13; military role, 212, 217; NSO civilian intelligence service, 218–19, 222; PFDJ in, 214–16, 218–19, 222; poor economy of, 220; Saudi Arabia and UAE relations, 221; surveillance in, 216, 217; UN Commission of Inquiry on, 214, 218–20; Warsai Yekalo Development Campaign, 215; Zero Three or 03 intelligence service, 220 Eritrean–Ethiopian War (1998–2000), 215, 243 Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF), 213 Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF): Ethiopian forces defeat by, 214; Halewa Sewra of, 217; intelligence of, 213–14; Pateman on,



Index

214; PEDJ name change, 214–15; 72 Middle Office, 217, 218 Eritrean War of Independence (1961– 1991), 213 ESO. See External Security Organisation Eswatini: as absolute monarchy, 227, 234; background, 228–30; CID in, 230–31; corruption in, 229, 234; Dlamini as prime minister of, 231; Great Britain colonization of, 228, 233; HIV disease in, 227, 229, 234; independence from Britain in 1968, 228; intelligence and security services, 230–32; intelligence police function, 230; international partners, 233; limited international relations, 233–34; Masuku as prime minister of, 232; military services, 230–32; Mswati III as king of, 227, 229, 231– 32, 234; political dissent suppression, 227; REPS in, 230; Sobhuza II and white business interests, 228; social media and, 232; Swaziland to eSwatini name change, 229; Taiwan relations, 233; UEDF in, 231–32 Ethiopia: Ahmed as prime minister of, 245, 247, 248; background, 240–43; corruption in, 239, 248; diverse ethnic groups in, 240; Egypt as occupant of, 240; emperors of, 240– 41; Eritrea 1993 independence from, 211, 213, 239; HRW on surveillance in, 247; INAVEA security service, 244; INSA intelligence service, 244– 45, 247; intelligence community, 243–46; intelligence relations, activities and oversight, 246–48; internal and external concerns, 239; Israel and Soviet Union relations, 246; Italy colonization of, 239; Mengistu power in, 242–43; military in, 244; NISS intelligence service, 244–47; Selassie as emperor of, 241; TPLF and EPRDF in, 242–43; U.S.

761

military training, 242; U.S. relations, 246; Zewde on, 240, 242–43 Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF), 242–43 EU. See European Union EUCAP Sahel Mali. See European Union Capacity Building Mission in Mali EU NAFOR. See European Naval Force European Naval Force (EU NAVFOR), Seychelles and, 578 European Union (EU): Algeria and, 9; Djibouti and, 180; Guinea-Bissau and, 312–13; São Tomé and Príncipe and, 549; Togo reform efforts, 672–73 European Union Capacity Building Mission in Mali (EUCAP Sahel Mali), 411 European Union Training Mission in Mali (EUTM Mali), 405, 411 EUSEC RD CONGO. See Congolese Consultative and Support Mission of the EU EUTM Mali. See European Union Training Mission in Mali EUTM-RCA military operation, in CAR, 113 Evidence Exploitation Intelligence (EVEXI) Program, São Tomé and Príncipe and, 549 exclusive economic zone (EEZ), Seychelles, 573, 575 Executive Outcomes private military contractor, Angola, 21 External Security Organisation (ESO), Uganda, 695, 697, 698 Extraordinary Committee for the Defense of Democratic Acquisitions (CEDAD), CAR, 110–11 Eyadéma, Gnassingbé, 669, 670 FAC. See Cameroon Armed Forces FACI. See Forces Armées de Cote d’Ivoire

762

Index

FAFN. See New Forces of Ivory Coast Falcone, Pierre, 21 FARDC. See Armed Forces of the Democratic Republic of Congo FASTP. See Armed Forces of São Tomé and Príncipe FAT. See Togolese Armed Forces Faure, Danny, 578–79 FBI. See Federal Bureau of Investigation FDLR. See Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda FDS. See Defense and Security Forces February 1948 riots, Ghana, 277, 278– 79, 281 FEDEMO. See Federal Democratic Movement Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), Algerian law enforcement training by, 10 Federal Democratic Movement (FEDEMO), Uganda, 694 Federal Intelligence and Security Bureau (FISB): Malawi and, 392–93; Zimbabwe, 733 FFC. See Forces of Freedom and Change FIA. See Financial Intelligence Agency Financial Intelligence Act (2009), Botswana, 45 Financial Intelligence Agency (FIA), Botswana, 45, 51 Financial Intelligence Unit (FIU): Comoros, 135, 140–43; Seychelles, 574–75, 581; Sierra Leone, 590–91 First Republic (1960–1972), Madagascar, 381, 382; FRELIMO and, 22, 461, 462–66, 470 First Republic (1975–1991), Mozambique, 461; SNASP in, 462–66 FIS. See Islamic Salvation Front; Special Forces of Intervention FISB. See Federal Intelligence and Security Bureau

FIU. See Financial Intelligence Unit FLN. See National Liberation Front FLRD. See Dahomey Liberation and Rehabilitation Front FN. See Forces Nouvelles FNL. See National Liberation Forces FNLA. See National Front for the Liberation of Angola Forces Armées de Cote d’Ivoire (FACI), Côte d’Ivoire, 149 Forces Nouvelles (FN) armed movement, Côte d’Ivoire, 148, 151–52 Forces of Freedom and Change (FFC), Sudan, 647–48 Forchive, Jean, 98–99 Foreign Research Bureau (FSRB), Ghana, 284–85 Foucault, Michel, 487–88 Fourth Republic (2013–2018), Madagascar, 382 France: active defense agreements with CAR, 113–14; Algeria colonization by, 1, 7; Benin 1960 independence from, 29; Burkina Faso security and administration influence from, 56; Cameroon colonial rule, 95–98; CAR 1960 independence from, 108; CAR presence and knowledge, 113; Chad 1960 independence from, 121; Chad intelligence and, 129–30; Chad military intelligence and, 122, 129; Comoros relations, 136; Côte d’Ivoire 1960 independence from, 148; Côte d’Ivoire relations, 149; Djibouti 1977 independence from, 173; Djibouti SDECE intelligence services, 175; Gabon 1960 independence from, 256; Gabon influenced by, 255, 256–61, 674; Guinea 1958 independence, 292; Guinea relations, 292–93; Habré support by, 124, 125; Madagascar 1960 independence from, 379; Mauritania 1960 independence



Index

from, 420; Mobutu support by, 160, 162, 166; Morocco relations, 445, 451; Niger and surveillance, 487; ROC colonization, 513; Senegal 1960 independence, 556; Senegal relations, 556, 562; Togo 1960 independence, 669; Togo relations, 674 Franco–Hova War (1883–1885), 380–81 Franco–Ivorian Technical Military Assistance Accord, 149 FRELIMO. See Liberation Front of Mozambique French Equatorial Africa, 514 FROLINAT. See National Liberation Front of Chad Front for the Restoration of Unity and Democracy (FRUD), Afar led, 176 FSRB. See Foreign Research Bureau Fulan jihadist war, Cameroon and, 97 Fundamental Law, of Habré, 124 G5. See Group of Five Gabon: background, 256–57; Bongo Ondimba, A., leadership in, 256, 259, 261; Bongo Ondimba, O., leadership in, 256–58, 260, 261; CEDOC internal security, 257; country issues and prospects for change, 260–61; democratic reform, 261; DGDI intelligence service, 259– 60; family political dynasty in, 255, 261; foreign interests in resources of, 256; France 1960 independence, 256; France influence on, 255, 256– 61, 674; intelligence and security services, 259–60; M’ba leadership in, 256–58; military and security, 257–59; National Gendarmerie public safety, 260; Republican Guard in, 259–60; U.S. relations, 260 Gabonese Democratic Party (PDG), of Bongo, O., 257 al-Gaddafi, Muammar, 123, 365–67, 370–75; leadership end of, 369;

763

rapprochement, 368; Third International philosophy of, 365 The Gambia: AFPRC in, 267; Barrow as president of, 265; Great Britain 1965 independence, 265; Jammeh as president of, 265, 273; Jawara as president of, 265; National Intelligence Agency intelligence service, 265–73; Senegal relations, 266, 557; SIS intelligence service, 271–73 Gannon, John, 43 Gaydamak, Arkadi, 21 Gbagbo, Laurent, 147, 156; coup attempt against, 148; FDS, ANSI, CECOS establishment by, 151 GDNG. See Directorate of the National Guard GDNS. See Directorate of National Security GDPSPPO. See General Directorate of Presidential Security and Protection of Prominent Officials General Delegation for Documentation and Security (DGDS): Algeria civilian intelligence, 3; Bendjedid dismantled by, 3 General Delegation for National Intelligence (DRN), Senegal, 560 General Delegation to National Security (DGSN), Cameroon, 101 General Directorate for National Security (DGSN): Mauritania, 422– 23; Morocco, 447 General Directorate for Studies and Documentation (DGED), Morocco, 448, 450, 454 General Directorate for Studies and Documentation (SEDOC), Cameroon, 102 General Directorate of External Research (DGRE), Cameroon, 102 General Directorate of Internal and External Information and Documentation (DGIDIE), 381–82

764

Index

General Directorate of Presidential Security and Protection of Prominent Officials (GDPSPPO), 678, 680 General Directorate of Security (DGS), São Tomé and Príncipe, 543–44 General Directorate of Security Services for National Institutions (DGSSIE), Chad, 128 General Directorate of the National Police, Senegal, 559 General Intelligence and Territory Surveillance Directorate of the National Police (DGRG), Mali, 407, 408 General Intelligence Directorate (GID). See Mukhabarat intelligence service General Service Unit (GSU), Uganda, 692–93 genocide: Darfur, 641; Rwanda 1994, 76–77, 527–31, 537 Germany: Cameroon and, 95–98; Ruanda-Urundi under, 70; Rwanda colonization, 528; Togo original colonization by, 669 Ghali, Boutros, 187 Ghana: Act 256 in, 285–86; Addo as president of, 283, 286–87; BNI of, 282–85, 287; Britain colonial intelligence network, 277; coups in, 281, 282; democratic rule 1992, 285; early intelligence culture, 278–81; February 1948 riots, 277, 278–79, 281; governance and oversight, 284– 87; intelligence culture from military regimes to fourth republic, 282–84; Kufuor as president in, 674; MIU in, 282; Nkrumah as president of, 277, 281; NLC in, 277; NLM regime, 281, 282; PDD in, 277; Presidential Guard Company, 277; Rawlings as president of, 278, 282–85, 674; SB in, 277, 279–82; Special Intelligence Unit, 277 Ghazouani, Mohamed Ould, 421 GIB. See Guide’s Intelligence Bureau

Gichangi, Michael, 325–27 GID. See General Intelligence Directorate Gill, Peter, xxiii–xxiv GIS. See Directorate of General Intelligence Service Global Intelligence Oversight (Goldman and Rascoff), xix global war on terror (GWoT): Algeria ally in, 8; Morocco and, 446, 449, 451–52; Niger and, 489 GNA. See Government of National Accord Gnassingbé, Faure, 669, 670, 673, 674 GNN. See National Nomadic Guard Goldman, Zachary K., xix Gorbachev, Mikhail, 26 Gosh, Salah, 646, 651 Government of National Accord (GNA), Libya and, 366, 369–71, 374–75 Government Program and the Motion of Confidence (2012–2016), Cabo Verde, 91 Government Program of the VIII Legislature (2011–2016), 87 GP. See Presidential Guard, Chad; Presidential Guard, Comoros GPRA. See Provisional Government of the Algerian Republic de Graaff, Bob, xxiii Great Britain: Cameroon colonial rule, 95–98; Eritrea administration by, 213; Eswatini 1968 independence from, 228; Eswatini colonized by, 228, 233; The Gambia 1965 independence from, 265; Ghana colonial intelligence network, 277; Guinea-Bissau relations, 312; Kenya 1963 independence from, 321; Malawi as protectorate of, 382; Mauritius 1968 independence from, 432; Nigeria 1960 independence from, 499; Rwanda colonization, 528; Sierra Leone 1961 independence, 586; Sierra Leone



Index

relations, 591–92; Tanzania 1961 independence from, 656; Uganda 1962 independence, 691; Zambia 1964 independence, 719 Green March, in Western Sahara, 448, 707, 713n20 Group of Five (G5), 62 Grunizky, Nicolas, 670 GSN. See National Security Office GSPC. See Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat GSU. See General Service Unit Guelleh, Ismaïl Omar (IOG), 173, 175–76, 181 Guide’s Intelligence Bureau (GIB), Libya, 368 Guinea: background, 292–96; BASP in, 295, 298; Camara, M., power in, 295, 297–98; CMRN government establishment, 293; CNDD in, 295; CNRD in, 296; Cold War and, 292, 299; Condé as president in, 295–98; Conté as president of, 293–95; corruption in, 291; Doumbouya as interim president, 291, 296; ECOWAS member, 298; France 1958 independence, 292; France relations, 292–93; geography of, 291; HRW on abuses in, 295; intelligence culture, 296–98; international relations, 295, 298–300; as INTERPOL member, 298; military in, 294–95, 296–97; mining in, 291; Posthumus on, 292, 293, 294; poverty in, 291–92; Touré as president of, 292, 293 Guinea-Bissau: background, 306–9; Cabral as president of, 207; Camara, I., as drug kingpin in, 308–9; corruption in, 305, 311; coups and instability in, 305, 308, 311, 313; drug trafficking in, 305, 308–9, 312– 14; ECOWAS and, 312–13; Embaló as president of, 308, 312; EU and, 312–13; high-profile assassinations

765

in, 308; intelligence community, 309–11; Lopes on, 306–7; oversight and international relations, 311–14; PAIGC for national liberation of, 306–7; Portugal 1974 independence, 307; Portugal colonial structure in, 306; poverty in, 305, 314; selfgovernance difficult transition, 307; State Information Service intelligence service, 309–10; U.S., Great Britain, Brazil and China relations, 312; Vieira autocratic rule in, 307 Guinean League of Human Rights, 311 Gulf of Guinea region, transnational crime in, 39 Gustafson, Kristian C., xix Gwatiwa, Tshepo, 46 GWoT. See global war on terror Habré, Hissène, 127; DDS of, 124–25; France and U.S. support of, 124, 125; Fundamental Law of, 124; Nolutshungu on, 124 Habyarimana, Juvénal, 527, 529; assassination of, 530 Hacking Team, Namibia and, 478, 484n35 Halewa Sewra intelligence service, Eritrea, 213–14 Hall, Catherine, xx Hall, Stuart, xx The Handbook of European Intelligence Cultures (de Graaff and Nyce), xxiii Hangula, Lucas, 477–79 Harris, David, 586 Hassan II (king), of Morocco, 447–48, 451, 452, 453, 707 Hassan Nasr, Nasr al-Sayed, 190 Hawala, Solomon “Jesus,” 476 history, country: of Angola, 16–19; Burkina Faso volatile, 56–59; of CAR, 107–9; of Comoros, 136–38; of DRC, 160–61; of Equatorial Guinea, 200–202; of Eritrea, 212–16;

766

Index

of Eswatini, 228–30; of Ethiopia, 240–43; of Gabon, 256–57; of Guinea, 292–96; of Guinea-Bissau, 306–9; of Mali, 406; of Mauritania, 420–22; of Mauritius, 432–33; of Namibia, 474–76; of ROC, 513–15; of Rwanda, 528–29; of São Tomé and Príncipe, 542–43; of Senegal, 556–58; of Sierra Leone, 586–88; of Somalia, 602–3; of South Africa, 616–18; South Sudan factionalism, 631–32; of Tanzania, 656–58; of Togo, 670–72; of Zimbabwe, 732. See also intelligence history HIV. See human immunodeficiency virus Hoggart, Richard, xx Homeland Defense Volunteers (VDPs), Burkina Faso, 64, 65 Homeland Security, Egypt, 187 Houphouët-Boigny, Felix, 147–48; armed forces under, 149–50; death in 1993, 150; Directorate for the Surveillance of the Territory under, 150; PDCI militia developed by, 149; post era of, 150–55 household books surveillance, Burundi, 75 HRW. See Human Rights Watch human immunodeficiency virus (HIV), in Eswatini, 227, 229 human intelligence (HUMINT) sources: Mali use of, 409, 414; Mukhabarat use of, 187; São Tomé and Príncipe use of, 542–43; Senegal use of, 561; Special Branch cultivation of, 280; Sudan use of, 642; Tunisia use of, 680 human rights abuses, xxi; of Eritrea, 211; of Jammeh, 265; of Libya, 370; of Mauritania, 424; of NIA of The Gambia, 265–66; of Nigeria SSS, 502, 508; of NISS of Sudan, 647; of ROC CIDC, 516–17; of Togo, 671, 674; of Tunisia, 677, 684;

Uganda, 698, 699. See also Amnesty International Human Rights Council, on DIS, 46 Human Rights Watch (HRW), xxi; on DRC abuses, 165; on Egypt human rights violations, 189–90; on Equatorial Guinea abuses, 203; on Ethiopia surveillance, 247; on Guinea abuses, 295; on Mauritania abuses, 425; Nigeria SSS and, 505; on SNR human rights abuses, 73 Hussein, Saddam, 44, 368, 426 Hutu: Burundi majority population, 70; FNL rebel group of, 71; Rwanda genocide and, 530–31 ICG. See International Crisis Group IDPS. See internally displaced persons Idris I (king), of Libya, 365, 370 IER. See Equity and Reconciliation Commission illiberal movements, in Angola, 25 Imbonerakure youth militia, of CNDDFDD, Burundi, 70; SNR use of, 73, 74–75 Immigration Nationality and Vital Events Agency (INAVEA), Ethiopia, 244 independence: Angola of 1975, 16; Botswana 1966, 44; Burkina Faso 1960, 56; Eritrea 1993 from Ethiopia, 211, 213, 239; Namibia 1990 from South Africa, 473. See also colonial independence India, Seychelles relations, 576–77 indigenous population: in Algeria, 7; of Liberia, 354; of Nigeria, 499; Sierra Leone Kno, 586 INDPD. See National Authority for Personal Data Protection Information Network Security Agency (INSA), Ethiopia, 244–45, 247 Information Sharing Centres (ISCs), Djibouti and, 178 Information System of the Republic, Cabo Verde, 84



Index

INSA. See Information Network Security Agency Institute for Strategic Studies, on Eritrea military, 217 insurgencies, xxiv; Burkina Faso, 55–56; Cameroon separatist and Islamist, 95, 99; Compaoré support of, 58; Déby MPS, 126–27; Djibouti FRUD 1991–1994, 176; Mali 2012, 405, 413, 414–15, 489 intelligence: concept of, 92n1; McPhee definition of, 43 Intelligence Agencies Act (Act 526) (1996), Ghana, 285–86 Intelligence and National Security journal, xviii intelligence culture: Algeria issues of, 5–8; Benin under democratic rule, 29, 35–38; under bin Ali, 677, 678–79; Botswana politicized, 43, 46–49, 52; Cameroon, 95–105; Chad presidential protection, 121; Djibouti, 177–79; Eritrea repression and coercion, 211, 215; Ghana, 282–84; Ghana early, 278–81; Guinea, 296–98; Mauritania, 422–25; Nigeria, 502–5, 509; ROC, 517–19; São Tomé and Príncipe factors for, 544–46; Senegal, 558–61; Tunisia issues of, 680–82; Uganda, 697–98 Intelligence Elsewhere (Davies and Gustafson), xix intelligence history, xxi; of Algeria, 2–5; of Botswana, 44–46; of Cameroon, 96–99; of CAR, 109–11; of Djibouti, 175–77; of DRC, 161; of Egypt, 187–90; of Libya, 366–69; of Madagascar, 380–82; of Nigeria, 502 intelligence reform efforts, xxi, xxiii; of AFL, 356–59; in Algeria, 8–10; of Barrow on SIS and NIA, 271–72; in Botswana, 49–52; of Burkina Faso, 59–62; of Cabo Verde PN, PJ, FA, SNPC, 83, 89; Côte d’Ivoire president, 147; in Djibouti, 179–80;

767

of FARDC, 165; of The Gambia NIA, 271–73; of Kaboré, 59–61; in Liberia, 356–59; in Libya, 372– 74; in Morocco, 453–54; in Nigeria, 506–8; in South Africa, 622–23; in Sudan, 647–49; in Togo, 672–73; UNML SSR, 353–58, 360, 361 Intelligence Services Control Act (1994), South Africa, 622–23 Internal Brigade of Security (BIS), Madagascar, 382 internally displaced persons (IDPs), South Sudan, 636, 637 Internal Security Organisation (ISO), Uganda, 695, 697, 698 International Criminal Court, Ndayishimiye investigation by, 76 International Criminal Police Organization (INTERPOL): Guinea as member of, 298; on human trafficking, 664; São Tomé and Príncipe and, 549 International Crisis Group (ICG), Liberia and, 356, 362n12 International Journal of Intelligence and Counterintelligence journal, xviii–xix International Maritime Organization (MIO), Djibouti and, 178 International Organisation for Migration (IOM), Djibouti and, 180 International Police for the Defense of the State (PIDE), São Tomé and Príncipe, 543 international relations, xxi; Algeria, 8–10; Angola and, 16; Angola MPLA and, 21; Côte d’Ivoire, 154– 55; Djibouti military agreements, 173–74; of DRC, 165–66; Egypt, 192–93; Eswatini limited, 233–34; Guinea, 295, 298–300; GuineaBissau, 311–14. See also China; France; Great Britain; Israel; Soviet Union; United States

768

Index

INTERPOL. See International Criminal Police Organization IOG. See Guelleh, Ismaïl Omar IOM. See International Organisation for Migration IRA. See Irish Republican Army Iraq, U.S. invasion of, 44 Irish Republican Army (IRA), Libya and, 367 Isaias. See Afwerki, Isaias ISCs. See Information Sharing Centres ISI. See Islamic State of Iraq ISIL. See Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant Islam: Algeria history of, 7–8, 11; Ethiopia Muslims move to radical, 247; Morocco and, 445 Islamic fighters, DDSE and TRD following of, 8 Islamic Salvation Front (FIS), in Algeria, 4 Islamic State of Iraq (ISI), xxiv; Algeria and, 7 Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL), 10 Islamic terrorism, U.S. and Tanzania fight against, 660 Islamization, of Sudan, 645–46 Ismail, Olawale, xix ISO. See Internal Security Organisation Israel: Angola relations, 21; Côte d’Ivoire relations, 154–55; Egypt military threat of, 186; Egypt relations, 192; Ethiopia relations, 246; Mobutu support by, 162, 163, 166; Morocco relations, 452; Tanzania intelligence training, 657 Italy: Eritrea colonization by, 212–13; Ethiopia colonization by, 239 Ivory Coast. See Côte d’Ivoire Jamahiriya. See Third International philosophy Jamahiriya Security Organization (JSO), Libya, 367

Jammeh, Yahya, 273; ECOWAS and exit of, 265; Equatorial Guinea exile of, 265; human rights violations of, 265 Jasmine Revolution, Tunisia, 679 JATT. See Joint Anti-terrorism Taskforce Jawara, Dawda: coup overthrow of, 265, 267; NSS and, 266–67 Jeddah Amendment, of DCoC, 178, 181 Jesira massacre, in Somalia, 606 jihadist attacks, in Burkina Faso, 62; ANR resolution to 2018, 63; Peulh group in, 64 Johnson-Sirleaf, Ellen, 357 Joint Anti-terrorism Taskforce (JATT), Uganda, 698 Joint Standing Committee on Intelligence (JSCI), South Africa, 620–23 Jonathan, Leabua, 336–37 JSCI. See Joint Standing Committee on Intelligence JSO. See Jamahiriya Security Organization Juba Declaration (2006), South Sudan, 631 Judiciary Police (PJ), Cabo Verde, 83, 89 Kabbah, Ahmad Tejan, 588 Kabila, Joseph, 160–61, 164, 167 Kabila, Laurent-Désiré, 160, 167; DRC democratization process, 163–64 Kaboré, Roch Marc Christian, 56; reforms of, 59–61 Kagame, Paul, 76, 527–28, 531–38 Kalafatis, John, 46 Kamel, Abbas, 193 Kameru, Philip, 327 KANU. See Kenya African National Union Katumbi, Moise, 724–26, 728n38 Kaunda, Kenneth, 719–20 Kayibanda, Gregoire, 529



Index

Kenya: CID in, 320; Criminal Investigation Department in, 320, 321, 324; Directorate of Security Intelligence in, 319, 322–24; early independence, 321–22; Great Britain 1963 independence from, 321; intelligence service directors, 324; KANU party in, 322–23; Kenyatta as president of, 321–22, 327; Kibaki as president of, 325–27; M15 and, 320– 21, 324; Man Man uprising, 320–21; Moi as president of, 322–23; Nairobi mall attack, 326–27; National Security Intelligence Service, 319; NIS, 319, 326–27; NIS in, 319, 326–27; NSIS in, 319, 325–26; postCold War, 324; al-Qaeda 1998 U.S. embassy bombing, 324, 659; SB in, 319–21, 323, 328; terrorism in, 326– 27; Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Act, 323, 328; Uganda relations, 321–22 Kenya African National Union (KANU) party, 322–23 Kenyatta, Jomo, 321–22, 327 Kérékou, Mathieu: Benin military regime of, 33; Marxist-Leninist agenda, 33, 35; SDI creation by, 34 KGB. See Committee for State Security Kgosi, Isaac, 47, 51 Khama, Seretse, 47; Callamard on assassination plot against, 48; DIS 2021 harassment of, 48 Kibaki, Mwai, 325 Kiir, Silva, 628–31, 636, 637 Kikwete, Jakaya, 663 Kingdom of Morocco, of Western Sahara, Saharan provinces in, 704 Kipilimba, Modestus: corruption and money laundering of, 655; Magufuli firing of, 655 Kissinger, Henry, 691 Kohl, Christoph, 307 Kolingba, André, 108 Kopelipa, Vierira Dias, 23–24

769

Koroma, Ernest Bai, 588 Kouandété, Maurice, 31–32 Koussa, Moussa Muhammad, 372–73 Kuenzi, Michelle T., 557–58 Kufuor, John, 674 Kwadjo, Johnny, xix LACC. See Liberian Anti-Corruption Commission Law on Crimes against State Security, Angola, 17 Law on National Security (2002), Angola, 20, 22 LDF. See Lesotho Defense Force Lekhooa, Tumo, 341 Lerotholi, Mohlakana, 335–36 Lesotho: BCP and NSS relations, 336– 39; BMP intelligence service, 336; CID and, 345; democratic transition, 337–39; election crisis of 1998, 339–41; Jonathan ruling of, 336–37; LDF in, 335, 341–42; Lekhooa and, 341; Mahao and, 341, 350n52; military regime, 337; Mokhehle as prime minister of, 338, 339, 348n21; NSSA and, 339–42, 344; NSS cooperation beyond, 345–46; NSS intelligence service, 335–39, 346–47; NSS politicization, 341–43; operational issues, 343–45; from police special unit to spy service, 336–37; Ralenkoane and, 341–43; SADC and, 340, 341, 346, 349n46; SB in, 336 Lesotho Defense Force (LDF), 335, 341–42 Lesotho Mounted Police Service (LMPS), 335 Leviev, Lev, 21 Liberation Committee of São Tomé and Príncipe (CLSPT), 543 Liberation Front of Mozambique (FRELIMO), 22, 461, 462–66, 470 Liberia: ACS settlement of, 354; AFL reform, 356–59; AU and, 356; civil

770

Index

wars (1989–1996) (1999–2003), 353, 355; CPA and, 355–56; DDR process, 356, 362n10; Doe rule of, 355; DynCorp AFL reform of, 356–58; ECOWAS and, 355, 356; ICG and, 356, 362n12; indigenous population of, 354; Johnson-Sirleaf and, 357; LACC in, 359; LNP reform, 356–59; NSA in, 359; postcivil war, 354–55; security and surveillance capacity, 359–61; Taylor as president of, 355, 588; Tolbert as president of, 355; TWP rule of, 354–55; UNMIL SSR in, 353–58, 360, 361; UNPOL training, 356, 358; Weah as president of, 359–60 Liberian Anti-Corruption Commission (LACC), 359 Liberian National Police (LNP): reform, 356–59; UNPOL reform of, 358 Libya: colonialism, 365; al-Gaddafi leadership of, 123, 365–68, 370–75; geography of, 365; GIB secret police in, 368; GNA and, 366, 369–71, 374–75; human rights abuses, 370; Idris I rule of, 365, 370; intelligence history, 366–69; intelligence issues, 369–72; IRA and, 367; Islam influence in, 365; JSO in, 367; Koussa and, 372–73; Lockerbie bombing, 367, 368; militarized intelligence services, 367; National Transitional Council of, 373–74; NATO intervention in, 366; oversight, reform and international connections, 372–74; Second Libyan Civil War (2014–ongoing), 366, 369; surveillance state of, 368; terrorist organizations support in, 366; tribal and ethnic relations, 365, 370–71; as Tunisia national security threat, 680 Libyan Civil War, 366 Lissouba, Pascal, 514 LMPS. See Lesotho Mounted Police Service

LNP. See Liberian National Police Lockerbie bombing, Libya, 367, 368 London, Algiers security partnership with, 9 Lopes, Carlos, 306–7 Lourenço, João, 24, 26 Lúcia Sá, Ana, 202 Lumunba, Patrice, 160; CIA, Belgium and M15 removal of, 161–62 M15. See British Security Service M16. See British Secret Intelligence Service Machel, Samora, 464 Macias Nguema, Francisco, 199, 200; overthrow of, 201; Soviet Union relations, 201 Madagascar: CIS intelligence service, 382, 384, 386, 387; current intelligence services, 383–84; DGIDIE intelligence service, 381–82; First Republic (1960–1972), 381, 383; FIS and BIS intelligence service, 382; foreign policy, 380; Fourth Republic (2013–2018), 382; France 1960 independence of, 379; France colonization of, 379; France intelligence service influence, 381; Franco–Hova War, 380–81; intelligence community experiences, 385–86; intelligence community structure, 384–85; intelligence history, 380–82; oversight issues, 386–87; Rajaonarimampianina as president of, 382; Rajoelina as president of, 382; Ratsiraka as president of, 381, 383; Ravalomanana as president of, 382; SAMIFIN intelligence service, 384–85, 387; Second Republic (1975–1992), 381, 383; smuggling and trafficking in, 385–86; SNOLT intelligence service, 384, 385; Third Republic (1992–2010), 382; transitional period (2009–2013),



Index

382; Tsiranana as president of, 381, 383 Maga, Hubert K., 30, 32 Magosi, Peter, 47 Magufuli, John, 655, 663 Mahao, Maaparankoe, 341, 350n52 Makungum, Msakila Robert, 655 Malagasy Service for Fighting Money Laundering and Financing of Terrorism (SAMIFIN), Madagascar, 384–85, 387 Malawi: Banda rule of, 392, 397–99; as British protectorate from 18911964, 392; Chakwera as president of, 400; CID and SB in, 392, 393, 396–99; colonial period intelligence gathering, 392–93; FISB and, 392–93; M16 and, 392, 393; MYP intelligence service, 391, 397–401; name changes for, 392; NIS creation in, 400; NVR intelligence service, 391, 393–97, 400 Malawi Young Pioneers (MYP), 391, 397–401 MALG. See Ministry of Armaments and General Liaisons Mali: AQIM in, 406, 412; ASIFU in, 411; background, 406; Burkina Faso border war with, 56; DGRG intelligence service, 407, 408; DGSE intelligence service, 407, 408, 409; DSM intelligence service, 407–8, 409; EUCAP in, 411; EUTM in, 405, 411; in G5, 62; HUMINT use, 409, 414; insurgency of 2012, 405, 413, 414–15, 489; intelligence capacity, 408–9; intelligence community, 406–8; intelligence efforts since 2012, 410–11; international assistance programs, 405, 412–15; intra-country strife, 411–12; Islamist terrorism in, 405, 412; military in, 408–9; MINUSMA security in, 406, 411, 412–15; MNLA and, 406, 410, 489; political

771

instability, 405; UN stabilization mission, 405 Malima, Philemon, 477, 479 Malloum, Felix, 123–24 Mama, Yacoubou, 34 Mancham, James, 571 Mandela, Nelson, 615 Man Man uprising, in Kenya, 320–21 Margai, Milton Augustus Strieby, 586 Marxist-Leninist agenda, of Kérékou, 33, 35 Masire, Ketumile Quett Joni, 44 Masisi, Mokgweetsi, 47–48 mass surveillance, in Mauritius: biometric ID cards, 436; MNIS Project, 436–37; NIC and, 436; SafeCity project, 432, 438–39 Masuku, Themba, 232 Matthews Commission, in South Africa, 620, 623 Maundeni, Zibani, 51 Mauritania: AQIM in, 422, 425; Aziz as president of, 425; background, 420–22; Daddah as president of, 420; DED intelligence service, 422; DGSN internal security, 422–23; ethnic groups in, 419; France colonization and 1960 independence, 420; in G5, 62; Ghazouani as president of, 421; HRW on, 425; human rights abuses, 424; intelligence culture, 422–25; international relations, 425–26; military rule in, 420, 423–24; alQaeda and, 426; Senegal relations, 557; Taya rule of, 420; Vall rule of, 421, 423 Mauritius: ADSU of, 435–36, 440; background, 432–33; drug trafficking and, 435–36, 440; Great Britain 1968 independence, 432; mass surveillance in, 432, 436–39; MNIS Project, 436– 37; MPF in, 431, 432–33, 435–36, 440; NSS intelligence service, 434– 35, 440; police force intelligence

772

Index

gathering, 434–36; Safe-City project, 432, 438–39; SIGINT use, 435, 440 Mauritius National Identity Scheme (MNIS) Project, 436–37 Mauritius Police Force (MPF), 431, 432–33, 435–36, 440 M’ba, Léon, 256; France support of, 257, 258 McFerson, Hazel M., 204 McPhee, Justin, 43 MDN. See Ministry of National Defense Mediène, Mohamed “Toufik,” 4 Mengistu, Haile Mariam, 242–43 mercenaryism: in Comoros, 137, 138; DISA law on, 17 Miala, Fernando Garcia, 21–22; arrest and imprisonment of, 23–24 military: Algeria role of, 1–2, 5–6, 11; Amnesty International on Togo human rights abuses by, 671; Angola Executive Outcomes private contractor, 21; Angola MPLA, FNLA, UNITA conflict, 16; Bédié coup by, 151; Benin oneparty rule with dictatorship by, 29, 33–35; Boumédiène control of, 3; Burundi coups by, 70–71; Burundi ethnic quotas for, 71, 78; Cameroon embedded intelligence services as, 100–101; CAR and EUTM-RCA operation of, 113; Chad and French intelligence, 122, 129; Djibouti international agreements, 173–74; Djibouti multilateral foreign presence of, 173, 177; Egypt reliance on, 191; Equatorial Guinea role of, 203; Eritrea role of, 212, 217; Eswatini services of, 230–32; Ethiopia, 242, 244; Gabon security and, 257–59; in Guinea, 294–97; Israel as Egypt threat from, 186; Kérékou regime in Benin, 33–35; Lesotho regime, 337; in Mali, 408–9; Mauritania rule in, 420, 423–24; Mobutu foreign

assistance, 163; Morocco influence reduction, 448; Nigeria regime of, 502; in Senegal, 559; U.S. Ethiopia training, 242 Military Actions and Intelligence Services, DRC, 162 Military Committee of the National Recovery (CMRN), Guinea, 293 Military House/House of Security of the Presidency of the Republic, Angola, 23 Military Intelligence and Reconnaissance Administration, Egypt, 187 Military Intelligence Service, Cabo Verde, 85 Military Intelligence Unit (MIU), Ghana, 282 military role, in Algeria, 1–2, 5–6, 11 Military Security (MS), 9; MALG replaced by, 3 Ministry of Armaments and General Liaisons (MALG), 9; Boussouf as head of, 2; KGB training schools and, 3; MS replacement of, 3; trained operatives of, 2–3 Ministry of Interior (MOI), Tunisia, 678, 680, 682, 683 Ministry of National Defense (MDN), Cabo Verde, 88 Ministry of State Security (MINSE), Angola, 21; disbanding of, 19; Nandó restructuring of, 20; Paihama as minister of, 18, 19; UNITA war from, 18 MINURSO. See Mission for the Referendum in Western Sahara MINUSCA Force, CAR presence of, 112–14 MINUSMA. See Multidimensional Integrated Stabilization Mission in Mali MIO. See International Maritime Organization



Index

Mission for the Referendum in Western Sahara (MINURSO), 704, 709–10, 712n5 Mitterrand, François, 27n19; Déby support by, 127 MIU. See Military Intelligence Unit MLSLP. See Movement for the Liberation of São Tomé and Príncipe M’membe, Fred, 726–27, 728n18 MNIS. See Mauritius National Identity Scheme MNLA. See Movement for the Liberation of Azawad Mobutu, Joseph-Désiré: Belgium, France and U.S. support of, 160, 162, 166; against communism, 163; as DRC dictator from 1965-1997, 160; intelligence and security system direction by, 162, 166–67; Israel support of, 162, 163, 166; Military Actions and Intelligence Services establishment, 162; military foreign assistance to, 163; student opposition and reform protests opposed by, 162; U.S. support withdrawal, 163 Mohammed, Murtala, 500 Mohammed V (king), of Morocco, 447, 450 Mohammed VI (king), of Morocco, 445, 449, 453, 455 MOI. See Ministry of Interior Moi, Daniel Arap, 322–23 Mokhehle, Ntsu, 338, 339, 348n21 Morocco: AQIM and, 709; as authoritarian monarchic country, 445; BCIJ of, 451, 452, 704; CIA and, 449; Cold War and, 447, 451, 462; DGED in, 448, 450, 454; DGSN in, 447; DST and, 449, 704; foreign alliances, 451–53; France relations, 445, 451; French model of public security, 447; geography of, 445; GWoT and, 446, 449, 451–52; Hassan II and, 447–48, 451, 452, 453, 707; IER in, 453;

773

independent nation and King, 447–48; intelligence services, 449– 51; Israel relations, 452; military influence reduction, 448; mining in, 446; Mohammed V and, 447, 450; Mohammed VI and, 445, 449, 453, 455; as Muslim country, 445; Pegasus spyware use, 453, 457n22; SDECE and, 447–48; top-down reforms, 453–54; U.S. relations, 451–52; Years of Lead from 19601990s, 449 Moussa, Soulé, 34 Movement for Democracy (MpD), Cardoso of, 90 Movement for Oneness and Jihad in West Africa (MUJAO), 489 Movement for the Liberation of Azawad (MNLA), Mali, 406, 410, 489 Movement for the Liberation of São Tomé and Príncipe (MLSLP), 543, 544 Mozambique: CIA and, 463–64; First Republic (1975–1991), 461, 462–65; FRELIMO regime in, 22, 461, 462–66, 470; Machel as president of, 464; MarxistLeninist regime, 463; Offensive for Legality in, 464; Portugal 1975 independence, 461; RENAMO and, 461, 464–70; Second Republic (1991–present), 461, 466–69; SISE in, 462, 465–69 MpD. See Movement for Democracy MPF. See Mauritius Police Force MPLA. See Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola MPS. See Patriotic Salvation Movement MS. See Military Security Mswati III (king), 227; Equatorial Guinea protection of, 232; intelligence control by, 229, 234; mother as co-monarch with, 229; Swaziland to eSwatini name change, 229; as UEDF commander, 231

774

Index

Mubarak, Hosni, 185, 189–90, 194; mass torture by, 187 Mugabe, Robert, 732, 733, 737–39 MUJAO. See Movement for Oneness and Jihad in West Africa Mukhabarat intelligence service, Egypt, 190, 194; composition of, 186; HUMINT for information collection, 187; Kamel as director of, 193; leader protection focus, 186; SSIS and, 186, 191; Suleiman as director of, 193; transnational terrorism and, 186–87 Multidimensional Integrated Stabilization Mission in Mali (MINUSMA), UN, 406, 411, 412–15 Museveni, Yoweri, 534–35 Muslim Brotherhood: Egypt and, 188– 90, 192; Nasr imprisonment, 190 MYP. See Malawi Young Pioneers Namibia: background, 474–76; Cold War and, 474; Hacking Team and, 478, 484n35; Hangula and, 477–79; Hawala and, 476; intelligence leaders and issues, 477–79; Malima and, 477, 479; National Intelligence Act of 1987, 476; NCIS in, 474, 476–81; oversight, 479–81; People’s Liberation Army of Namibia, 473–75, 477, 479, 481; Protection of Information Act, 480; South Africa 1990 independence, 473; surveillance technology, 478–79; SWAPO and, 473–79, 481; Tsheehama and state security, 476, 477, 480 Namibia Central Intelligence Service Act (1997), 474, 476 Namibian Central Intelligence Service (NCIS), 474, 476–81 Namibian Defence Force, 476 Nandó. See dos Santos, Fernando da Piedade Dias NASA. See National Security Agency Nascimento, António, 90

Nasser, Abdel, 186, 188–89, 194 Nathan, Laurie, 617–18 National Agency for Cyber Security and Electronic Certification (ANSICE), Chad, 128–29 National Army (ANT), Chad, 121–22, 126 National Authority for Personal Data Protection (INPDP), Tunisia and, 684 National Civil Protection System (SNPC), Cabo Verde, 83 National Committee of Reconciliation and Development (CNRD), Guinea, 296 National Communications Center (NCC), South Africa, 617 National Conference of 1990 democratic rule, Benin, 29, 35–38 National Council for Democracy and Development (CNDD), Guinea, 295 National Council for the Algerian Revolution (CNRA), 3 National Council for the Defense of Democracy-Forces for the Defense of Democracy (CNDD-FDD), Burundi: rebel group ruling party, 70, 77; SNR composed of, 72–73 National Council of the Revolution (CNR), Burkina Faso: CDR civilian support group, 56; Compaoré and, 57; Sankara of, 56 National Cybersecurity Center (CNCS), Cabo Verde, 88 National Directorate of Documentation and State Protection (DNDPE), Comoros, 135, 139–40, 142–43 National Directorate of Territorial Surveillance (DNST), Comoros, 135 National Focal Points (NFPs), Djibouti and, 178 National Front for the Liberation of Angola (FNLA), 16 National Gendarmerie: Gabon, 260; Guinea, 297, 299; Senegal, 560–61



Index

National Identity Card (NIC), Mauritius, 436–37 National Intelligence Act (1987), Namibia, 476 National Intelligence Agency (NIA): Nigeria, 499; South Africa, xxii, 616, 619–20, 622 National Intelligence Agency (ANIGE), Equatorial Guinea, 205 National Intelligence Agency (ANR), Burkina Faso: jihadist attack resolution in 2018, 63; law on management of, 61; Ouédraogo as deputy director of, 60 National Intelligence Agency (ANR), Togo, 671, 673 National Intelligence Agency (NIA), The Gambia: creation and oversight, 266–69; fear and abuse climate, 269–70; human rights violations by, 265–66; leaders of, 268; SIS reform of, 271–73; TRRC report on, 266, 271, 273; turbulence within, 270–71 National Intelligence and Security Agency (NISA), Somalia, 603, 608–9 National Intelligence and Security Services (NISS): Ethiopia, 244–47; Rwanda, 532, 536–37; Sudan, 629, 641–42, 646–49 National Intelligence Center (NIC), Tunisia, 683, 687n25 National Intelligence Coordination (CNR), Ouattara establishment of, 153 National Intelligence Council, Talon establishment of, 39 National Intelligence Service (NIS): Kenya, 319, 326–27; Malawi, 400 National Intelligence Service (SNR), Burundi: administration of, 72; BBC and VOA on, 73–74; character during election campaigns, 75–76; CNDD-FDD composition, 72–73; decree for citizens 2020 election

775

fund, 76; establishment in 2006, 69, 72, 77; human rights abuses, 73–74; Imbonerakure use by, 70, 73, 74–75; militarization of, 73; PAFE and, 73; political violence of, 73; as presidential police, 72; Rwandans arrests by, 77 National Intelligence Systems (Treverton and Agrell), xix National Liberation Army (ALN), Algeria, 1; Boumédiène as head of, 3 National Liberation Council (NLC), Ghana, 277 National Liberation Forces (FNL), of Hutu, 71 National Liberation Front (FLN), Algeria, 1; GPRA created by, 2 National Liberation Front of Chad (FROLINAT) rebel movement, 123 National Liberation Movement (NLM) regime, Ghana, 281, 282 National Nomadic Guard (GNN), Chad, 122 National Plan for Critical Infrastructure Protection (PNPIC), 88 National Police, of São Tomé and Príncipe, 543 National Police (PN), Cabo Verde, 83, 89 National Resistance Council (NRC), Uganda, 695 National Resistance Movement/Army (NRM./A), Uganda, 694–95, 697–99 National Resistance of Mozambique (RENAMO), 461, 464–70 national security, of Angola: Service of Foreign Security branch of, 20; Service of Military Security of the Ministry of Defence branch, 20; SINFO branch of, 20 National Security Act (1986), Botswana, 44 National Security Act (2014), South Sudan, 630 National Security Adviser (CSNG), Cabo Verde, 87

776

Index

National Security Agency (ANS), Chad, 127–28 National Security Agency (NASA), Uganda, 684 National Security Agency (NSA), Liberia, 359 National Security and Central Intelligence Act (2002), Sierra Leone, 589 National Security Council (NSC): Tunisia, 682; Uganda, 697 National Security Council (CSN), Cabo Verde, 84, 85, 87 National Security Intelligence Service (NSIS), Kenya, 319; Boinett as director of, 325; Gichangi as director of, 325–27 National Security Office (GSN), Cabo Verde, 87 National Security Office (NSO), Eritrea civilian intelligence service, 218–19, 222 National Security Organization (NSO): Nigeria, 500–501; Sudan, 644 National Security Reform Act (2011), Liberia, 359 National Security Service (NSS): The Gambia, 266–67; Lesotho, 335–39, 341–43, 345–47; Mauritius, 434–35, 440; Somalia, 602, 604–6; South Sudan, 628–31, 635–37 National Security Services Act (NSSA) (1998), Lesotho, 339–42, 344 National Security System (SSN), Cabo Verde, 83–84; CCOS, CSNG, and GSN of, 87 National Service for Counterterrorism (BCIJ), Morocco, 451, 452, 704 National Service of Popular Security (SNASP), Mozambique, 462–66 National Strategic Intelligence Act (1994), South Africa, 616 National Strategy and Intelligence Agency (ANSI), Côte d’Ivoire, 151; Ouattara disbanding of, 153

National Structure for the Orientation of the Fight against Terrorism and Organized Crime (SNOLT), Madagascar, 384, 385 National Transitional Council, Libya, 373–74 National Union for the Total Liberation of Angola (UNITA): Angola war against, 20–21; election fraud, 20; MINSE war with, 18; South Africa and Zaire support of, 16 NATO. See North Atlantic Treaty Organization NCC. See National Communications Center Nchuchuma, Juan Antonio Bibang, 205 NCIS. See Namibian Central Intelligence Service Ndadaye, Melchior, 71 Ndayishimiye, Évariste, 72; SNR 2020 election assistance for, 76; UN and International Criminal Court investigation of, 76 Neto, Agostinho, 17, 18 New Forces of Ivory Coast (FAFN), Côte d’Ivoire, 151–52 New York tripartite accords (1988), between Angola, Cuba and South Africa, 19 NFPs. See National Focal Points NIA. See National Intelligence Agency NIC. See National Identity Card; National Intelligence Center Niger: AQIM and, 489; Blundo intermediary studies, 490; chiefs in, 492–94, 496; friends and acquaintances in, 494–96; in G5, 62; GWoT and, 489; informants as knowledge brokers, 490–91, 496; intelligence agents, 491–92, 496; militarization of, 489; poor institutional knowledge in, 488; RIFU and, 39; Souley, 491–96; state surveillance in, 496; surveillance capacity investments, 489;



Index

surveillance post 9/11, 489–90; Trans-Sahara Counterterrorism Partnership with U.S., 409; U.S. and French surveillance in, 487; U.S. intelligence and surveillance apparatus, 489 Nigeria: Abubakar regime, 501; Amnesty International, HRW and, 505; Boko Haran terrorism and, 506, 507; Buhari as president of, 502, 505; China relations, 508; CIC reporting, 500; colonial history and intelligence culture, 502; control reforms, successes and operational issues, 506–8; corruption in, 506; DIA and, 500–501; DMI intelligence service, 499; ethnicity and religion impact on, 502; Great Britain 1960 independence of, 499; indigenous people of, 499; intelligence culture factors, 502–5, 509; media influence, 504; military regime, 502; Mohammed assassination, 500; National Intelligence Agency intelligence service, 499; NSO of, 500–501; Obasanjo of, 500, 670; religion in, 499; RIFU and, 39; São Tomé and Príncipe relations, 549; SSS intelligence service, 499, 500– 509, 503, 505; UNO, ECOWAS and AU on, 505; U.S. relations, 504–5 Nimeiry, Ja’afar, 644–45 9/11. See September 11, 2001 attack NIS. See National Intelligence Service NISA. See National Intelligence and Security Agency NISS. See National Intelligence and Security Services Niyombare, Godefroid, 72–73 Niyomwungere, Constantin, 527 Nkrumah, Kwame, 281; changes by, 284–85; FSRB of, 284–85; regime overthrow, 277–78 Nkurunziza, Pierre, 74; Niyombare attempted coup against, 71–72;

777

Rwanda Kagame financial support, 76; SNR 2015 election assistance for, 76 NLC. See National Liberation Council NLM. See National Liberation Movement Nolutshungu, Sam, 124 Non-Aligned Movement, Egypt and, 186 North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO): Djibouti and, 178; Libya intervention by, 366; Tunisia as nonvoting member of, 681 NRC. See National Resistance Council NRM/A. See National Resistance Movement/Army NSA. See National Security Agency, Liberia NSC. See National Security Council, Tunisia NSIS. See National Security Intelligence Service NSO. See National Security Office, Eritrea; National Security Organization NSS. See National Security Service NSSA. See National Security Services Act Nyasaland Volunteer Reserve (NVR), Malawi, 391, 394–97, 400 Nyce, James M., xxiii Nyerere, Julius, 656, 657 Obasanjo, Olusegun, 500, 670 Obiang Nguema Mbasogo, Teodoro, 200, 260–61; coup of, 201; embezzlement and extortion from, 204; human rights violations of, 199; PDGE formation by, 201; security forces control, 202–3 Obote, Milton: Uganda rule 1962– 1971, 692–93; UPC-KY party and, 692–93 ODNI. See Office of the Director of National Intelligence

778

Index

ODP. See Organization of Popular Defence OECPIC. See Central Executive Body for Critical Infrastructure Protection Offensive for Legality, Mozambique, 464 Office of National Security (ONS), Sierra Leone, 589, 592, 594 Office of Territorial Surveillance (DST), Morocco, 449 Office of the Director of National Intelligence (ODNI), 38 Office of the National Security Adviser (ONSA), Nigeria SSS and, 503, 506 Olympio, Sylvanus, 670, 672, 675 one-party rule with military dictatorship, in Benin, 29; coup attempt, 33; human right abuses, 34; of Kérékou, 33–35; repression in, 34–35 ONS. See Office of National Security ONSA. See Office of the National Security Adviser open source intelligence (OSINT), São Tomé and Príncipe use of, 543 Operational Security Coordination Commission (CCOS), Cabo Verde, 87 Operation Red Carpet, between Soviet Union and Algeria, 3, 9 Orbán, Victor, 25 Organic Statute of the Ministry of the Interior, Angola, 20 Organization of Popular Defence (ODP), Angola, 18 Organized Crime and Corruption Reporting Project, on ROC, 517 OSINT. See open source intelligence Ouattara, Alassane, 147, 148, 150–52, 155; ANSI disbanded by, 153; coercion and violence use by, 154; DSE established by, 153; National Intelligence Coordination established by, 153; ULGB created by, 154 Oueddel, Goukouni, 123–24 Ouédraogo, François, 60

PAFE. See Police Responsible for Airspace Surveillance Border Control and Registration of Foreigners PAIGC. See African Party for the Independence of Guinea and Cape Verde Paihama, Kundy, 18, 19 Pan Africanist Congress, South Africa, 615 Pan Africanist Security Service (PASS), South Africa, 615 Partnership for Regional East Africa Counterterrorism (PREACT), 660 Party of the Revolution (CCM), Tanzania, 661–62 PASS. See Pan Africanist Security Service Patassé, Ange-Félix, 108 Pateman, Roy, 214 Patriotic Salvation Movement (MPS), Déby and, 126–27 PCT. See Congolese Workers Party PDA. See Preventative Detention Act PDCI. See Democratic Party of Ivory Coast PDD. See Presidential Detailed Department PDG. See Gabonese Democratic Party PDGE. See Democratic Party of Equatorial Guinea Pegasus spyware, 453, 457n22 Peoples Democratic Movement (RDPC), Cameroon, 100 People’s Democratic Republic of Algeria. See Algeria People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ), Eritrea, 214–15, 218–19, 222; domestic surveillance network of, 216; repression and coercion of, 216; Smith on, 216 People’s Liberation Army Navy (PLAN), Djibouti, 179–80 People’s Liberation Army of Namibia (PLAN), 473–75, 477, 479, 481



Index

People’s National Army of Algeria, power behind government, 8–9 People’s Rally for Progress Party (RPP), Djibouti, 173 People’s Republic of China. See China Personal Identification and Registration System (PIRS), Djibouti, 180 Peulh group, in jihadist attacks, 64 PFDJ. See People’s Front for Democracy and Justice PIC. See Criminal Investigation Police PIDE. See International Police for the Defense of the State PIRS. See Personal Identification and Registration System PJ. See Judiciary Police PLAN. See People’s Liberation Army Navy, Djibouti; People’s Liberation Army of Namibia Plaut, Martin, 215–16, 219 PN. See National Police PNDC. See Provisional National Defence Council PNPIC. See National Plan for Critical Infrastructure Protection PNSD. See Security and Defense National Policy Police of the Mozambican Republic (PRM), 466 Police Responsible for Airspace Surveillance Border Control and Registration of Foreigners (PAFE), 73 POLISARIO Front, of SADR, 703–9, 711, 711n1 politicization: in Algeria, 2, 6–7, 10; Bakos on intelligence, 44; of Botswana intelligence culture, 43, 46–49, 52; Bouchnik-Chen on, 47; Bush CIA, 40; Eisenfeld on, 43; Gannon on, 43; in Lesotho, 341–43; in ROC, 521; in Rwanda, 527; in South Africa, 615, 618–22; of Tanzania, 655; Treverton on, 43, 46–47

779

Popular Brigades of Surveillance (BPV), 18 Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola (MPLA), 18; attempted coup of 1977 by, 15, 17; Constitution 2010 approval of, 22–23, 24; Cuba and Soviet Union support of, 16; elections of 2012 and 2017, 24–25; election win, 19–20; FRELIMO and African National Congress examples for, 22; hegemony review, 22; international relations and, 21; multiparty democracy and, 19; postwar elections in 2008, 22–23 Portugal: Guinea-Bissau 1974 independence, 307; Guinea-Bissau colonization, 306; Mozambique 1975 independence, 461; São Tomé and Príncipe 1975 independence, 544; São Tomé and Príncipe colonization, 542; São Tomé and Príncipe relations, 548 Posthumus, Bram, 292, 293, 294 PREACT. See Partnership for Regional East Africa Counterterrorism Presidential Detailed Department (PDD), Ghana, 277 Presidential Guard (BASP), Guinea, 295, 298 Presidential Guard (GP), Chad, 126 Presidential Guard (GP), Comoros, 137 Presidential Guard Company, Ghana, 277 Presidential Security Regiment (RSP), of Compaoré, 57; corruption scandals of, 58; Diendéré of, 58; disbanding of, 59; repressive acts of, 58; Zongo assassination by, 58 Presidential Security Sub-Directorate of Intelligence (PSSDI), 678–79, 686n4 Pretoria Protocol, Burundi, 71 Preventative Detention Act (PDA) (1962), Tanzania, 657, 658 Priority Investigations, Seychelles contract with, 572–73

780

Index

PRM. See Police of the Mozambican Republic Protection of Information Act (1983), Namibia, 480 Provisional Government of the Algerian Republic (GPRA), FLN creation of, 2 Provisional National Defence Council (PNDC), Ghana, 285 PSD. See Public Security Department PSO. See Public Security Organization PSSDI. See Presidential Security SubDirectorate of Intelligence PSU. See Public Safety Unit Public Accounts Committee (PAC), Botswana, on Magosi as personal bodyguard to Masisi, 47–48 Public Safety Unit (PSU), Uganda, 693 Public Security Department (PSD), Sudan, 643 Public Security Organization (PSO), Sudan, 643–44, 645 al-Qaeda, 10, 44, 487; GSPC transition to, 7; Kenya 1998 U.S. embassy bombing, 324, 659; Mauritania and, 426; Tanzania 1998 U.S. embassy bombing by, 655, 658–61, 665 Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM): Burkina Faso restaurant attack by, 55; Côte d’Ivoire attack, 153; in Mali, 406, 412; in Mauritania, 422, 425; Morocco and, 709; Niger and, 489; Senegal and, 562 Rajaonarimampianina, Hery, 382 Rajoelina, Andry, 382 Ralenkoane, Pheello, 341–43 Rally for the Togolese People (RPT), 670, 671 Ramkalawan, Wavel, 570, 580–81 Rapid Support Forces (RSF), Sudan, 641 Rascoff, Samuel J., xix

Ratsiraka, Didier, 381, 383 Ravalomanana, Marc, 382 Rawlings, Jerry, 278, 674; BNI of, 282– 84; national security restructuring, 282; PNDC of, 285 RDF. See Rwanda Defense Forces RDPC. See Peoples Democratic Movement Regional Intelligence Fusion Unit (RIFU), of Benin, Cameroon, Chad, Niger and Nigeria, 39 Regulation of Interception of Communications and Provision of Communications Related Information Act (2002) (RICA), South Africa, 617 religio-ethnic relations, Algeria military role in, 2 RENAMO. See National Resistance of Mozambique René, France-Albert, 570–73, 577–79 REPS. See Royal Eswatini Police Service Republican Guard, Gabon, 259–60 Republic of Guinea. See Guinea Republic of Sierra Leone Armed Forces (RSLAF), 588, 594 Republic of the Congo (ROC): background, 513–15; China relations, 515; CIDC in, 516–18, 521; democratic system in 1992, 514; DGRM military intelligence service, 517, 520, 521; DRC and, 519; economic situation, 513; election candidates imprisonment, 518; election fraud and inconsistencies, 515, 517; external security institutions impact on, 519; fear atmosphere in, 513; France colonization of, 513; human rights abuses, 516–17; intelligence culture in, 517–19; intelligence shaping of culture in, 519–20; Lissouba as president of, 514; Organized Crime and Corruption Reporting Project



Index

on, 517; PCT in, 514–15; political corruption, 513; politicization in, 521; Sassou-Nguesso regime in, 513, 514–19, 521–22; security institutions, 515–17; Soviet Union relations, 515 Revolutionary United Front (RUF), Sierra Leone invasion, 588 RIB. See Rwanda Investigation Bureau RICA. See Regulation of Interception of Communications and Provision of Communications Related Information Act (2002) RIFU. See Regional Intelligence Fusion Unit RNP. See Rwandan National Police ROC. See Republic of the Congo Royal Eswatini Police Service (REPS), 230 RPA. See Rwandan Patriotic Party RPF. See Rwandan Patriotic Front RPP. See People’s Rally for Progress Party RPT. See Rally for the Togolese People RSF. See Rapid Support Forces RSLAF. See Republic of Sierra Leone Armed Forces RSP. See Presidential Security Regiment Ruanda-Urundi, under Germany, 70 RUF. See Revolutionary United Front Rusesabagina, Paul, 527 Rwanda: Belgium, Germany and British colonizers, 528; Burundi rivalry with, 76–77; contemporary issues, 536–37; DRC role, 533; economic growth in, 528; FDLR rebel movement and 1994 genocide in, 76–77; Habyarimana as president of, 527, 529–30; history, 528–29; intelligence oversight, 534–36; intelligence services overview, 531–33; international worker danger in, 535–36; Kagame as president of, 76, 527–28, 531–38; Kayibanda as president of, 529;

781

militarization of, 528; NISS in, 532, 536–37; Niyomwungere and, 527; politicization in, 527; RDF in, 532; RIB in, 527; RNP in, 532; RPF invasion of, 529–30; Rusesabagina abuse in, 527; SCR intelligence service, 529; securocracy in, 527; SNR arrests of citizens of, 77; Uganda RPA invasion of, 529 Rwanda Defense Forces (RDF), Burundi attack of, 76 Rwanda genocide (1994), 76–77, 527– 28, 537; intelligence and, 529–31; Tutsis and Hutus in, 530–31 Rwanda Investigation Bureau (RIB), 527 Rwandan Defense Forces (RDF), 532 Rwandan National Police (RNP), 532 Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF), Rwanda invasion by, 529–30 Rwandan Patriotic Party (RPA), Uganda, 529 Sadat, Anwar, 189 SADC. See Southern African Development Community SADR. See Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic Safe-City mass surveillance project, Mauritius, 432, 438–39 Sahel region, violent extremism in, 39 Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic (SADR), of Western Sahara: POLISARIO Front of, 703–9, 711, 711n1; SPLA and, 703 Sahrawi People’s Liberation Army (SPLA), 703 Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat (GSPC), Algeria, al-Qaeda transition from, 7 Sall, Macky, 560 SAMIFIN. See Malagasy Service for Fighting Money Laundering and Financing of Terrorism Sanches, Edalina Rodrigues, 202

782

Index

SANDF. See South African National Defence Force Sankara, Thomas, 56; assassination of, 57 dos Santos, Eduardo, 18, 24–25 dos Santos, Fernando da Piedade Dias “Nandó,” 19, 20 São Tomé and Príncipe: Angola relations, 548; background, 542–43; Brazil relations, 548; CLSPT in, 543; coup attempts, 545; democratic reforms in 1980s, 542; drug trafficking, 546; EU and, 549; EVEXI Program and, 549; FASTP intelligence services, 543, 547; financial intelligence, 547; GDS in, 543–44; geography of, 541; HUMINT use by, 542–43; intelligence culture factors, 544–46; intelligence security maritime focus, 545; international partners, 548–49; INTERPOL and, 549; key intelligence actors, events, failures, 543–44; MLSLP in, 543, 544; money laundering in, 546; National Police of, 543; Nigeria relations, 549; OSINT and TECHINT use, 543; oversight and control, 546–47; PIC in, 547; PIDE in, 543; piracy in, 545; political turbulence, 545; Portugal 1975 independence, 542, 544; Portugal colonization of, 542; Portugal relations, 548; poverty in, 544; single-party rule, 542; slave trade out of, 542; U.S. relations, 548–49 SAPS. See South African Police Service SASS. See South African Secret Service Sassou-Nguesso, Denis, 260, 503, 514– 19, 521–22 Saudi Arabia, Eritrea relations, 221–22 Sawadogo, Clément, 61 SB. See Special Branch SCR. See Central Intelligence Section

SDECE. See Service for External Documentation and CounterEspionage SDI. See Service for Documentation and Information SDS. See Documentation and Security Service Seban Keleten (72 Middle Office), Eritrea intelligence service, 217, 218 Second Congo War (1998–2003), 164; EUSEC RD CONGO intervention in, 166 Second Italo-Ethiopian War (1935– 1937), 241 Second Libyan Civil War (2014-ongoing), 366, 369 Second Republic (1975–1992), Madagascar, 381–82, 383 Second Republic (1991–present), Mozambique: PRM and, 466; RENAMO and, 461, 464–70 Secretary of State for Defense (SED), Cameroon, 101 The Security Activities of External Actors in Africa (Ismail and Skon), xix Security and Defense National Policy (PNSD), Cabo Verde, 87 Security Information Service (SIR), Cabo Verde, 83; commission supervision of, 89–90; composition of, 84–85, 86; legal framework of, 86, 91; Nascimento as director of, 90; regulation of, 89; Supervisory Commission oversight of, 85; Varela as director of, 90 Security Intelligence Services Act (1998), Botswana, 44–45 Security Operations Command Center (CECOS), Côte d’Ivoire, 151 Security Organisations Act (1987), 695, 697 security sector reform (SSR), of UNMIL, 353–58, 360, 361



Index

Security Service Act (2007), Botswana, 45; intelligence oversight by, 49–50 SED. See Secretary of State for Defense SEDOC. See General Directorate for Studies and Documentation Seiyefa, Matthew, 502 Selassie, Haile, 241 Senegal: African Lion exercise, 562; AQIM and, 562; background, 556– 58; Casamance separatist movement, 555, 557, 562; civil society protests and strikes, 555; corruption in, 558, 562; DPAF in, 560; DRN in, 560; drug trafficking, 555; France 1960 independence, 556; France relations, 556, 562; The Gambia relations, 266, 557; General Directorate of the National Police, 559; government structure, 556–57; HUMINT use in, 561; illegal immigration, 555; intelligence culture, 558–61; Kuenzi on, 557–58; Mauritania relations, 557; military in, 559; Muslim majority country, 555; National Gendarmerie in, 560–61; oversight and international links, 561–63; Sall as president of, 560; Socialist Party in, 556–57; stability and democracy in, 555, 563; Wade as president of, 557 September 11, 2001, attack (9/11), xxiv; Niger GWoT and, 489; Sudan and, 646; U.S. interest in Algerian intelligence post-, 10 Service for Documentation and Information (SDI), Benin: Kérékou creation of, 34; Mama and Moussa head of, 34; Soglohoun as director of, 35 Service for External Documentation and Counter-Espionage (SDECE), of France: in Djibouti, 175, 180; in Morocco, 447–48

783

Service for Liaison and Documentation (SLD), 30, 33; Kérékou disbanding of, 34 Service of Foreign Security branch, of Angola national security, 20 Service of Information of the Ministry of the Interior (SINFO), Angola, 20; Miala as head of, 21–22; under president authority, 22; SINSE change from, 23 Service of Intelligence and State Security (SINSE), Angola, SINFO change to, 23 Service of Military Security of the Ministry of Defence branch, of Angola national security, 20 Services of Foreign Intelligence (SIE), Angola, 23; under president authority, 22 Services of Military Intelligence (SiM), Angola, 23; under Minister of Defence, 22 72 Middle Office. See Seban Keleten Seychelles: as AU member, 577; China relations, 576–77; Cold War and, 573; colonial inheritance and dictatorship intelligence, 570–73; democracy return, 573–78; EEZ of, 573, 575; EU NAVFOR and, 578; Faure as president of, 578–79; FIU of, 574–75, 581; India relations, 576–77; intelligence clean up, 578– 80; Mancham as president of, 571; maritime competition, 569, 570, 575; Middle-East extremist interference, 570; new order of intelligence, 580– 81; piracy in, 569, 576–78; Priority Investigations contract, 572–73; Ramkalawan as president of, 570, 580–81; René as authoritarian in, 570–73, 577–79; SB in, 569–71; Seychelles Intelligence Service, 579, 581; SHIU intelligence, 571–72; Soviet Union relations, 571–72;

784

Index

SPDF in, 570; transnational threats, 570, 573–74, 579–80; TRNUC in, 578; UNODC and, 578; U.S. relations, 577 Seychelles Intelligence Service (SIS), 579, 581 Seychelles People’s Defence Force (SPDF), 570 Al-Shabab, 609, 611, 660 SHIU. See State House Intelligence Unit SIE. See Services of Foreign Intelligence Sierra Leone: Anti-Corruption Commission, 589, 590; APC in, 586–87; background, 586–88; Bio as president of, 588; CEEAC-ECCAS and, 591; China relations, 592; CISU intelligence service, 589, 590, 592–94; civil war (1991–2002), 585; corruption in, 590; diamond mining in, 586, 594; Directorate of Intelligence and Security in, 589–90; ECOWAS and, 591; FIU in, 590–91; Great Britain 1961 independence, 586; Great Britain relations, 591–92; Harris on, 586; intelligence community, 589–91; international partners and oversight, 591–93; Kabbah as president of, 588; Kno indigenous population, 586; Koroma as president of, 588; Margai as prime minister of, 586; ONS in, 589, 592, 594; RSLAF in, 588, 594; RUF invasion of, 588; SB in, 587, 590, 591; SLP intelligence service, 589, 590; SLPP in, 586; Soviet Union relations, 592; Stevens as prime minister of, 586–87; UNIPSIL and, 591; WAPIS and, 591 Sierra Leone People’s Party (SLPP), 586 Sierra Leone Police (SLP), 589, 590 signals intelligence (SIGINT): of Mauritius, 435, 440; of South Africa, 617

SIM. See Services of Military Intelligence SINFO. See Service of Information of the Ministry of the Interior SINSE. See Service of Intelligence and State Security SIR. See Security Information Service SIS. See Seychelles Intelligence Service; State Information Service SISE. See State Intelligence and Security Services Al-Sisi, Abdel Fattah, 191, 192–94 Six Days’ War (1967), South Sudan, 633 Skons, Elisabeth, xix SLD. See Service for Liaison and Documentation SLP. See Sierra Leone Police SLPP. See Sierra Leone People’s Party Smith, Mike, 216 SNASP. See National Service of Popular Security SNIA. See Somaliland National Intelligence Agency SNOLT. See National Structure for the Orientation of the Fight against Terrorism and Organized Crime SNPC. See National Civil Protection System SNR. See National Intelligence Service Sobhuza II (king), Eswatini, 228 Soglo, Christophe, 30, 31 Soglohoun, Jérôme C., 35 Soilih, Ali, 136–37 Sokoto Empire, 95, 96–98, 103 Somalia, 219; AMISOM and, 577–78, 603, 607–9; background, 602–3; Barre regime, 601–6, 609, 611; British and Italian Somaliland unification, 602; chaos and statebuilding attempts, 605–8; CIA training in, 603–4, 608–9; corruption in, 609; intelligence community 1969-1990, 606; intelligence community 2013–2020, 610;



Index

intelligence community of, 608–10; Jesira massacre in, 606; KGB in, 604; NISA in, 603, 608–9; NSS in, 602, 604–6; secret service antecedents, 603–4; Al-Shabab infiltration, 609, 611; SNIA in, 607; Somali Secret Service 1969-1990, 604–5; Soviet Union relations, 602– 3; TNG and TGF in, 603, 607 Somaliland National Intelligence Agency (SNIA), 607 Souley (Adjudant-Chef), 491–96 South Africa: ANC rule in, 22, 615–22, 624; background, 616–18; BIIS and, 615; Intelligence Services Control Act, 622–23; JSCI in, 620–23; Matthews Commission in, 620, 623; Namibia 1990 independence from, 473; Nathan on, 617–18; National Intelligence Agency, xxii, 616, 619–20, 622; National Strategic Intelligence Act, 616; NCC and, 617; New York tripartite accords and, 19; oversight and reform, 622–23; Pan Africanist Congress, 615; PASS in, 615; politicization in, 615, 618–22; RICA and, 617; SANDF in, 616; SAPS in, 616, 622; SASS foreign service, 616; SIGNIT use in, 617; TIS and, 615; UNITA support from, 16; VNIS and, 615; Zondo Commission in, 622, 623, 625n21; Zuma as president of, 618, 620, 621 South African National Defence Force (SANDF), 616 South African Police Service (SAPS), 616, 622 South African Secret Service (SASS), 616, 619 Southern African Development Community (SADC): DRC and, 166; Lesotho and, 340, 341, 346, 349n46 South Sudan: Anya-Nya group in, 633– 34; civil war (1955-1972), 633; civil war (1983-2005), 628; Cold War

785

and, 633; corruption in, 636; CPA of, 628, 631–32, 635; ethnic cleansing in, 636; ethnic communities in, 627; factionalism history, 631–32; human and environmental costs, 635–37; IDPs in, 636, 637; Juba Declaration, 631; Kiir as president of, 628–31, 636, 637; National Security Act of 2014, 630; NSS of, 628–31, 635–37; as predatory kleptocracy, 627; secession from Sudan, 647; Six Days’ War of 1967, 633; SPLM/A and, 627–32, 634–36; SSDF in, 635; surveillance in, 630; during two civil wars, 633–35; UNMISS in, 627 South Sudan Defense Force (SSDF), 635 South West African People’s Organization (SWAPO), 473–74, 476–79, 481; Soviet Union and, 475; Zambia and, 475 de Souza, Paul-Emile, 32 Soviet Union: Angola relations, 16, 25–26; CAR relationship, 114–15, 119nn33–34; Equatorial Guinea relations, 205; Ethiopia relations, 246; Macias Nguema relations, 201; MPLA support from, 16; Operation Red Carpet between Algeria and, 3, 9; ROC relations, 515; Seychelles relations, 571–72; Sierra Leone relations, 592; SWAPO and, 475; Togo relations, 674 Sowe, Ousman, 272 Spain, Equatorial Guinea 1968 independence, 199, 200 SPDF. See Seychelles People’s Defence Force Special Branch (SB): Botswana Police intelligence duties of, 44; Ghana, 277, 279–82; Kenya, 319–21, 323, 328; Lesotho, 336; Malawi, 392, 393, 396–99; Seychelles, 569–71; Sierra Leone, 587, 590, 591; Zimbabwe, 733

786

Index

Special Forces of Intervention (FIS), Madagascar, 382 Special Intelligence Unit, Ghana, 277 Special Section, Egypt, 188 SPLA. See Sahrawi People’s Liberation Army SPLM/A. See Sudan People’s Liberation Movement/Army SPS. See Sudan Political Service SRB. See State Research Bureau SSA. See Sudanese Security Apparatus SSDF. See South Sudan Defense Force SSIS. See State Security Investigations Service SSN. See National Security System SSO. See State Security Organization SSR. See security sector reform State Documentation Service Directorate (DSDE), CAR, 111, 115 State House Intelligence Unit (SHIU), Seychelles, 571–72 State Information Service (SIS), Guinea-Bissau, 309–10 State Intelligence and Security Services (SISE), Mozambique, 462, 465–69 State Intelligence Service (SIS), The Gambia, 271, 273; Dibba and Sowe as director of, 272 State Research Bureau (SRB), Uganda, 693 state secret, Cabo Verde and, 85, 92n9 State Security General Directorate (DGSE), Mali, 407, 408, 409 State Security Investigations Service (SSIS), Egypt, 186, 191 State Security Organization (SSO), Sudan, 644 State Security Service (SSS), Nigeria, 499, 509; Daura as director of, 502; directors from 1986-2020, 503; EFCC and, 507; history and functions, 500–501; human rights violations, 502, 508; inadequate technology of, 507–8; interagency rivalry, 507; international

nongovernmental organizations impact on, 505; under ONSA, 503, 506; Seiyefa as director of, 502; structure of, 504, 505; training schools for, 501–2 Stevens, Siaka, 586–87 Strategic Concept of Defense and National Security (CEDSN), Cabo Verde, 84, 86–87 Sudan: Ali Nafie as NISS director, 646; as autocratic state, 642; alBashir as dictator of, 641–47, 649–50; corruption in, 642, 649; Empowerment Elimination, AntiCorruption and Funds Recovery Committee, 649; FFC in, 647–48; GIS in, 641–42, 648–49, 651–52; Gosh in, 646, 651; HUMINT use by, 643; Islamic terrorist ties, 646; Islamization of, 645–46; Nimeiry reign in, 644–45; 9/11 and, 646; NISS human rights abuses, 647; NISS of, 629, 641–42, 646–49; NSO of, 644; partition in 2011 of, 647; PSD of, 643; PSO of, 643–44, 645; RSF and, 641; South Sudan secession, 647; SPS of, 643; SSA civilian intelligence agency, 645; SSO intelligence service, 644; Sudanese intelligence institutional character, 645–47; Sudanese intelligence lineage, 643–45; Sudanese intelligence reform, 647– 49; TMC of, 648 Sudanese Security Apparatus (SSA), Sudan, 645 Sudan People’s Liberation Movement/ Army (SPLM/A), 627–32, 634–36 Sudan Political Service (SPS), 643 Suleiman, Omar, 193 Sundiata, Ibrahim K., 199 Supervisory Commission, SIR oversight by, 85 surveillance: in Algeria, 8, 11; Burundi household books, 75; in Eritrea, 216,



Index

217; France and Niger, 487; HRW on Ethiopia, 247; Liberia security capacity for, 359–61; Libya as state of, 368; Mauritius mass, 432, 436– 39; Namibia technology, 478–79; in Niger, 487, 489–90, 496; Tunisia mass, 684 SWAPO. See South West African People’s Organization Taiwan, Eswatini relations, 233 Talon, Patrice, 36; National Intelligence Council established by, 39 Tanganyika African National Union (TANU) party, Tanzania, 656 Tanganyika Rifles, in Tanzania, 655, 657 TANU. See Tanganyika African National Union Tanzania: anti-poaching efforts, 664; CCM in power in, 661–62; Cold War involvement, 656, 657, 665; corruption in, 660; coup stopped by Britain, 655; decolonization, 656–57; drug trafficking interception by, 663– 64; Great Britain 1961 independence, 656; history, 656–58; human trafficking combat by, 664; Kikwete as president of, 663; liberalization reforms during 1980s, 658; Magufuli as president of, 655, 663; new intelligence service, 658–61; Nyerere as president of, 656, 657; oversight and political role, 661–63; PDA of, 657, 658; People’s Defence Force, 656; politicization of, 655; alQaeda 1998 U.S. embassy bombing, 655, 658–61, 665; successes and challenges, 663–64; Tanganyika Rifles in, 655, 657; TANU party in, 656; TISS intelligence service, 655, 659–64; Uganda–Tanzania war, 656, 658; U.S., Israel intelligence service training, 657; Zanzibar relations, 657–58

787

Tanzania Intelligence and Security Service (TISS): Athumani as chief of, 662; Kipilimba as director of, 655; Makungum as external operations director, 655; torturing and killing by, 662 Tanzania Intelligence and Security Service Act (1996), 659 Tanzania National Security Council Act (2010), 661 Tartag, Athmane, 5 Taya, Maaouya Ould Sid’Ahmed, 420 Taylor, Charles, 355, 588 TECHINT. See technical intelligence Technical Agency for Telecommunications, Tunisia, 684 technical intelligence (TECHINT), São Tomé and Príncipe use of, 543 Technical Intelligence Directorate (TRD), Islamist fighters followed by, 8 technology, xxiv; Pegasus spyware, 453, 457n22; TECHINT, 543. See also surveillance terrorism, xxiv; Boko Haram, 39, 99, 487, 506, 507; Comoros financing of, 140–41; Côte d’Ivoire transnational, 153; Egypt Mukhabarat intelligence service on transnational, 186–87; Ethiopia and U.S. fight against, 246; GWoT, 8, 446, 449, 451–52, 489; Kenya and, 326–27; Mali Islamist, 405, 412; Tunisia threats from, 680– 81; U.S. and Tanzania partnership in fight against Islamic, 659. See also counterterrorism; al-Qaeda; Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb; September 11, 2001 attack TFG. See transitional federal government Third International (Jamahiriya) philosophy, of al-Gaddafi, 365, 366; AIC wing of, 367 Third Republic, Zambia ZSIS in, 720–21

788

Index

Third Republic (1992–2010), Madagascar, 382 Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF), 242–43 TIS. See Transkei Intelligence Service TISS. See Tanzania Intelligence and Security Service TMC. See Transitional Military Council TNG. See transitional national government Togo: Amnesty International on military human rights abuses, 671; ANR in, 671, 673; background, 670–72; civil–military relations in, 669; ECOWAS on, 670, 673, 674; EU reform efforts, 672–73; Eyadéma dynastic rule, 669, 670; FAT in, 670, 671, 674; France 1960 independence, 669; France relations, 674; Germany original colonization of, 669; Gnassingbé as president of, 669, 670, 673, 674; Grunizky as president of, 670; human rights abuses, 674; intelligence and security regime protection, 671–72; Olympio as president of, 670; oversight, governance and international partners, 673–74; reform prospects, 672–73; repression in, 674; RPT of, 670, 671; Soviet Union relations, 674 Togolese Armed Forces (FAT), Togo, 670, 671, 674 Tolbert, William, 355 Touadéra, Faustin-Archange, 109, 114–15 Toufik. See Mediène, Mohamed Toumbalbaye, François, 121, 123; CTS paramilitary under, 122 Touré, Ahmed Sékou, 293; MarxistLeninist doctrine, 292 TPLF. See Tigray People’s Liberation Front transitional federal government (TGF), Somalia, 603, 607

Transitional Military Council (TMC), Sudan, 648 transitional national government (TNG), Somalia, 603, 607 Transkei Intelligence Service (TIS), 615 transnational crime, in Gulf of Guinea region, 39 transnational terrorism: Côte d’Ivoire, 153; Egypt Mukhabarat and, 186–87 Transparency International, Nigeria SSS and, 505 Trans-Sahara Counterterrorism Partnership (2005), with U.S., 409 TRD. See Technical Intelligence Directorate Treverton, Gregory F., xix; on politicization, 43, 46–47 TRNUC. See Truth Reconciliation and National Unity Commission TRRC. See Truth, Reconciliation, and Reparation Commission True Whig Party (TWP), Liberia, 354–55 Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Act (2008), Kenya, 323, 328 Truth, Reconciliation, and Reparation Commission (TRRC), on The Gambia NIA human rights violations, 266, 271, 273 Truth Reconciliation and National Unity Commission (TRNUC), Seychelles, 578–79 Tsheehama, Peter “Tshirumbu,” 476, 477, 480 Tshisekedi, Félix, 161 Tsholofelo, Lesego: on Botswana intelligence activities 1923, 44; on Botswana oversight, 50; on DIS, 47 Tsiranana, Philibert, 381, 383 Tunisia: BCAP U.S. partnership with, 682; bin Ali autocratic regime, 677; bin Ali intelligence services 19872011, 677, 678–79; censorship, 677; COAAFA and, 683; control and



Index

oversight, 682–85; CSD and, 683; Defense Intelligence and Security Agency, 679, 680; democracy transition, 681; DSE in, 678, 686n4; free media in, 685, 688n55; GDNG in, 678, 680; GDNS in, 678, 680, 686n4; GDPSPPO in, 678, 680; human rights abuses, 677, 684; HUMINT sources use, 680; INPDP and, 684; intelligence culture issues, 680–82; intelligence services 2011 to present, 679–80; Jasmine Revolution and, 679; judicial review, 684; Libya as national security threat, 680; mass surveillance use, 684; MOI in, 678, 680, 682, 683; as NATO nonvoting member, 681; NIC in, 683, 687n25; NSC and, 682; popular uprising 2011 in, 677; PSSDI in, 678–79, 686n4; Technical Agency for Telecommunications in, 684; terrorist threats to, 680–81 Tutsis: in Burundi, 70; Rwanda genocide and, 530–31 TWP. See True Whig Party UAE. See United Arab Emirates UDC. See Umbrella for Democratic Change UEDF. See Umbutfo Eswatini Defence Force UFM. See Uganda Freedom Movement Uganda: under Amin rule, 1971–1979, 658, 683; ESO in, 695, 697, 698; FEDEMO in, 694; Great Britain 1962 independence, 691; GSU in, 692–93; human rights abuses, 698, 699; intelligence accountability and oversight, 697; intelligence culture ruptures and continuities, 697–98; intelligence services development, 692; ISO in, 695, 697, 698; JATT in, 698; Kenya relations, 321–22; Museveni as president of, 534–35; under Museveni government,

789

1986–present, 694–95; NASA of, 694; nonstatutory intelligence and security services, 695–96; NRC in, 695; NRM/A of, 694–95, 697–99; NSC in, 697; under Oboe and Lutwa governments, 1979-1986, 694; under Obote government 1962– 1971, 692–93; PSU in, 693; RPA Rwanda invasion by, 529; Security Organisations Act, 695, 697; SRB in, 693; UFM and, 694 Uganda Freedom Movement (UFM), 694 Uganda People Congress-King Only (UPC-KY) political party, 692–93 Uganda–Tanzania war, 656, 658 UGP. See Unit of the Presidential Guard ULGB. See Unit Against Organized Crime Umbrella for Democratic Change (UDC), Botswana: DIS election rigging and, 49; DIS harassment of, 48; DIS target of, 49 Umbutfo Eswatini Defence Force (UEDF), 231–32 UMP. See Union for the Presidential Majority UN. See United Nations UN Integrated Peacebuilding Office in Sierra Leone (UNIPSIL), 591 Union for the Presidential Majority (UMP), Djibouti, 176–77, 179, 181 Union of the People of Cameroon (UPC): ANLK creation, 98; revolution of 1950s, 95 UNIP. See United National Independence Party, Zambia UNIPSIL. See UN Integrated Peacebuilding Office in Sierra Leone UNITA. See National Union for the Total Liberation of Angola Unit Against Organized Crime (ULGB), Ouattara creation of, 154 United Arab Emirates (UAE), Eritrea relations, 221–22

790

Index

United Kingdom. See Great Britain United National Independence Party (UNIP), Zambia, 720 United Nations (UN): Commission of Inquiry on Eritrea, 214, 218–20; Comoros ties to, 138; MINUSMA, 406, 411, 412–15; Ndayishimiye investigation by, 76 United Nations Mission in Liberia (UNMIL), SSR of, 353–58, 360, 361 United Nations Mission in South Sudan (UNMISS), 627 United Nations Office for Drugs and Crime (UNODC), Seychelles and, 578 United Nations Organization (UNO), Nigeria and, 505 United States (U.S.): Algerian intelligence interest post-9/11, 10; BCAP Tunisia partnership, 682; CAR humanitarian aid, 112; Chad intelligence and, 129–30; Comoros ties to, 138; counterterrorism cooperation with Comoros, 139; DDS backed by, 125; Djibouti relationship, 177; Egypt relations, 192; Equatorial Guinea bilateral aid from, 205; Ethiopia military training, 242; Ethiopia relations, 246; Gabon relations, 260; Guinea-Bissau relations, 312; Habré support by, 124; Iraq invasion by, 44; Mobutu support by, 160, 162, 166; Mobutu support withdrawal, 163; Morocco relations, 451–52; Niger and surveillance, 487; Nigeria relations, 504–5; Niger intelligence and surveillance apparatus, 490; al-Qaeda 198 Kenya embassy bombing, 324, 659; al-Qaeda 1998 Tanzania U.S. embassy bombing, 655, 658–61, 665; São Tomé and Príncipe relations, 548–49; Seychelles relations, 577; Tanzania intelligence training, 657;

Trans-Sahara Counterterrorism Partnership with Nigeria, 489 Unit of the Presidential Guard (UGP), Angola, 23 UNMIL. See United Nations Mission in Liberia UNMISS. See United Nations Mission in South Sudan UNO. See United Nations Organization UNODC. See United Nations Office for Drugs and Crime UN Police (UNPOL), Liberia training by, 356; Liberia LNP reform, 358 UPC. See Union of the People of Cameroon UPC-KY. See Uganda People CongressKing Only Upper Volta. See Burkina Faso U.S. See United States Usman Dan Fodio revolution, 96–97 Vall, Ely Ould Mohamed, 421, 423 Van-Dunem, José, 17 Van Puyvelde, Damien, xviii Varela, António, 90 VDPs. See Homeland Defense Volunteers Venda National Intelligence Service (VNIS), South Africa and, 615 Vieira, Joao Bernardo, 307–8 Vision 2016 initiative, Botswana, 45 VNIS. See Venda National Intelligence Service Voice of America (VOA), on SNR atrocities, 73–74 Wade, Abdoulaye, 557 WAPIS. See West African Police Information System Warsai Yekalo Development Campaign, 215 Weah, George, 359–60 Weber, Max, 488 West Africa, violent extremism in, 39



Index

West African Police Information System (WAPIS), Sierra Leone, 591 Western Sahara, 714n27; Green March, 448, 707, 713n20; insecurity historical stages, 704–7; MINURSO security, 704, 709–10, 712n5; monitoring of, 709–10; SADR, 703–9, 711, 711n1; Saharan provinces, 703; sociocultural dimensions of, 707–9 World of Oath, DIS relationship with, 48 Xi Jinping, 25 Yayi, Boni, 36 Years of Lead, in Morocco (1960– 1990s), 449 Yemen crisis of 2015, 579 Zaire, UNITA support from, 16 Zambia: Chiluba as president of, 717; enduring concerns in, 722–24; Great Britain 1964 independence, 719; intelligence colonial pedigree, 718–20; Katumbi connection, 724– 26, 728n38; Kaunda as president of, 719–20; SWAPO conflict, 475; UNIP of, 720; Zamtrop incident transcripts, 721–22; ZSIS in, 717–18, 720–21, 724–27, 728n18

791

Zambia Security Intelligence Service (ZSIS), 718; Chungu as director of, 717, 724–25; M’membe on, 726–27, 728n18; in Third Republic, 720–21 Zamtrop incident transcripts, 721–22, 725 ZANU. See Zimbabwe African National Union Zanzibar, Tanzania relations, 657–58 Al-Zawahiri, Mohammed, 681 Zero Three or 03. See Bado Seleste Zewde, Bahru, 240, 242–43 Zimbabwe: background, 732; CIO of, 731; Cold War and, 731, 735, 741; FISB of, 733; Rhodesian secret service 1913–1980, 733–35, 736; SB and, 733; secret police 1980–2020, 735–40, 740 Zimbabwe African National Union (ZANU), Mugabe and, 732, 733, 737–39 Zinsou, Emile Derlin, 32 Zondo Commission, in South Africa, 622, 623, 625n21 Zongo, Norbert, 58 ZSIS. See Zambia Security Intelligence Service Zuma, Jacob, 618, 620, 621

Contributors

Sandy Africa is an associate professor of political sciences at the University of Pretoria, South Africa. Prior to this, she served in several senior roles in the post-apartheid intelligence services. Her first book, Well-Kept Secrets: The Right of Access to Information and the South African Intelligence Services, examines the themes of accountability and oversight of intelligence services in a post-authoritarian democracy. Africa has worked extensively with African scholars, practitioners, and civil society organizations, such as the African Security Sector Network, to promote democratic governance and accountability of the security services, particularly in post-conflict contexts. https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8166-0745. Kasaija Phillip Apuuli is an associate professor of political science in the Department of Political Science and Public Administration at Makerere University Kampala, Uganda. He holds a DPhil in international law from the University of Sussex, United Kingdom. He is a 2010 British Academy Visiting Scholar at the African Studies Centre (ASC), University of Oxford, United Kingdom; and 2016 Fulbright Scholar-in-Residence, University of South Florida (St. Petersburg) and Stetson School of Law (Gulfport) Florida, United States. Philip Attuquayefio is a senior research fellow on leave of absence at the Legon Centre for International Affairs and Diplomacy, Ghana. He coordinates the Regional Stabilization Strategy for Boko Haram-affected countries of the Lake Chad Basin at the Political Affairs Peace and Security Department of the African Union Commission. https://orcid.org/0000-0002-9654-2140

793

794

Contributors

Paul Chiudza Banda is assistant professor of history at Tarleton State University, Texas, United States. He received his PhD in history from West Virginia University and has published many book chapters and journal articles. These have appeared in The Journal of the Middle East and Africa, African Studies Quarterly, African Studies Review, The Journal of Eastern African Studies, The Society of Malawi Journal, and The Journal of Public Administration and Development Alternatives. His latest book is The State, Counterinsurgency, and Political Policing in Colonial and Postcolonial Malawi, 1891–1994. He is also a columnist for Diplomatist Magazine. https:// orcid.org/0000-0001-9835-4218 Daniel Kofi Banini is an instructor of comparative politics and public policy in the Political Science Department at Eastern Illinois University, United States. He received his PhD in security studies from the School of Politics, Security, and International Affairs at the University of Central Florida, United States. His research agenda sits at the intersection of comparative politics and international relations, with individual research projects focusing on environmental security, conflict processes, and governance, emphasizing sub-Saharan Africa. Banini’s scholarship appears in publications such as African Security and Small Wars & Insurgencies. https://orcid.org/0000 -0002-6885-5879 János Besenyö is a professor in the Doctoral School for Safety and Security Sciences and director of the African Research Institute at Óbuda University, Hungary. Between 1987 and 2018 he served as a professional soldier and served in several peace operations in Africa and Afghanistan. He received a PhD in military science from Miklós Zrínyi National Defense University (Hungary) and a habilitated doctorate at Eötvös Lórant University (Hungary). In 2014 he established the Scientific Research Center of the Hungarian Defence Forces General Staff, and he was its first leader from 2014 to 2018. His most recent publication is Darfur Peacekeepers: The African Union Peacekeeping Mission in Darfur (AMIS) from the Perspective of a Hungarian Military Advisor. https://orcid.org/0000-0001-7198-9328 Morten Bøås is a research professor at the Norwegian Institute of International Affairs. He has extensive fieldwork experience in Africa, including Liberia. Bøås’s most recently published books include Africa’s Insurgents: Navigating an Evolving Landscape (Lynne Rienner, with Kevin Dunn) and Doing Fieldwork in Areas of International Intervention: A Guide to Research in Violent and Closed Contexts (with Berit Bliesemann de Guevara).



Contributors

795

Lennart Bolliger is a lecturer in the Department of History and Art History at Utrecht University, the Netherlands. He has been a visiting researcher at the University of the Witwatersrand and a postdoctoral fellow in the Institute for Asian and African Studies at the Humboldt University of Berlin. His research interests lie in the history of southern Africa, particularly soldiering and militaries, liberation struggles and their legacies, and the links between gender and militarism. His first book, Apartheid’s Black Soldiers: Unnational Wars and Militaries in Southern Africa, examines the history of Black soldiers from Namibia, Angola, and Zaire, who fought in apartheid-era South Africa’s security forces during the Cold War. His research has also been published in the Journal of Southern African Studies and the South African Historical Journal. https://orcid.org/0000-0001-9999-7418 Luca Bussotti is an associate visiting professor at the Federal University of Pernambuco (Brazil) and a researcher at the International Studies Center of ISCTE (Lisbon, Portugal). His research is on Lusophone Africa, namely in the fields of politics, state security, human rights, and journalism. He is the author of about twenty books and one hundred articles in important scientific journals, and he has served as the Mozambique country expert for the program V-Dem managed by the University of Gothenburg, Sweden. Blanca Camps-Febrer obtained her PhD in politics, policies and international Relations at the Autonomous University of Barcelona, Spain with a dissertation on the political economy of security in Morocco. A political scientist with a master’s degree in international relations, security, and development, she researches issues related to critical security studies, transnationalism, and feminist studies in Northern Africa and West Asia. She currently teaches at the Autonomous University of Barcelona and at Ramon Llull University, and is a contributor and the vice-president of the Delas Center for Peace Studies. https://orcid.org/0000-0002-1779-4551. Nilton Fernandes Cardoso is an assistant professor at the University of Cabo Verde. He is also a researcher at the Brazilian Centre for African Studies and at the Center for International Studies on Government. He earned a PhD and master’s degree in international strategic studies at the Federal University of Rio Grande do Sul (UFRGS), Brazil, and a bachelor’s degree in international relations at UFRGS. https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8092-4999 Adam Charboneau is an urban and environmental historian who focuses on public policy, race, and the politics of spatial transformation. He earned a PhD in history and is a lecturer in Sustainability Studies

796

Contributors

at Stony Brook University’s School of Marine and Atmospheric Sciences. His publications include a chapter in Coastal Metropolis: Environmental Histories of Modern New York City. https://orcid.org/0000-0002 -4262-6664 Juste Codjo is an assistant professor of security studies and director of the Doctor of Science in Civil Security Program at the New Jersey City University, United States. Prior to academia, he served as an army officer in the Benin armed forces for nearly twenty-five years. His teaching and research interests revolve around national and international security, especially political violence, civil conflicts, civil-military relations, African security, US–African security cooperation, and political governance and institutions. A trained political scientist and historian, he uses qualitative and statistical methods in his research. His work has appeared in major peer-reviewed journals, including African Studies Review, Foreign Policy Analysis, and International Studies Review. He published a book in French that proposes a model of consencracy, a consensus-based system of political governance inspired by research in political science and tailored to the sociological, economic, and geopolitical contexts of African countries like Benin. Dimpho Deleglise is an international politics and governance consultant, a post-doctoral researcher at the Peace Research Institute Frankfurt (PRIF) in Germany, and a Research Associate at the Institute for Pan African Thought and Conversation (IPATC) at the University of Johannesburg in South Africa. She writes on structural conflict transformation, peacebuilding effectiveness and governance and security sector reform in African countries. Deleglise has worked with regional governments, development agencies, and civil society organizations to promote civil society and democratic oversight of the security sector in countries emerging from conflicts and political instability on the African continent. Maggie Dwyer is a lecturer in the School of Social and Political Science at University of Edinburgh (United Kingdom) and a Global Fellow at the Peace Research Institute Oslo. She focuses on politics and security in West Africa and is author of the book Soldiers in Revolt: Army Mutinies in Africa. https:// orcid.org/0000-0001-8149-9453 Joseph Fitsanakis is a professor of intelligence and security studies at Coastal Carolina University, United States, where he teaches courses on intelligence analysis, intelligence dissemination, intelligence operations, human intelligence collection, and intelligence in the Cold War, among other



Contributors

797

subjects. He has written extensively on intelligence policy and practice, intelligence collection, information security, communications interception, cyber espionage, and transnational criminal networks. Before joining Coastal Carolina University, Fitsanakis built the Security and Intelligence Studies Program at King University, where he also directed the King Institute for Security and Intelligence Studies. He is also deputy director of the European Intelligence Academy and senior editor at intelNews.org. http://orcid .org/0000-0003-0942-7505 Mirco Göpfert is professor for social and cultural anthropology at Goethe University Frankfurt, Germany. He is the author of Policing the Frontier: An Ethnography of Two Worlds in Niger and coeditor of Police in Africa: The Street Level View. https://orcid.org/0000-0003-0170-5742 Jeremy Gould is professor emeritus of international development studies, and a docent at the Department of Social and Cultural Anthropology at the University of Helsinki, Finland. His Postcolonial Legality: Law, Power and Politics in Zambia examines the roots of postcolonial presidentialism in imperial constitutionalism. Ketil Fred Hansen is professor of social sciences at the University of Stavanger, Norway. He has been working in and on Francophone Africa for the last twenty-five years. Hansen’s latest publications about Chad are “Chad: Realpolitik and Aspirational Deprivation,” in Oxford Handbook on the African Sahel; “Chad: Armed Presidents and Politics,” in Oxford Research Encyclopedia of Politics; “Regime Security in Chad: How the Western War on Terror Saved the Chadian Dictatorial Regime,” in Ante Portas—Studia nad Bezpieczeństwem; and “Chad: How an Oil Pipeline Agreement to Enhance Democracy and Development Became a Resource Curse,” in Savoir et corruption. He also wrote the country chapter on Chad in Africa Year Book from 2015 to 2021. Ernest Harsch is a New York–based journalist and academic who has written extensively on African political and development issues since the early 1970s. In addition to numerous newspaper and magazine articles, he has published dozens of journal essays and book chapters, as well as books on South Africa and Angola. His most recent books were on Burkina Faso: Thomas Sankara: An African Revolutionary (2014) and Burkina Faso: A History of Power, Protest and Revolution (2017), which drew on nearly four decades of research on that country. He also worked on African issues at the United Nations for more than two decades, including as managing editor of the UN’s

798

Contributors

quarterly journal Africa Renewal. He holds a PhD in sociology from the New School for Social Research and is a research scholar at Columbia University’s Institute of African Studies, United States. Jude Kagoro is a postdoctoral fellow at the Institute for Intercultural and International Studies (InIIS), Bremen University, Germany. At InIIS he has worked on the Policing in Africa Project; directed a research project called Figurations of Internationalized Rule in Africa, funded by the German Research Foundation and is currently a senior researcher in the Knowledge Production in Peace and Security Policy research project. His current research focuses on African Union Mission in Somalia (AMISOM), particularly the strategies and approaches that inform the Uganda Peoples Defense Forces’ (UPDF) intervention in Somalia. Kagoro has published widely on militarization and policing in Uganda and has been a consultant for the Rwanda National Police and the Uganda Police Force. In 2018 Kagoro was awarded the Golden Jubilee medal by Ugandan president Yoweri Museveni for his contributions to the professionalization of the Uganda Police Force. Previously, Kagoro served in the Office of the President Kampala, Uganda, as an analyst. Jumana Kawar served as a faculty associate at the Naval Postgraduate School (United States) for four years and as a nonresident scholar with the Middle East Institute’s Defense and Security Program from 2020 to 2021. During her graduate studies, she interned with Al-Hayat newspaper at the United Nations and the Arab Studies Institute. Kawar holds a master’s degree in global affairs from New York University and a bachelor’s degree in political science from the University of Illinois at Chicago. She also holds a certificate in international studies from the Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies and a certificate in regional security studies from the Naval Postgraduate School. Réjeanne Lacroix holds a master’s degree in international security studies from the University of Leicester, United Kingdom. Her area of focus is the post-Soviet space, primarily de facto states and unresolved conflicts, as well as the Balkans. Lacroix has contributed thoughtful and balanced analysis on such matters to various sources. She has been affiliated with nonprofit organizations that have tackled issues such as counterterrorism, counterextremism, and foreign policy, in the roles of research fellow, adviser, and editor in chief. Manu Lekunze is a lecturer in international relations at the University of Aberdeen, United Kingdom. His research interests include security theory, political order (domestic and international), maritime security, African security,



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counterinsurgency strategy and complexity science. He has authored books, peer-reviewed journal articles, book chapters and op-eds that cover national security, strategy, intelligence, political economy, complexity science and ideology. His monographs on security in Cameroon (2019) and contemporary challenges to African security (2020) were published in paperback in 2021. Charlie Lizza holds a master’s degree in intelligence and security studies from King’s College London, United Kingdom. Lizza’s research includes organizational learning within intelligence and security agencies as well as the practice and theory of intelligence. João Paulo Madeira is an assistant professor at the University of Cabo Verde. He is also a researcher at the Center for Public Administration and Public Policies. Madeira earned his PhD in social sciences from the University of Lisbon, Portugal. He was also a postdoctoral fellow in 2018 with the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation at the FCT NOVA (Portugal) as a member of the network REALP. https://orcid.org/0000-0002-0016-8167 Florina Cristina Matei is a lecturer at the Center for Homeland Defense and Security at the Naval Postgraduate School, United States. She earned her bachelor’s in physics at the University of Bucharest (Romania), then worked for the Romanian Ministry of Defense as a civilian subject matter expert. Matei later earned a master’s degree in international security affairs and civil-military relations at the Naval Postgraduate School and her PhD in the War Studies Department at King’s College London, United Kingdom. She is the coeditor of both The Routledge Handbook of Civil-Military Relations and The Conduct of Intelligence in Democracies: Processes, Practices, Cultures. Currently serving as vice section chair of the Intelligence Studies Section of the International Studies Association, Matei is the associate editor of the International Journal of Intelligence and Counterintelligence. Ra Mason holds a double-degree PhD from the University of Sheffield (United Kingdom) and Tohoku University, Japan. He was course leader of Asia Pacific Studies at the University of Central Lancashire and a JSPS Fellow, researching nationalism in Okinawa at the University of the Ryukyus, before being appointed associate professor in public policy at Tohoku University. He moved to the University of East Anglia in 2016 to become Sasakawa Associate Professor in international relations and Japanese foreign policy. Mason is author of Japan’s Relations with North Korea and the Recalibration of Risk and coauthor of Regional Risk and Security in Japan and Risk State. He has published numerous articles on Japan’s international relations,

800

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including pieces on Djibouti, the United States, Okinawa, and both Koreas, in addition to contributing scholarship to ASAN Forum, Asahi Shimbun, and The Conversation UK. He is currently working on an interdisciplinary project examining the contested sovereignty of Djibouti. Mopeli L. Moshoeshoe is a lecturer in the Department of International Relations at the University of the Witwatersrand, South Africa. His teaching and research areas include South Africa’s foreign policy, Africa’s international relations, and international political economy, with a strong focus on development issues, north–south relations, and regionalism. https://orcid.org/0000 -0003-1816-6271 Linganaden Murday is an alumnus of the African Leadership Centre (King’s College London, United Kingdom) Peace and Security Programme for African Scholars. He holds a bachelor’s degree in history with international relations from the University of Mauritius; a master’s degree in international law and politics from University of Hull, United Kingdom; and a master’s degree in security, leadership, and society from King’s College London. Linganaden is a lecturer at the University of Mauritius, where he teaches international institutions, international relations, and human rights in world politics. https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1037-2871 Laura António Nhaueleque obtained her PhD in intercultural studies at the Open University of Lisbon in Portugal, where she is a researcher. She is the author of books published in Italy about African religious and local traditions, with particular emphasis on Makhuwa culture (north of Mozambique). Nhaueleque is also the author of articles in international journals about African religions and philosophy. Her recent publications are related to human rights and police in Mozambique. Nhaueleque is also a professor of postgraduate courses at the Higher Monitor Institute of Mozambique. Timothy Nicholson is an assistant professor of history at Farmingdale State College, United States. He is interested in broad questions of decolonization and the intersection between local, imperial, and Cold War politics and culture. Nicholson’s past work examined how students took advantage of international opportunities to study abroad during the late colonial and early postcolonial periods. https://orcid.org/0000-0003-3572-3703 David Andrew Omona is a senior lecturer and dean in the School of Social Sciences at Uganda Christian University; a national coordinator for Religious Leaders’ Justice and Peace Network; a researcher; a Transitional Justice



Contributors

801

Fellow; and a trainer of trainers in peace building and conflict resolution in the East and Greater Horn of Africa. He holds a PhD in political studies/ international relations and diplomacy, a master’s degree in international relations and diplomacy, a master’s degree in theology, and a bachelor’s degree in education, and has several specialized diplomas and certificates. He has done extensive research on conflicts in Africa, the Great Lakes region and Uganda in particular. His current research interest is in transitional justice, peace building and conflict resolution, and ethics. https://orcid.org/0000 -0002-4387-7094 Lawrence Ookeditse is a researcher and political science/international relations lecturer at the University of Botswana. A convener of the Botswana Jobs Summit, he is also a former director of youth/policy specialist for the government of Botswana in the Ministry of Youth Empowerment Sport and Culture Development. Ookeditse holds a bachelor’s degree in political science and a master’s degree in politics and international relations. His research interests include national security, Africa–China relations, peace building, and international political economy. Ookeditse is currently writing about national security and the health-care reform implications of COVID-19. Juvence F. Ramasy is currently a lecturer in political science at the University of Toamasina, Madagascar. He holds a PhD in political science from the University Toulouse 1 Capitole, France. His dissertation was titled “State and the Implementation of Democracy in the Islands of the Southwest Indian Ocean: the case of Madagascar and Mauritius” (2010). Ramasy has been a visiting scholar at several universities in Africa, Asia, and Europe. His current research activities focus on state, political elites, security forces, electoral processes, and democracy in sub-Saharan Africa. He has published several academic papers and served as a sub-Saharan Africa analyst for Freedom House, Global Integrity, Bertelsmann Stiftung (BTI), and Varieties of Democracy (V-DEM). Ramasy also works as a consultant for national and international organizations in the field of democratic, parliamentary, electoral governance, as well as on military and security issues. https://orcid.org/0000 -0001-7880-1762 Adrien M. Ratsimbaharison is currently a professor of political science in the Department of Social Sciences and Criminal Justice, Benedict College, United States. He earned his PhD in international studies from University of South Carolina in 1999. Ratsimbaharison also earned a graduate degree in history from the University of Antananarivo (Madagascar). Before moving to Benedict College in 2010, he taught and served as the Department of

802

Contributors

Social Science chair at Allen University, United States. He also served as a country analyst or expert on various African countries (including Madagascar, Comoros, Seychelles, and Djibouti) for a number of organizations, such as Freedom House, Varieties of Democracy, and Gerson Lehrman Group. Ratsimbaharison’s areas of specialization include the issues of development, democratization, and armed conflicts in Africa. He is the author of The Political Crisis of March 2009 in Madagascar (Rowman & Littlefield). https:// orcid.org/0000-0002-6733-5134 Ashton Robinson is an honorary fellow at the School of Social and Political Sciences at the University of Melbourne, Australia. After completing a master’s degree in African history at Australian National University in Canberra, he served in Australia’s Department of Foreign Affairs, its Defence Intelligence Organisation, the Iraq Survey Group, and the Office of National Assessments. He is the author of René and Postcolonial Seychelles. https:// orcid.org/0000-0002-4590-0403 Martin R. Rupiya is the executive director of the Dag Hammarskjöld Institute for Peace & Conflict Studies, University of the Copperbelt, Kitwe, Zambia. He has been a researcher at many think tanks, including the Institute for Peace & Security in Pretoria, South Africa; the Institute for Peace & Security Studies in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia; and the African Renaissance Studies at the University of South Africa. Rupiya has lectured at universities including the University of Zimbabwe, University of Witwatersrand in South Africa, and Cranfield University in the United Kingdom. He has published extensively on African conflicts, focusing on civil continents’ military relations. Madison Scholar holds a master’s degree in peace and conflict resolution from the University of Manchester in the United Kingdom, which was funded through a Rotary Global Grant Scholarship. Prior to studying at Manchester, she completed her undergraduate studies at Coastal Carolina University in the United States, where she was also a Fellow of the Dyer Institute for Leadership and Public Policy. Her research focuses on analyzing conflict in various regions, including Jordan, Mexico, and several countries in Africa. Ryan Shaffer has a PhD in history with expertise in extremism and security. He has written for international magazines, including Reader’s Digest and Homeland Security Today, and his academic research has appeared in journals such as Studies in Conflict & Terrorism, Intelligence and National Security, and the Journal of Intelligence History. Shaffer’s books include



Contributors

803

African Intelligence Services: Early Postcolonial and Contemporary Challenges. https://orcid.org/0000-0002-6766-2194 Gábor Sinkó is a junior researcher at the Africa Research Institute at the Doctoral School of Safety and Security Sciences at Óbuda University, Hungary. His research interests include African terrorist organizations and intelligence services, terrorism in the Middle East, US foreign policy, and Cold War propaganda. He obtained his bachelor’s degree in international relations and organization at the University of Pannonia, Hungary, and completed his master’s degree in international studies at Aarhus University, Denmark. He is an editorial staff member of the Journal of Central and Eastern European African Studies. https://orcid.org/0000-0002-6451-8701 Jeremy S. Speight is an associate professor in the Department of Political Science at the University of Alaska Fairbanks, United States. His research explains differences in patterns or rebel governance during civil war and variation in the durability of ex-rebel authority in postconflict settings. Much of this research focuses on the experience of Côte d’Ivoire. His research has appeared or is forthcoming in Civil Wars, Canadian Journal of African Studies, African Affairs, Comparative Politics, and Comparative Political Studies. David Suarez is an adjunct professor at Florida International University (FIU), United States. He received his PhD from FIU and master’s degree from the University of Bradford, United Kingdom. He specializes in North Africa, diplomacy, political philosophy, and ethnic conflict. He has served as both a US Peace Corps volunteer and a US Department of State intern in Morocco. Zsolt Szabó is a PhD student at the Doctoral School of History in the Eszterházy Károly University in Eger, Hungary, and a research fellow in the African Studies Center of the Óbuda University in Budapest, Hungary. He graduated from Béla Bartók Conservatory and Péter Pázmány Catholic University in Arabic and history majors. Szabó has taught Arabic language and history as well as written and translated several articles for the Hungarian edition of BBC History. His publications include “Egypt’s Security Situation in the Light of the ‘Arab Spring’ and Its Relevance to Hungarian Foreign Policy,” Safety and Security Sciences Review. Szabó’s current research examines African conflicts in the light of Hungarian security policy. https://orcid .org/0000-0002-6226-2626

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Contributors

Hogr Tarkhani is a PhD student in political science at Louisiana State University, United States. His research focuses on terrorism and counterterrorism, peace building and development, political unrest, intelligence, war, and peace. Tarkhani was a resources editor for the Journal of Peacebuilding and Development from January 2019 to August 2020. https://orcid.org/0000 -0002-5885-6536 Olasupo Thompson is in the History and International Studies Unit, Department of Communication and General Studies, Federal University of Agriculture Abeokuta, Nigeria. He teaches courses in history and political science. He is a member of academic societies such as the Historical Society of Nigeria and Social Studies Association of Nigeria and also a Fellow of the Institute of French Research Association. His area of specialization is African history, focusing on social history, health/medical history, comparative politics, vulnerable population, and international studies. https://orcid .org/0000-0002-2273-2152 Nuno de Fragoso Vidal is a senior associate researcher at the Lisbon University Institute–Centre for International Studies (Portugal) and principal investigator of the research project Pluralism: Democracy and Electoral Integrity in Angola and Mozambique. He earned his PhD in political studies from King’s College London, United Kingdom. David Vogel is a former Hungarian Defence Forces (HDF) military officer who worked at the HDF Civil-Military Cooperation and Psychological Operations Centre as a CIMIC analyst then took a position at the newly formed Scientific Research Centre of the General Staff, where he was involved in projects related to mission areas of the HDF. As his last military assignment, he was deployed to the United Nations peacekeeping mission in the Central African Republic (MINUSCA), where he worked as a senior intelligence analyst. Following his studies in security and defense policy, international relations, and political science, he acquired his PhD in military science. Upon returning to Hungary, Vogel joined the Doctoral School on Safety and Security Sciences at the Óbuda University, Hungary. He has authored numerous publications, mostly on African and Latin American topics, and he often appears in the media with analysis about current security and defense issues of these two regions. https://orcid.org/0000 -0002-8412-7337 Christopher Williams is a postdoctoral research fellow and adjunct lecturer in the International Relations Department at the University of the Witwa-



Contributors

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tersrand, South Africa. He holds a master’s degree in security studies from Georgetown University and a PhD in international relations from the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy at Tufts University, United States. His research interests include the diplomatic history of late twentieth-century subSaharan Africa and foreign policy decision-making in African states. In 2018 Williams was a Bradlow Fellow at the South African Institute of International Affairs. His work has been published in African Studies, African Security, Politikon, the South African Journal of International Affairs, and the South African Historical Journal. https://orcid.org/0000-0002-4191-1738 Michel Yekple is a security studies PhD candidate at the School of Politics, Security, and International Affairs at the University of Central Florida, United States. His research interests include African peace and security; peacekeeping and civilian protection in armed conflict; international relations theory and the Global South; and governance and democratization, with a regional focus on Africa. His works have appeared in African Security and Africa Peace and Conflict Journal. https://orcid.org/0000-0002-1175-4575