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of these engagements in two ways: they analyse them either as diffusion and implementation of AU policies (Leininger 2014; Souaré 2014; Powell et al. 2016), or as AU-led mediation efforts, defined as impartial external assistance to parties in conflict (Engel 2012a; Nathan 2017; see generally Moore 2003: 15). Both perspectives, as will be elaborated over the course of this book, are inadequate lenses to grasp the processes and consequences of regional reactions to coups.
A key insight of several overviews on AU reactions to coups is that they follow dissonant paths and that the AU implements its norm inconsistently: what counts as a successful return to constitutional order is measured according to different standards. In some cases, for instance, putschists were allowed to stand in transitional elections, whereas others have been banned from doing so (Souaré 2009: 11; Engel 2012a: 80; Nathan 2017: 17–18). Also, some putschists were granted amnesty arrangements while others were not (Ndulo 2012: 267). Moreover, when and on what grounds countries have been readmitted to the AU has not been consistent (Nathan 2017: 14–15). In a similar vein, those analysing the AU’s reactions to coups through a mediation lens show, for instance, that the means invoked, such as sanctions or the convocation of an international contact group, differed from case to case (Engel 2012a: 73). Also, several works stress conflicts between mediators and the sending organization, the AU or the respective subregional organization, as well as rivalries between competing mediators and sending organizations (Witt 2013b; Nathan 2017: 17–18). Thus, contrary to the mechanistic manual, how constitutional orders have been re-established so far was not mechanistic and rule-governed at all (Witt 2012a).
These accounts of inconsistencies all point to the politics and complexities involved in efforts to undo coups. However, the dominant analytical perspective in this literature still looks at such efforts mainly as something the AU does (be it as policy implementation or mediation). This means that post-coup interventions tend to be narrated in the organization’s own terms, often based on publicly available documents. By way of consequence, apparent inconsistencies are considered as failures in the successful implementation of the script of the Lomé Declaration, a fact requiring correction.
In such a top-down perspective, the processes and consequences of these engagements that unfold ‘on the ground’ remain more or less invisible. What is missing is an understanding of the local dynamics, the struggles and contestations, triggered by the AU’s invocation of its anti-coup norm and the demand to re-establish constitutional order in a given country. If at all, these dynamics have so far been registered as a hindrance to successful norm implementation and as acts of spoilers (cf. Sampson 2012: 239). Moreover, while some of the above contributions are based on interview research, this rarely extends to the negotiating parties or other constituencies in the respective countries (exceptions are Cawthra 2010; Kotzé 2013a). As a consequence, the perspectives of those affected by the efforts to undo coups have been widely neglected. There is therefore fairly little understanding of both the local dynamics of post-coup interventions and the societal, political, and economic figurations that led to what then became labelled as an ‘unconstitutional change of government’ in the first place. Moreover, a top-down perspective also conceals how the various organizations, including the AU, actually act ‘on the ground’, which more often than not diverges from the self-descriptions in official documents. Making these processes and dynamics on the ground visible requires more empirical depth, but also another analytical lens for what efforts to re-establish constitutional order actually are.
What post-coup interventions do: democracy versus regime security – change versus status quo
The adoption of the African anti-coup norm has been widely hailed as a positive development and as a break with the continent’s past of shielding autocratic rule. As in other cases of norm change on the African continent, these developments are often interpreted and assessed in light of preceding experiences, in this case the OAU’s deplorable history of recognizing whoever was able to control the capitals of African states (Omorogbe 2011). Against this background, the African anti-coup norm has been predominantly discussed as an instrument to promote and defend democracy on the continent (Tieku 2009; Leininger 2014; Souaré 2014) and as a measure to prevent conflicts and build peace (Dersso 2017). For Issaka Souaré (2014), the decision to ban unconstitutional changes of government underlines the AU’s role as a continental norm entrepreneur, evidenced by a decreasing number of coups since the turn of the millennium (see also Powell et al. 2016). Others stress that the anti-coup norm even grants the AU the power to sanction member states that deviate from established political norms (Sturman 2008; Eriksson 2010). The various forms in which the AU became engaged in re-establishing constitutional order are subsequently referred to as ‘pro-democratic interventions’ (Levitt 2008; Edozie & Gottschalk 2014: 117). In large part, this reflects the liberal-constructivist perspective that dominated the debate on the AU’s so-called shift from a culture of non-interference to one of non-indifference, as well as the generally positive expectations of the AU’s capacity to affect politics in Africa that underpinned this perspective (Williams 2007; see also Witt 2013a).
Yet there has also been a more sceptical reading of these developments. Some authors challenge the uncritical pro-democratic lens through which this normative innovation was interpreted. They employ a more cautious language which points to the multiple and conflicting meanings that merged in the AU’s decision to ban unconstitutional changes of government. Kathryn Sturman (2008: 100), for instance, remarks that it was in fact Robert Mugabe who was one of the most fervent supporters of the anti-coup provision. Considering Mugabe’s track record in democratic governance, she concludes that in its current form, the anti-coup norm may ‘have more to do with entrenching the status quo for many AU member states than it has with fostering democracy’ (Sturman 2008: 105). In a similar vein, others note that while the Lomé Declaration rejected the unconstitutional acquisition of power, there was no intention to sanction or even assess the conduct of governance by incumbent governments (Souaré 2009: 11; Dersso 2017: 658). In fact, leaving out such a provision had been a conscious decision of the OAU Assembly (Ikome 2007: 33; see also Chapter 2). Even after the African Charter on Democracy, Elections and Governance, adopted in 2007, corrected some of these shortcomings, some analysts remain cautious vis-à-vis the actual commitment of member states to the ideals of democracy and good governance (Kotzé 2013b: 4; Engel 2019).
In a nutshell: while some champion the AU’s decision to ban unconstitutional changes of government as an expression of a liberal normative shift and a commitment to the defence of democratic governance on the continent, others remain sceptical as to how this promise shall be realized under the given political realities. The highly ambiguous democratic record of AU member states as well as the norm’s indecisiveness between being an instrument to defend regime security and serving to protect people’s right to democratic self-determination gave reason for a more sceptical view vis-à-vis the potentials of the AU’s official promises.
By reconstructing almost five years of re-establishing constitutional order in Madagascar, this book seeks to provide a more nuanced answer to this debate: I show that post-coup interventions are indeed an effective way of reconfiguring power relations, but neither necessarily lay the foundations for more democracy nor merely work in the service of incumbent governments and regime security.
Introducing the case
For the AU PSC, the political crisis in Madagascar became the fourth situation that the Council treated as an unconstitutional change of government. It turned out to become the longest-lasting effort to re-establish constitutional order in an African country until today. However, what suddenly appeared on the PSC’s agenda in 2009 did not happen without warning signs.
Since the beginning of 2009, a broad popular protest movement had formed against the incumbent regime of President Marc Ravalomanana, holding regular demonstrations in Madagascar’s capital Antananarivo. The protests were led by the mayor of Antananarivo, Andry Rajoelina, and supported by parts of the Malagasy military. Several attempts by the Malagasy churches to mediate between the protesters and the incumbent government, later supported by international and African diplomats, ended without result. On 17 March 2009, Marc Ravalomanana bowed to the public and intra-elite pressure, handed over power to a military directorate,