State failure or state fragility in the Sahel?
The question may sound theoretical; it is not. Deciding whether Mali, Burkina Faso and Niger are already failed states, or fragile states drifting into authoritarian rule, is not a rhetorical exercise. It is a precondition for diagnosis. And without a precise diagnosis, there is neither a credible prognosis nor useful treatment. The Sahelian crisis is now grave enough to impose this minimum discipline: to identify rigorously what is unravelling, what still holds, and what is being recomposed.
Since 2020 in Mali, 2022 in Burkina Faso and 2023 in Niger, the three countries that make up the Alliance of Sahel States (AES) have gone through a sequence of coups, political closure and diplomatic rupture. The military regimes that govern them present themselves as powers of national refoundation. They claim to be reclaiming sovereignty, restoring security, cleaning up the state and opening a new development cycle. Their discourse has proved powerful because it met a genuine exhaustion: exhaustion with elections that do not change daily life, exhaustion with corruption, exhaustion with diplomatic humiliation, exhaustion with insecurity, and exhaustion, too, with outside voices too sure of themselves.
But exhaustion is not a program. Anger is not a strategy. And a geopolitical rupture does not mechanically produce a capable state. The current risk is that proclaimed sovereignty replaces real development, that refoundation becomes a slogan rather than institutional reconstruction, and that authoritarianism is confused with authority. It is this confusion we want to question.
The central argument is simple. The AES states are not, at this stage, fully failed states. They still have administrations, armies, public revenues, international recognition and governed urban centers. But they are engaged in an aggravated form of fragility: an authoritarian fragility, in which power concentrates at the top even as territorial authority shrinks, and in which the rhetoric of sovereignty coexists with a degraded capacity to produce essential public goods: security, justice, schools, health, infrastructure, transparency and trust.
This hypothesis extends an intuition set out in “Democracy in fragile states, an African development illusion?” (L’Harmattan, Paris, 2015). The argument was that electoral democracy is not enough when the state remains unable to produce the institutional public goods that give the vote its meaning: an independent justice system that guarantees rights, a strong accountability of governments backed by oversight from other elected officials, credible public information, and an effective and impartial administration. This reasoning can be widened: economic stagnation, political violence and democratic disillusion must be analysed together, as the effects of a political economy of coalitions, rents and missing institutions. The central Sahel offers a tragic illustration today.
I. Fragility or failure: clarifying the diagnosis
The notion of a failed state is often used too quickly. It gives an impression of radicalism, but it sheds little light on situations where the state has not disappeared while progressively losing some of its core capacities. Francis Fukuyama offers a useful distinction between the scope of the state — what the state claims to do — and its strength — its effective capacity to carry out its decisions. A state may want to do everything, but be able to do very little. It may keep ministries, budgets, uniforms and a diplomatic service, while being unable to guarantee security, deliver credible justice or administer parts of its territory.
James Putzel and Jonathan Di John go further: what is called failure is often a recomposition of power. States rarely disappear completely. Even in war, authorities persist: military, administrative, customary, religious, communal, criminal or insurgent. The question is therefore not simply whether the state is absent, but who governs, where, how, with what resources and in the name of what legitimacy. The OECD, for its part, has gradually abandoned the binary vocabulary of the failed state to speak of multidimensional fragility: political, security, economic, social and environmental. Fragility is not a fixed state; it is a continuum, a relationship between exposure to risks and capacity for resilience.
Applied to the AES, this reading grid leads to a cautious but firm conclusion. Mali is not a failed state in the strict sense. It retains an army, an administration, tax revenues, a functioning capital and international recognition. But its territorial control is deeply contested, including along economic corridors and in strategic areas. Burkina Faso is not a failed state either, but it shows the most advanced territorial fragmentation of the three, with entire rural zones disputed, a growing reliance on the Volunteers for the Defense of the Fatherland (VDP), and a considerable human cost among civilians. Niger still has a more extensive administrative apparatus than its neighbors, but the west of the country, particularly the Tillabéri region, has been less and less controlled by the state since 2023, while the Diffa region remains affected by the insecurity of the Lake Chad basin due to the Boko Haram insurgency.
The common weakness of these states therefore lies less in their disappearance than in their growing inability to fully exercise the sovereign and developmental functions of the modern state. They exist legally; they command imperfectly. They speak in the name of sovereignty; they control their territory unevenly. They centralize politically; they administer with difficulty. This is why the notion of refoundation, omnipresent in military rhetoric, must be used carefully. It presupposes that a collapsed state is being rebuilt. What we observe, however, is more a decomposition-recomposition of authority, in which certain instruments of the state — army, political police, control of information, rupture diplomacy — are reinforced, while others — independent justice, budget oversight, pluralism, social services, consented fiscal capacity — weaken.
II. A community of authoritarian governance whose authority is shrinking
The AES presents itself as an alliance of sovereignty, defense and solidarity. But its political originality lies above all in the formation of a community of authoritarian governance. The three regimes share a common narrative: civilian elites failed; Western partners betrayed or manipulated; multiparty democracy weakened the state; the army must therefore be called upon to save the nation. This narrative simplifies real problems. It appeals because it names culprits and promises to restore order. But it often inverts the causal chain.
To assess this dynamic, three processes must be distinguished: the erosion of territorial authority, the authoritarian concentration of power, and the degradation of economic governance.
1. The erosion of territorial authority
The central variable here is the monopoly of violence. In the three countries, this monopoly is contested, fragmented and sometimes delegated. Publicly available ACLED data confirm the spread and intensification of violence. In Burkina Faso and Mali, abuses attributed to state or allied forces have themselves become a factor of fragilization. According to figures cited by Reuters and ACLED in 2026, Burkinabè forces and their allies allegedly killed 523 civilians in 2025, against 339 attributed to jihadist groups; in Mali, government forces and their Russian allies allegedly killed 918 civilians, against 232 attributed to JNIM and ISGS. These numbers must be read with caution, like all conflict data, but their political meaning is clear: when counter-insurgency itself produces mass violence against civilians, state legitimacy contracts along with its territory. In Niger, the deterioration is more recent but faster and more lethal. ACLED data indicate that deaths from violence against civilians in western Niger rose from about 312 in 2023 to 333 in 2024 and 712 in 2025. ACLED also notes that Tillabéri became in 2025 the deadliest region of the central Sahel, with more than 1,200 recorded deaths. The June 2026 attack on Niamey’s airport and military base, which reportedly killed 11 security personnel, 2 civilians and 22 assailants according to the authorities, shows that violence is no longer confined to rural peripheries: it now reaches symbolic and strategic targets.
This territorial evolution has three implications. First, the crisis is no longer only a security crisis; it is a crisis of authority. Second, militarizing the response does not automatically restore the legitimate monopoly of violence. It may even weaken it if it produces abuses, communal reprisals or dependence on militias. Third, the Sahelian state is not only challenged by armed groups; it is competed against by these groups as a producer of order. Where administration, justice and services disappear, jihadist groups, militias or criminal networks can impose their rules, arbitrate disputes, tax populations and punish adversaries. The territory then becomes a space of competing sovereignties.
2. The authoritarian concentration of power
The second process is political closure. In the three countries, the security argument has been used to reduce and then entirely suppress political competition, to constrain the media, to restrict civil liberties and to postpone the return to constitutional order. The phenomenon is most advanced in Burkina Faso, where political parties have been banned or dissolved and where the military regime has openly embraced the abandonment of liberal democracy. Human Rights Watch documents continuing repression of journalists, activists, opponents and human rights defenders. The BTI 2026 reports arbitrary arrests, intimidation of critics and even the forced enlistment of some opponents or activists in the war effort.
In Mali, closure is older. The announced transitions have been extended, political parties have been suspended, critical voices arrested or prosecuted, and independent media are under mounting pressure. Human Rights Watch has documented detentions for political reasons, while several journalists have been prosecuted in the name of the fight against disinformation or offenses against the state. The 2026 arrest of journalist Youssouf Sissoko, after an article criticizing the head of Niger’s junta, illustrates the emergence of a regionalized repressive space in which AES leaders politically protect one another.
In Niger, the authoritarian trajectory has been rapid since the coup of 26 July 2023. Former president Mohamed Bazoum and his wife remain in detention. Officials of the former regime, journalists, activists and trade unionists have been arrested or intimidated. Those who publicly call, even from abroad, for a return to democracy are stripped of their nationality. HRW warned in 2026 about a new emergency law that could become an instrument of repression, given broad provisions that may restrict freedom of movement, expression and association. The cybercrime law and prosecutions of journalists also contribute to the closing of public space.
This authoritarian concentration poses a fundamental problem for development. Military regimes promise efficiency in exchange for freedom. But the historical experience of post-colonial African states invites circumspection, even doubt: authoritarianism is developmental only when it disciplines rents, protects a competent technocracy, invests in public goods and accepts a form of obligation to deliver results. This is what is meant by the “Korean model” under General Park Chung-hee (1961-1979), often invoked to argue that being a military officer is an asset for developing our countries. Nothing yet allows us to affirm that the AES is on that path. The authoritarianism observed looks much more like survival authoritarianism: control of speech, designation of enemies, centralization of command, opacity, and the indefinite prolongation of the transition.
3. The degradation of economic governance
The third process is less visible than coups or attacks, but it is decisive: the credibility and quality of public management are deteriorating. This deterioration shows up in three areas: governance and corruption, financial credibility, and the production of public goods.
In Niger, the junta has made the fight against corruption a central theme of legitimation. The creation of the Commission to Combat Economic, Financial and Fiscal Crime could be understood as a response to a genuine social demand. But this anti-corruption drive quickly appeared ambivalent. It can moralize public management; it can also become a political tool against former civilian officials. The second possibility seems to be materializing. The problem is compounded by the opacity of military spending. As Human Rights Watch rightly recalls, the authorities have suppressed public oversight of military spending, even though Nigerien defense contracts had already been the subject of worrying audits before the coup.
Oil adds another dimension. The 400 million dollar deal concluded in 2024 with CNPC/PetroChina, backed by future crude sales, brought immediate liquidity to the regime. But it also increased Niger’s dependence on China, on the Agadem-Sèmè pipeline, on the relationship with Benin and on the security of infrastructure. The 2024 blockages between Niamey and Cotonou showed that an oil rent is not automatically stabilizing when it depends on a politically fragile cross-border corridor.
On the regional public securities market, Niger encountered major difficulties after the coup and the sanctions. The IMF notes that at the start of 2024, debt service arrears reached around 300 billion CFA francs. A return to the regional market became possible after the lifting of sanctions, but on costly terms. A UMOA-Titres issuance in March 2025 showed a weighted average yield above 10% on twelve-month bills. Moody’s also maintains Niger’s sovereign rating at Caa3, a very speculative level. The 2024 economic rebound, driven by oil, is therefore not enough to durably restore financial credibility if revenues remain volatile, public investment is constrained, and political risk remains high.
In Mali, economic governance is weakened by insecurity, the energy crisis, corruption and tensions around the mining sector. The IMF has highlighted the effects of attacks, power cuts and floods on growth and public finances. The tax and regulatory dispute over gold mines has introduced additional uncertainty in a sector central to revenues. The BTI 2026 reports significant financial irregularities in the public administration, and the persistence of clientelism, favoritism and corruption. On the regional market, yields close to 9 to 10% reflect a high risk premium.
In Burkina Faso, budget militarization and security pressure reduce the room for public goods. Military needs rise, insecurity disrupts schools, health and market access, and regional market issuances take place on costly terms. UMOA-Titres yields around 9% in 2025 indicate that investors demand high compensation for risk. Burkina Faso can mobilize a discourse of economic sovereignty, but the financial constraint recalls a simple truth: budgetary sovereignty is measured less by the radicalism of communiqués than by the ability to finance the state sustainably, at a bearable cost, on credible domestic revenues.
The quality of public goods is the ultimate test. In the three countries, war weighs on education, health, infrastructure, justice and administrative capacity. The Human Development Report 2025 still places Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger among the lowest countries in human development, with very low levels of mean years of schooling and high vulnerability. The paradox is cruel: the regimes claim to take the state back in hand, but the material conditions of a developmental state — schools, health, justice, infrastructure, public information, taxation — remain under-produced and are manifestly declining.
III. Is developmental authoritarianism possible in the AES?
Supporters of the juntas sometimes invoke East Asia: South Korea, Taiwan, Singapore or even China are said to have proved that an authoritarian regime can produce development. The argument deserves serious discussion, because it contains a share of historical truth. But it is often misused.
The Asian experiences were not simple dictatorships proclaiming sovereignty. They combined bureaucratic discipline, massive investment in education, industrial strategy, integration into world markets, export incentives, control of rents and technological learning. At decisive moments, ruling elites accepted to bet on growth rather than on immediate rents alone. They protected certain technical administrations, sanctioned industrial failures, demanded performance from state-supported firms, and invested in human capital. Authoritarianism alone was not enough; what made the difference were economic institutions, coalition discipline, and the obligation of performance.
In the AES, the observable conditions are very different. Territory is contested. Administrations are fragile. Fiscal resources are limited. Military elites are engaged in complex wars. Media and counter-powers are silenced. Military spending rises as a priority. Regional markets demand high yields. External partners are being recomposed, but this recomposition does not by itself create a productive strategy. Russia can provide security and diplomatic support; China can finance infrastructure or advance oil funds; multilateral donors can offer cautious support. None of these partnerships replaces an internal development coalition.
Political science helps to understand the problem. When political survival depends on a narrow coalition — officers, security apparatus, close economic networks, mobilized activists, useful external partners — the leader has an interest in distributing targeted private goods: positions, contracts, protections, privileged access, impunity. Public goods, by contrast, are politically less rewarding in the short term, because they benefit everyone and sometimes strengthen counter-powers. An independent justice system, free media, transparent public procurement, a credible audit court, a meritocratic administration and a readable budget all constrain arbitrariness. They are therefore indispensable for development, but costly for a survival coalition.
That is why the central question is not: is the AES sovereign? It is: do AES regimes have an interest in producing public goods that would limit their own arbitrariness? To date, the dominant signals are unfavorable: political closure, opacity, militarization, weak judicial guarantees, repression of critics and persistent financial dependence. There may be projects, construction sites, announcements and even localized improvements. But developmental authoritarianism is not recognized by its slogans; it is recognized by its capacity to durably transform elite incentives, the productivity of the economy, and the quality of public goods.
IV. Military sovereigntism as a substitute ideology
Sahelian sovereigntism is not only a diplomatic posture. It is a substitute ideology. It turns a crisis of the state into a symbolic battle; it replaces scrutiny of public goods with the denunciation of enemies; it converts insecurity, poverty and corruption into a narrative of external betrayal. In this narrative, the West becomes the main cause, democracy the instrument of weakening, civilian elites the agents of dependence, and the army the only authentically national force.
This is not about denying international asymmetries, French mistakes, the ambiguities of certain military interventions, or the reality of economic neocolonialism. It is about refusing the single-cause explanation. Sahelian societies are not mere victims without agency. Their elites have governed, arbitrated, captured, negotiated, sometimes failed, sometimes benefited. External partners have weighed in, but they have not alone produced corruption, local injustice, land rivalries, the impunity of security forces, the weakness of schools, or the absence of accessible justice in the countryside.
The decolonial discourse, born as a critique of domination, is here often turned into an instrument of lock-in. In the name of liberation, speech is restricted; in the name of sovereignty, other dependencies are rebuilt; in the name of dignity, accountability is postponed. This is no longer a critique of power; it is critique placed in the service of power. The danger is that the battle of narratives becomes a lasting substitute for the battle of results.
Development, for its part, cannot be decreed. It is measured. Populations will judge regimes less by the height of flags than by the safety of roads, the opening of schools, the availability of health centers, the price of food, access to justice, the quality of harvests, the possibility of finding work, electricity, water, markets, freedoms and trust. That is where real sovereignty is played out: not in the proclamation of independence, but in the ability to protect and expand the choices of citizens.
To conclude
The AES states are not yet failed states. But they are engaged on a dangerous trajectory: territorial authority is eroding, political power is concentrating, and economic governance is weakening. The paradox is brutal: the more the state loses effective capacity on the ground, the more power concentrates at the top; the more security results are delayed, the more critical speech is suspected; the more sovereignty is proclaimed, the more dependencies are recomposed.
Mali, Burkina Faso and Niger thus illustrate a new form of authoritarian fragility. It is not the absence of the state, but the selective contraction of the state. The coercive state hardens; the rule of law recedes. The military state asserts itself; the social state struggles. The sovereign state speaks loudly; the fiscal, educational, health and judicial state remains weak. Centralization of command does not compensate for the disintegration of the ordinary conditions of trust.
This situation calls for a political and analytical conclusion. African democracy does not lack a future; it lacks institutions. Elections alone are not enough, but suppressing them has never miraculously produced public goods. Development requires substantive democracy: constrained rulers, fair justice, reliable public information, legitimate civilian control of the armed forces, a professional administration, consented taxation, and citizens able to demand accountability. The vote is insufficient; the strongman is worse when he destroys counter-powers without building capacities.
The ambition of this new format of our blog is to contribute to the “African debate,” by revisiting the major concerns of contemporary development economics and proposing a reading applied to West Africa and the Sahel. We will examine development as the fight against poverty, Africa’s divergence contrasted with Asian convergence, the role of elites in development, the shift from procedural to substantive democracy and public policy choices, development as institutional transformation, integration into world trade, the question of natural resources, the lessons of East Asia, and more.
Data sources and useful references: ACLED, 2023-2026 data and analyses on the central Sahel; ACAPS, reports on violence against civilians in western Niger; Human Rights Watch, 2024-2026 reports on Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger; BTI 2026, country reports on Burkina Faso, Mali, Niger; International Crisis Group, reports on the AES and the geopolitical recomposition of the Sahel; IMF, Article IV consultations and ECF/RSF reviews for Niger, Mali and Burkina Faso; World Bank, country economic notes; UMOA-Titres, 2024-2025 issuance results; Moody’s, S&P Global Ratings and Fitch, sovereign ratings where available; UNDP, Human Development Report 2025; Mo Ibrahim Foundation, Ibrahim Index of African Governance; work by Francis Fukuyama, James Putzel and Jonathan Di John, Douglass North, Robert Dahl, Amartya Sen, Bueno de Mesquita et al., Mushtaq Khan, Stefan Dercon, Jean-François Bayart and Jean-Pierre Olivier de Sardan.