On March 23 to 24, the centre of Mocimboa da Praia in Cabo Delgado province was occupied by up to 40 “jihadists”, who targeted government facilities, including a barracks, and brandished banners of affiliation to the so-called Islamic State.

On March 25, suspected jihadists raided the town of Quissanga and destroyed the district police headquarters. They too carried an Islamic State flag. Twenty to 30 members of Mozambique’s security forces were killed in both attacks.

Mocimboa da Praia is just south of the Afungi Peninsula, the location of gas projects worth $60- billion. Mocimboa was briefly occupied in late 2017, during attacks claimed by a group known as Ahlu Sunnah Wa-Jama (or al-Sunnah) that marked the start of a brutal low-intensity conflict, with widespread human rights abuses and attacks on civilians.

Up to 1,000 people have now been killed and 100,000 displaced. More recently, The Islamic State Central Africa Province (Iscap), affiliated with the Islamic State group, has claimed responsibility for the attacks. Video and photos of these most recent events, along with the testimony of frightened residents and overstretched government officials, suggest a shift of strategy by the insurgents.

There seems to have been an effort to avoid harming civilians, to win hearts and minds by redistributing stolen food, medicine and fuel to “loyal” residents, and to direct attacks on the state and its symbols, such as police stations and military barracks. It is difficult from a distance to assess if there was any genuine pleasure over these attacks among local people; while residents in both towns that did not flee seemed to welcome the attackers, this may well have been out of fear that the government is currently unable to guarantee their security.

These attacks also indicate that the jihadist-linked insurgents are growing in confidence. They are confronting government security forces with little appetite for fighting. The Mozambican government has been expecting setbacks like those of Mocimboa and Quissanga — its forces are demoralised and many commanders exhausted or corrupted by an emerging war economy. Jihadists are also taking tactical advantage before a reformed and more effective government counterinsurgency effort is introduced in response.

President Filipe Nyusi, inaugurated in January for his second term, has made this crisis his prime focus and has become the de-facto minister of defence.

Military reform and the role of private military companies

But there is no quick fix. Most importantly, the Mozambican military and security forces need to be restructured. They were unable to win the Mozambican civil war (1977-1992), even with international support, and have not improved in capacity or conduct since. They now face a complex, multilayered and asymmetrical conflict, mostly drawing upon local and regional grievances and networks but increasingly also attracting some limited encouragement and advice from further afield.

Nyusi will need to build-up trusted relationships in the military in the way he has successfully done with parts of the intelligence community. The Mozambican government has already reached out to international expertise — though not necessarily the right kind. The founder of the Blackwater private military company, Erik Prince, supplied two helicopters and support crew for the Mozambican military in mid-2019, before being replaced by some 170 Russian privateers linked to the Wagner Group.

The Wagner contingent arrived in September 2019 at Nacala airport with trucks, drones and a Mi-17 helicopter gunship, then deployed into the combat zone of northern Cabo Delgado. Setbacks, including at least two dead Russians, forced a tactical fallback to Nacala, though a new effort is reported to have been underway since late February 2020.

The Mozambican government is also considering a number of proposals from other private military companies. Maputo needs to consider these carefully; Israeli or Gulf State involvement in any form might exasperate rather than alleviate this crisis.

The Tanzanian connection

But market-led security and military providers will not end this insurgency. Nor will the engagement of states such as the United States, France, the United Kingdom or Angola, all of which have made their own offers of support. What would significantly make a difference is much closer to home: serious Tanzanian engagement.

This insurgency is concentrated in districts bordering Tanzania and there is clear-cut intelligence of connections into Tanzania and beyond. Swahili is also a lingua franca for the jihadists, connecting them up the East African coast, and into eastern Congo and elsewhere.

It is puzzling, given the deep shared history between Tanzania and Mozambique, that the bilateral relationship is as patchy as it is today: during the liberation struggle (1965-1974) against the Portuguese, Mozambique’s ruling party Frelimo maintained rear bases in Tanzania, and Nyusi was educated there.

Conspiracy theories circulate that Tanzania has encouraged the Cabo Delgado insurgency to weaken its neighbour, or at least displace radicalised individuals from Tanzanian soil into Mozambique.

President John Magafuli of Tanzania did not attend the January inauguration of Nyusi. It has become urgent that Magafuli (who is also the current chair of the regional body, the Southern African Development Community) and Nyusi meet face-to-face to map out improved intelligence sharing and a joint strategy to respond to an emerging regional threat.

Southern Africa is locking down because of Covid-19, which will distract the government’s ability to focus fully on this crisis and create a perfect moment for the infant insurgency in Cabo Delgado to grow. More military setbacks should be expected in coming months.

But the Mozambican government can still contain and prevail if it seriously reforms its military, builds strong alliances with its regional neighbours (especially Tanzania), chooses its private security contractors and international partnerships wisely, and backs military efforts with better intelligence and developmental interventions that offer alternative pathways to potential recruits.

But despite Maputo’s hope that significant progress will be made over the coming year, and the setting up of a presidential task force to evaluate progress and intelligence, it is likely that Mozambique and its partners will need to prepare themselves for a drawn-out struggle.

This article originally appeared in the Mail & Guardian

In the COVID-19 crisis so far, Cyril Ramaphosa has been widely praised for displaying the decisive leadership so many hoped for when they cast their ballot for him in May 2019. Buttressed by others such as health minister Dr Zweli Mkhize, and on a simple objective to prevent transmission, South Africa has been a lesson to the world. Act fast. Act hard.

Former president Thabo Mbeki’s disastrous response to the HIV crisis cast a long shadow over his legacy, and Ramaphosa has taken note. South Africa has had one of the tightest lockdowns in the world. No exercise. No cigarettes. No alcohol.

The lockdown was imposed when the country had only around 1,000 recorded cases and just two deaths. As a result, transmission from returning travellers has not yet led to an exponential infection rate within the community. The government’s swift reaction has bought much needed time with the peak now seemingly delayed to September or October.

Continental and national leadership

Ramaphosa has also emerged as a key focal point for Africa-wide responses. As current chair of the African Union (AU) he leads the continental engagement with the World Health Organization (WHO), and the various international finance institutions, while South African officials are working with the AU and the United Nations Economic Commission for Africa (UNECA) on a push for African debt restructuring.

He has also been active in trouble shooting to unlock external assistance to the continent, including from China and Russia. Appointing special envoys is typical of his boardroom-honed leadership style.

International and regional partnerships are vital for resilience and the arrival of 217 Cuban doctors to South Africa is strongly reminiscent of the liberationist solidarity of the Cold War era. And regional economies remain dependent on South Africa to protect their own vulnerable citizens. Following the 2008 financial crisis, it was South Africa’s regional trading relationships that remained robust, while trade with its main global partners in China and the US dropped.

Despite the plaudits, Ramaphosa remains vulnerable to challenge at home, notably around his failure to stimulate South Africa’s moribund economy. On the eve of lockdown, Moody’s joined its peers Standard and Poor’s and Fitch in giving South Africa a below investment grade credit rating. The move was a long time coming. Long mooted economic reforms were slow to materialise, and South Africa had fallen into recession.

Ramaphosa depends on a small core of close advisors and allies, initially united in apparent opposition to the kleptocratic rule of President Jacob Zuma and the deep patronage networks he created within both the party and the state. But this allegiance is being tested by economic reality. Support within the party was already drifting prior to the crisis.

Disagreements are not just technocratic – there are big ideological questions in play around the role of the state in the economy, the level of intervention, and its affordability, with key government figures sceptical of rapid market reforms. Energy minister and former union stalwart Gwede Mantashe is wary of job losses, and minister of public enterprises Pravin Gordhan protective of state-owned enterprises (SOEs). Before coronavirus hit, Ramaphosa seemed content to allow these policy disputes to play themselves out with little decisive intervention.

Slow progress on reform, against worsening economic performance, left Ramaphosa and his allies exposed. In January the president missed the UK’s African Investment Summit in order to assert control over a party meeting at which it was expected his detractors would seek to remove Gordhan.

COVID-19 has sharpened thinking

As the independently assertive - and eminently quotable - pro-market reformist finance minister Tito Mboweni stated, ‘you can’t eat ideology’. Accelerated reform and restructuring is required if the government turns to the International Monetary Fund (IMF) for assistance.

For the first time, Gordhan has been forced to deny a bailout to beleaguered state airline South African Airways (SAA), and the government’s lockdown bailout of R300 billion has been applauded by business. Much like the fiscal stimulus and recovery plan of 2018, it relies on smart spending, targeting sectors with high multiplier effects. It also includes significant reserve bank loans.

But it has been criticised for not doing enough to help the most vulnerable. There is considerable fear of what could happen when the virus takes hold in South Africa’s townships and informal settlements where social distancing is almost impossible, basic toilet facilities are shared, and HIV and TB rates high.

There are mounting concerns of the humanitarian cost of a prolonged lockdown, and the government has been faster than others in implementing a tiered lockdown system, trying to get people back to work and keep the economy afloat.

South Africa has been criticized by the UN for the use of lethal force by security forces in enforcing lockdown and, in a society plagued by corruption, there are fears legislation to stop the spread of false information could be used to restrict legitimate reporting on the virus response or other issues.

COVID-19 shines a spotlight on societies’ fault-lines worldwide. South Africa is often touted as having one of the highest levels of inequality in the world but, in a globalized economy, these divisions are international as much as they are local.

Resilience comes from within, but also depends on regional and global trading and financial systems. South Africans and international partners have long recognised Ramaphosa’s leadership qualities as an impressive voice for the global south.

But he must also be an advocate for South Africa’s poor. This crisis could accelerate implementation of his landmark pro-poor National Health Insurance and Universal Health Care programmes. Or the hit of COVID-19 on top of South Africa’s existing economic woes could see them derailed entirely. Ramaphosa must push through economic reforms at the same time as managing COVID-19 and rebuilding trust in his government.

John Maynard Keynes' The Economic Consequences of the Peace has long been a key reference point in discussions about the Treaty of Versailles and its impact on Germany and Europe’s rehabilitation. A century after its publication, the relevance of Keynes’ thinking – not least the influence it had on public perception of the treaty itself – offers an insight into the impact of expert analysis on how political decisions are received in public and academic spheres.

This panel discusses the author, the book and the controversy they have generated up to the present day. How relevant is Keynes’ polemic and how applicable is his European economic recovery plan to our current period of global dislocation? What is the role of experts in the formation and scrutiny of international politics? And how can contemporary politicians use Keynes’ comprehensive assessment of the intersection between political, social and economic realities and national idealism to inform their approaches to international relations?

Using the UK as a case study, this book provides the first systematic exploration of how accountability is understood inside the secret world. It is based on new interviews with current and former UK intelligence practitioners, as well as extensive research into the performance and scrutiny of the UK intelligence machinery.

The result is the first detailed analysis of how intelligence professionals view their role, what they feel keeps them honest, and how far external overseers impact on their work.

The UK gathers material that helps inform global decisions on such issues as nuclear proliferation, terrorism, transnational crime, and breaches of international humanitarian law. On the flip side, the UK was a major contributor to the intelligence failures leading to the Iraq war in 2003, and its agencies were complicit in the widely discredited U.S. practices of torture and 'rendition' of terrorism suspects. UK agencies have come under greater scrutiny since those actions, but it is clear that problems remain.

Secrets and Spies is the result of a British Academy funded project (SG151249) on intelligence accountability.

Open society is increasingly defended by secret means. For this reason, oversight has never been more important. This book offers a new exploration of the widening world of accountability for UK intelligence, encompassing informal as well as informal mechanisms. It substantiates its claims well, drawing on an impressive range of interviews with senior figures. This excellent book offers both new information and fresh interpretations. It will have a major impact.

Richard Aldrich, Professor of International Security, University of Warwick, UK

Gaskarth’s novel approach, interpreting interviews with senior figures from the intelligence world, brings fresh insight on a significant yet contested topic. He offers an impressively holistic account of intelligence accountability—both formal and informal—and, most interestingly of all, of how those involved understand it. This is essential reading for those wanting to know what accountability means and how it is enacted.

Rory Cormac, Professor of International Relations, University of Nottingham

About the author

Jamie Gaskarth is senior lecturer at the University of Birmingham, where he teaches strategy and decision-making. His research looks at the ethical dilemmas of leadership and accountability in intelligence, foreign policy, and defence. He is author/editor or co-editor of six books and served on the Academic Advisory panel for the 2015 UK National Security Strategy and Strategic Defence and Security Review.

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On March 23 to 24, the centre of Mocimboa da Praia in Cabo Delgado province was occupied by up to 40 “jihadists”, who targeted government facilities, including a barracks, and brandished banners of affiliation to the so-called Islamic State.

On March 25, suspected jihadists raided the town of Quissanga and destroyed the district police headquarters. They too carried an Islamic State flag. Twenty to 30 members of Mozambique’s security forces were killed in both attacks.

Mocimboa da Praia is just south of the Afungi Peninsula, the location of gas projects worth $60- billion. Mocimboa was briefly occupied in late 2017, during attacks claimed by a group known as Ahlu Sunnah Wa-Jama (or al-Sunnah) that marked the start of a brutal low-intensity conflict, with widespread human rights abuses and attacks on civilians.

Up to 1,000 people have now been killed and 100,000 displaced. More recently, The Islamic State Central Africa Province (Iscap), affiliated with the Islamic State group, has claimed responsibility for the attacks. Video and photos of these most recent events, along with the testimony of frightened residents and overstretched government officials, suggest a shift of strategy by the insurgents.

There seems to have been an effort to avoid harming civilians, to win hearts and minds by redistributing stolen food, medicine and fuel to “loyal” residents, and to direct attacks on the state and its symbols, such as police stations and military barracks. It is difficult from a distance to assess if there was any genuine pleasure over these attacks among local people; while residents in both towns that did not flee seemed to welcome the attackers, this may well have been out of fear that the government is currently unable to guarantee their security.

These attacks also indicate that the jihadist-linked insurgents are growing in confidence. They are confronting government security forces with little appetite for fighting. The Mozambican government has been expecting setbacks like those of Mocimboa and Quissanga — its forces are demoralised and many commanders exhausted or corrupted by an emerging war economy. Jihadists are also taking tactical advantage before a reformed and more effective government counterinsurgency effort is introduced in response.

President Filipe Nyusi, inaugurated in January for his second term, has made this crisis his prime focus and has become the de-facto minister of defence.

Military reform and the role of private military companies

But there is no quick fix. Most importantly, the Mozambican military and security forces need to be restructured. They were unable to win the Mozambican civil war (1977-1992), even with international support, and have not improved in capacity or conduct since. They now face a complex, multilayered and asymmetrical conflict, mostly drawing upon local and regional grievances and networks but increasingly also attracting some limited encouragement and advice from further afield.

Nyusi will need to build-up trusted relationships in the military in the way he has successfully done with parts of the intelligence community. The Mozambican government has already reached out to international expertise — though not necessarily the right kind. The founder of the Blackwater private military company, Erik Prince, supplied two helicopters and support crew for the Mozambican military in mid-2019, before being replaced by some 170 Russian privateers linked to the Wagner Group.

The Wagner contingent arrived in September 2019 at Nacala airport with trucks, drones and a Mi-17 helicopter gunship, then deployed into the combat zone of northern Cabo Delgado. Setbacks, including at least two dead Russians, forced a tactical fallback to Nacala, though a new effort is reported to have been underway since late February 2020.

The Mozambican government is also considering a number of proposals from other private military companies. Maputo needs to consider these carefully; Israeli or Gulf State involvement in any form might exasperate rather than alleviate this crisis.

The Tanzanian connection

But market-led security and military providers will not end this insurgency. Nor will the engagement of states such as the United States, France, the United Kingdom or Angola, all of which have made their own offers of support. What would significantly make a difference is much closer to home: serious Tanzanian engagement.

This insurgency is concentrated in districts bordering Tanzania and there is clear-cut intelligence of connections into Tanzania and beyond. Swahili is also a lingua franca for the jihadists, connecting them up the East African coast, and into eastern Congo and elsewhere.

It is puzzling, given the deep shared history between Tanzania and Mozambique, that the bilateral relationship is as patchy as it is today: during the liberation struggle (1965-1974) against the Portuguese, Mozambique’s ruling party Frelimo maintained rear bases in Tanzania, and Nyusi was educated there.

Conspiracy theories circulate that Tanzania has encouraged the Cabo Delgado insurgency to weaken its neighbour, or at least displace radicalised individuals from Tanzanian soil into Mozambique.

President John Magafuli of Tanzania did not attend the January inauguration of Nyusi. It has become urgent that Magafuli (who is also the current chair of the regional body, the Southern African Development Community) and Nyusi meet face-to-face to map out improved intelligence sharing and a joint strategy to respond to an emerging regional threat.

Southern Africa is locking down because of Covid-19, which will distract the government’s ability to focus fully on this crisis and create a perfect moment for the infant insurgency in Cabo Delgado to grow. More military setbacks should be expected in coming months.

But the Mozambican government can still contain and prevail if it seriously reforms its military, builds strong alliances with its regional neighbours (especially Tanzania), chooses its private security contractors and international partnerships wisely, and backs military efforts with better intelligence and developmental interventions that offer alternative pathways to potential recruits.

But despite Maputo’s hope that significant progress will be made over the coming year, and the setting up of a presidential task force to evaluate progress and intelligence, it is likely that Mozambique and its partners will need to prepare themselves for a drawn-out struggle.

This article originally appeared in the Mail & Guardian

Iraq is a country already in turmoil, suffering fallout from the major military escalation between the US and Iran, mass protests calling for an end to the post-2003 political system, and a violent government crackdown killing more than 600 and wounding almost 30,000 - all presided over by a fragmented political elite unable to agree upon a new prime minister following Adil abd al-Mehdi’s resignation back in November.

COVID-19 introduces yet another threat to the fragile political order, as the virus exposes Iraq’s ineffective public health system dismantled through decades of conflict, corruption and poor governance.

Iraqi doctors are making every effort to prepare for the worst-case scenario, but they do so with huge structural challenges. The Ministry of Health lacks enough ICU beds, human resources, ventilators, and personal protective equipment (PPE). Bogged down in bureaucracy, the ministry is struggling to process procurements of equipment and medications, and some doctors have made purchases themselves.

But individual efforts can only go so far as many Iraqi doctors are concerned the official numbers of confirmed COVID-19 cases do not reflect the complexity of the situation on the ground.

The ministry relies predominately upon patients self-presenting at designated public hospitals and has only just begun community-based testing in areas of suspected clusters. Reliance on self-presentation requires a level of trust between citizens and state institutions, which is at a historic low. This gap in trust – 17 years in the making – puts Iraq’s COVID-19 response particularly at risk.

Iraq’s myriad vulnerabilities

Certain social and political factors leave Iraq uniquely exposed to the coronavirus. The country’s vulnerability is tied directly to its social, religious and economic interconnections with Iran, an epicenter of the pandemic.

Exchanges between Iran and Iraq are concentrated in two regions, with strong cross-border links between Iraqi and Iranian Kurds in the north-east, and Iraqi and Iranian Shia pilgrims in the south. Cross-border circulation of religious pilgrims is particularly concerning, as they can result in mass ritual gatherings.

The high number of confirmed cases in the southern and northern peripheries of the country puts a spotlight on Iraq's failure in managing healthcare. The post-2003 government has failed to either rebuild a robust centralized healthcare system, or to pave the way for a federalized model.

Caught in an ambiguous middle between a centralized and federalized model, coordination across provinces and hospitals during the coronavirus crisis has neither reflected strong management from Baghdad nor robust ownership at the governorate level.

This problem is part of a wider challenge of managing centre-periphery relations and federalism, which since 2003 has not worked effectively. Baghdad has provided all 18 provinces with instructions on testing and treatment, but only a handful have enough resources to put them into practice. Advanced testing capacity is limited to the five provinces with WHO-approved centers, with the remaining 13 sending swabs to Baghdad.

But the greatest challenge to Iraq’s COVID-19 response is the dramatic deterioration of state-society relations. Studies reveal a profound societal distrust of Iraq’s public healthcare institutions, due to corruption and militarization of medical institutions. Numerous videos have recently circulated of families refusing to turn over sick members - particularly women - to medical teams visiting households with confirmed or suspected cases.

As medical anthropologist Omar Dewachi notes, the ‘moral economy of quarantine’ in Iraq is heavily shaped by a history of war and its impact on the relationship between people and the state. Although local and international media often interpret this reluctance to undergo quarantine as a matter of social or tribal norms, distrusting the state leads many families to refuse quarantine because they believe it resembles a form of arrest.

The management of coronavirus relies upon an overt convergence between medical institutions and security forces as the federal police collaborate with the Ministry of Health to impose curfews and enforce quarantine. This means that, troublingly, the same security establishment which violently cracked down on protesters and civil society activists is now the teeth behind Iraq’s COVID-19 response.

Without trust between society and the political class, civil society organizations and protest movements have directed their organizational structure towards awareness-raising across Iraq. Key religious authorities such as Grand Ayatollah Sistani have called for compliance to the curfew and mobilized charitable institutions.

However, such efforts will not be enough to make up for the lack of governance at the level of the state. In the short-term, Iraq’s medical professionals and institutions are in dire need of technical and financial support. In the long-term, COVID-19 is a lesson that Iraq’s once robust public healthcare system needs serious investment and reform.

COVID-19 may prove to be another catalyst challenging the ‘muddle through’ logic of the Iraqi political elite. International actors have largely been complicit in this logic, directing aid and technical support towards security forces and political allies in the interest of short-term stability, and neglecting institutions which Iraqis rely on for health, education, and well-being.

The response to the crisis requires cooperation and buy-in of a population neglected by 17 years of failed governance. This is a seminal event that may push the country to the brink, exposing and stirring underlying tensions in state-society relations.

This analysis was produced as part of the Iraq Initiative.

Historically, Iraq lay claim to one of the most abundant water supplies in the Middle East. But the flow of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers has reduced by up to 40% since the 1970s, due in part to the actions of neighbouring countries, in particular Turkey, upstream.

Rising temperatures and reduced rainfall due to climate change are also negatively impacting Iraq’s water reserves. Evaporation from dams and reservoirs is estimated to lose the country up to 8 billion cubic metres of water every year.

A threat to peace and stability

Shortages have dried up previously fertile land, increasing poverty in agricultural areas. Shortages have also served to fuel conflict: communities faced with successive droughts and government inertia proved to be easy targets for ISIS recruiters, who lured farmers into joining them by offering money and food to feed their families. Economic hardship for those whose livelihoods relied upon river water has also driven rural to urban migration, putting significant strain on already over-populated towns and cities, exacerbating housing, job and electricity shortages, and widening the gap between haves and have-nots.

But scarcity isn’t the most crucial element of Iraq’s water crisis – contamination is. Decades of local government mismanagement, corrupt practices and a lack of regulation of dumping (it is estimated up to 70% of Iraq’s industrial waste is dumped directly into water) has left approximately three in every five citizens without a reliable source of potable water.

In 2018, 118,000 residents of Basra province were hospitalised with symptoms brought on by drinking contaminated water, which not only put a spotlight on the inadequacies of a crumbling healthcare system but sparked mass protests and a subsequent violent crackdown.

The water crisis is also undermining the stability of the country’s federal governance model, by occasionally sparking disputes between Baghdad and the Kurdistan Regional Government, as well as between governorates in the south.

The crisis is both a symptom and a cause of poor governance. Iraq is stuck in a cycle whereby government inaction causes shortages and contamination, which result in economic losses, reduced food supply, increased prices and widespread poor health. This in turn leads to increasing levels of poverty, higher demand on services and civil unrest, increasing the pressure on a weak, dysfunctional system of government.

What can be done?

The first priority should be modernising existing water-management infrastructure - a relic of a time when the problem was an excess rather than a shortage of water (the last time Iraq’s flood defences were required was 1968). Bureaucratic hurdles, widespread corruption and an endless cycle of other crises taking precedent prevent good initiatives from being implemented or scaled up.

Diversifying energy sources to improve provision is crucial. Baghdad has a sewage treatment plant that originally ran on its own electricity source, but this capacity was destroyed in 1991 and was never replaced. The city continues to suffer from dangerous levels of water pollution because the electricity supply from the grid is insufficient to power the plant. Solar energy has great potential in sun-drenched Iraq to bridge the gaping hole in energy provision, but successive governments have chosen to focus on fossil fuels rather than promoting investment to grow the renewables sector.

Heightened tension with upstream Turkey could turn water into another cause of regional conflict. But, if approached differently, collaboration between Iraq and its neighbour could foster regional harmony.

Turkey’s elevated geography and cooler climate mean its water reserves suffer 75% less evaporation than Iraq’s. Given that Turkey’s top energy priority is the diversification of its supply of imported hydrocarbons, a win-win deal could see Turkey exchange access to its water-management infrastructure for delivery of reduced cost energy supplies from Iraq.

German-French cooperation on coal and steel in the 1950s and the evolution of economic integration that followed might provide a model for how bilateral cooperation over one issue could result in cooperation with other regional players (in this case Iran and Syria) on a range of other issues. This kind of model would need to consider the future of energy, whereby oil and gas would be replaced by solar-power exports.

These solutions have been open to policymakers for years and yet they have taken little tangible action. While there are leaders and bureaucrats with the will to act, effective action is invariably blocked by a complex and opaque political system replete with vested interests in maintaining power and wealth via a weak state and limited services from central government.

Breaking the cycle

To break this cycle, Iraq needs a group of professional and able actors outside of government to work with willing elements of the state bureaucracy as a taskforce to pressure for action and accountability. Publishing the recommendations from a hitherto withheld report produced in the aftermath of Basra’s 2018 heath crisis would be a great start.

In time, this taskforce could champion the prioritisation of water on the national agenda, the implementation of infrastructure upgrades, and hold more productive conversations with neighbour states.

With such a high degree of state fragmentation and dysfunction in Iraq, looking to the central government to provide leadership will not yield results. Engagement with a coalition of non-state actors can begin to address the water crisis and also open a dialogue around new models of governance for other critical issues. This might even be a starting point for rewriting the tattered social contract in Iraq.

This piece is based on insights and discussion at a roundtable event, Conflict and the Water Crisis in Iraq, held at Chatham House on March 9 as part of the Iraq Initiative.

On April 9, Iraqi President Barham Salih gathered the Shia, Kurdish and Sunni political blocs at the presidential palace to task head of intelligence Mustafa al-Kadhimi with forming a government.

Kadhimi is the third prime minister-designate assigned since Prime Minister Adil abd al-Mehdi resigned in November, in the wake of mass protests against government corruption and the country’s ethno-sectarian based political system.

Kadhimi’s two predecessors, Muhammad Tawfiq Allawi and Adnan al-Zurfi, both failed to form a government. This third attempt came as Iraq struggles with repeated crises since October 2019, when the government began responding with deadly force to large-scale mass protests, killing more than 600 and injuring tens of thousands.

In January, the assassination of Qasem Soleimani escalated tensions between the United States and Iran, with Iraq stuck in the middle and becoming the home for regular tit-for-tat attacks. The Islamic State — never completely defeated — took advantage of these crises and increased its attacks in disputed territories.

The outbreak of COVID-19 challenges the country’s fragile public health sector, while the decline in the price of oil will make it harder for leaders to pay the public salaries that keep the system (and patronage) moving.

What does the delay in forming a government amid multiple crises mean for the post-2003 Iraqi political system?

Iraq’s post-2003 political system is designed to withstand crisis. Over the years, political parties reflecting the country’s ethnic and sectarian divides have had a tacit understanding that crises represent a risk to their collective interests. These elite stakeholders have together weathered civil war, insurgency and multiple protests — despite deep conflicts with one another.

For instance, in September 2018 protesters attacked most major political party headquarters and the Iranian consulate in Basra, and authorities killed some 20 protesters.

Since the May election of that year, the fragmented Shia elite had been unable to even declare which side has the largest parliamentary bloc, let alone decide on a government.

But after the September crisis, the previously gridlocked parties swiftly came together to form an “understanding” that pushed through the impasse leading to the Mehdi government. In 2020, however, Iraq’s political parties were slower to come back together despite the multiple crises — far greater than 2018. The system is less able to swiftly fix itself, based primarily on the fragmentation of the elite — and their determination to prevent any challenge to their rule.

Why did the two prior attempts fail?

The two previous prime minister-designates each fell short for different reasons. When I met Allawi in February at the prime minister’s guesthouse in Baghdad, he was very clearly convinced that his mandate was to sideline the parties.

He hoped that simply choosing technocratic ministers outside the elite pact, with the support of Moqtada al-Sadr behind him, would garner support from protesters and the disillusioned public. He failed, however, because his cabinet had to go through parliament and the parties rejected what they saw a threat to the elite pact and the system.

Zurfi similarly failed after being directly appointed in March by Salih after the Shia parties failed to come up with a candidate. From the beginning, then, Zurfi faced challenges because parties were not in agreement. He attempted to directly confront his opposition, and spoke out against Iranian influence in Iraq. As a result, Zurfi was unable to even get to parliament with his proposed cabinet, as the Shia parties got back together to bring him down.

The failure of both strategies — Allawi attempting to work outside the elite party system and Zurfi trying to target certain parties — reveals tensions in Iraq’s political system. This fragmentation strains the parties’ ability to swiftly unite, and the system’s ability to withstand crises.

The endemic problems are a consequence of fragmentation, including the failure following the 2018 elections to declare governing parliamentary bloc. Moreover, after that election, newcomers into the political system (two-thirds of the MPs are serving their first term) are increasingly making their own demands and less willing to blindly toe party lines.

Can Kadhimi overcome the impasse?

Kadhimi’s appointment as prime minister-designate nonetheless is on shaky foundations. His appointment had previously faced a veto from Iran and its allied groups which make up the Fateh bloc. Kataeb Hezbollah, an armed group close to Iran and linked to the Popular Mobilization Units, issued a statement accusing Kadhimi with blood on his hands for the deaths of Soleimani and Abu Mahdi al-Muhandis.

Many Fateh bloc members had for months vetoed Kadhimi’s name due to this allegation. Immediately before Kadhimi addressed the nation for the first time, Iraqi state television broadcast a prerecorded statement by PMU (and Fateh) leader Qais al-Khazali, who had also previously accused Kadhimi of spying for the Americans and being complicit in the two killings.

Khazali, who commands the second-largest party within Fateh, accepted the party line to back Kadhimi but came out with his own conditions on television. However, the concerns about the COVID-19 crisis and the collapse of the price of oil finally brought all sides to compromise — a design of the political system.

Kadhimi has signalled he will play by the old rules with these stakeholders. Because of the magnitude of these simultaneous crises, Iraqi politics is moving back to the post-2003 norm. The ethno-sectarian based political system is geared to weather such existential crises more than it is to handling day-to-day governance. Despite the notion of “post-sectarianism” in Iraq, this system is based on ethno-sectarian political party compromise.

In his television address, Khazali, who had previously attempted to move away from sectarian language, explained that the process of selecting a prime minister is reserved to the Shia, who have the right as the majority, and not to Salih, a Kurd.

Over the years Kadhimi has expressed an admiration of the bravery of the protesters and of the importance of civil society. Many Iraqi civil society activists owe their lives to the work of the former intelligence chief. However, he has also been part of the same system that has violently suppressed protesters.

As the compromise prime minister-designate, he will find it difficult to transform his country as long as he plays by the rules of post-2003 Iraq — an irony not lost on the protesters who immediately rejected the candidacy of a man whom until recently many protesters had supported.

This article was originally published in The Washington Post

In the COVID-19 crisis so far, Cyril Ramaphosa has been widely praised for displaying the decisive leadership so many hoped for when they cast their ballot for him in May 2019. Buttressed by others such as health minister Dr Zweli Mkhize, and on a simple objective to prevent transmission, South Africa has been a lesson to the world. Act fast. Act hard.

Former president Thabo Mbeki’s disastrous response to the HIV crisis cast a long shadow over his legacy, and Ramaphosa has taken note. South Africa has had one of the tightest lockdowns in the world. No exercise. No cigarettes. No alcohol.

The lockdown was imposed when the country had only around 1,000 recorded cases and just two deaths. As a result, transmission from returning travellers has not yet led to an exponential infection rate within the community. The government’s swift reaction has bought much needed time with the peak now seemingly delayed to September or October.

Continental and national leadership

Ramaphosa has also emerged as a key focal point for Africa-wide responses. As current chair of the African Union (AU) he leads the continental engagement with the World Health Organization (WHO), and the various international finance institutions, while South African officials are working with the AU and the United Nations Economic Commission for Africa (UNECA) on a push for African debt restructuring.

He has also been active in trouble shooting to unlock external assistance to the continent, including from China and Russia. Appointing special envoys is typical of his boardroom-honed leadership style.

International and regional partnerships are vital for resilience and the arrival of 217 Cuban doctors to South Africa is strongly reminiscent of the liberationist solidarity of the Cold War era. And regional economies remain dependent on South Africa to protect their own vulnerable citizens. Following the 2008 financial crisis, it was South Africa’s regional trading relationships that remained robust, while trade with its main global partners in China and the US dropped.

Despite the plaudits, Ramaphosa remains vulnerable to challenge at home, notably around his failure to stimulate South Africa’s moribund economy. On the eve of lockdown, Moody’s joined its peers Standard and Poor’s and Fitch in giving South Africa a below investment grade credit rating. The move was a long time coming. Long mooted economic reforms were slow to materialise, and South Africa had fallen into recession.

Ramaphosa depends on a small core of close advisors and allies, initially united in apparent opposition to the kleptocratic rule of President Jacob Zuma and the deep patronage networks he created within both the party and the state. But this allegiance is being tested by economic reality. Support within the party was already drifting prior to the crisis.

Disagreements are not just technocratic – there are big ideological questions in play around the role of the state in the economy, the level of intervention, and its affordability, with key government figures sceptical of rapid market reforms. Energy minister and former union stalwart Gwede Mantashe is wary of job losses, and minister of public enterprises Pravin Gordhan protective of state-owned enterprises (SOEs). Before coronavirus hit, Ramaphosa seemed content to allow these policy disputes to play themselves out with little decisive intervention.

Slow progress on reform, against worsening economic performance, left Ramaphosa and his allies exposed. In January the president missed the UK’s African Investment Summit in order to assert control over a party meeting at which it was expected his detractors would seek to remove Gordhan.

COVID-19 has sharpened thinking

As the independently assertive - and eminently quotable - pro-market reformist finance minister Tito Mboweni stated, ‘you can’t eat ideology’. Accelerated reform and restructuring is required if the government turns to the International Monetary Fund (IMF) for assistance.

For the first time, Gordhan has been forced to deny a bailout to beleaguered state airline South African Airways (SAA), and the government’s lockdown bailout of R300 billion has been applauded by business. Much like the fiscal stimulus and recovery plan of 2018, it relies on smart spending, targeting sectors with high multiplier effects. It also includes significant reserve bank loans.

But it has been criticised for not doing enough to help the most vulnerable. There is considerable fear of what could happen when the virus takes hold in South Africa’s townships and informal settlements where social distancing is almost impossible, basic toilet facilities are shared, and HIV and TB rates high.

There are mounting concerns of the humanitarian cost of a prolonged lockdown, and the government has been faster than others in implementing a tiered lockdown system, trying to get people back to work and keep the economy afloat.

South Africa has been criticized by the UN for the use of lethal force by security forces in enforcing lockdown and, in a society plagued by corruption, there are fears legislation to stop the spread of false information could be used to restrict legitimate reporting on the virus response or other issues.

COVID-19 shines a spotlight on societies’ fault-lines worldwide. South Africa is often touted as having one of the highest levels of inequality in the world but, in a globalized economy, these divisions are international as much as they are local.

Resilience comes from within, but also depends on regional and global trading and financial systems. South Africans and international partners have long recognised Ramaphosa’s leadership qualities as an impressive voice for the global south.

But he must also be an advocate for South Africa’s poor. This crisis could accelerate implementation of his landmark pro-poor National Health Insurance and Universal Health Care programmes. Or the hit of COVID-19 on top of South Africa’s existing economic woes could see them derailed entirely. Ramaphosa must push through economic reforms at the same time as managing COVID-19 and rebuilding trust in his government.

This article sets out to bring sound and music to the field of visual studies in International Relations. It argues that IR largely has approached the visual field as if it was without sound; neglecting how audial landscapes frame and direct our interpretation of moving imagery. Sound and music contribute to making imagery intelligible to us, we ‘hear the pictures’ often without noticing. The audial can for instance articulate a visual absence, or blast visual signs, bring out certain emotional stages or subjects’ inner life. Audial frames steer us in distinct directions, they can mute the cries of the wounded in war, or amplify the sounds of joy of soldiers shooting in the air. To bring the audial and the visual analytically and empirically together, the article therefore proposes four key analytical themes: 1) the audial–visual frame, 2) point of view/point of audition, 3) modes of audio-visual synchronization and 4) aesthetics moods. These are applied to a study of ‘war music videos’ in Iraq and Syria made and circulated by Shi'a militias currently fighting there. Such war music videos, it is suggested, are not just artefacts of popular culture, but have become integral parts of how warfare is practiced today, and one that is shared by soldiers in the US and Europe. War music videos are performing war, just as they shape how war is known by spectators and participants alike.