Pathways from rebellion: Rebel-party configurations in Côte d’Ivoire and Burundi

Pathways from rebellion: Rebel-party configurations in Côte d’Ivoire and Burundi Abstract Across diverse liberal war-to-peace transitions, the integration of former armed movements into the post-accord political system has been identified as a significant factor in determining the success of peace processes. There is now a growing literature focusing on rebel-to-party transformations in the aftermath of armed conflict. Despite on-going debates over the long-term implications of rebel-to-party conversions for existing party systems, actual studies focusing on diverse patterns of rebel-party configurations in post-accord transitions remain rare. This article takes a first step to fill this gap by comparing pathways in rebel-party relations in Côte d’Ivoire and Burundi. While the FN in Côte d’Ivoire joined the RDR, an established political party, with FN members running as candidates for the RDR in post-accord elections, the CNDD-FDD in Burundi formed its own party becoming the country’s current ruling party. We develop a theoretical framework analyzing these divergent pathways by exploring how ties between armed movements and pre-conflict political parties shape trajectories of rebel groups during and beyond civil war. Why do some rebel groups merge with pre-existing political parties while others transform into their own party organizations in the aftermath of civil war? This article explores differences in how former insurgent movements integrate into ‘post-conflict’ party systems.1 It examines these variations by focusing on two cases of liberal war-to-peace transitions in Sub-Saharan Africa: Côte d’Ivoire and Burundi. While many former members of the Forces nouvelles (FN) in Côte d’Ivoire joined the Rassemblement des républicains (RDR), an established political party, the Conseil national pour la défense de la démocratie – Forces pour la défense de la démocratie (CNDD-FDD) in Burundi formed its own political party.2 What explains these distinct trajectories? There is now a growing literature on the transformation of rebel groups into political parties.3 This scholarship has overwhelmingly focused on the causal factors facilitating formal rebel-to-party transformations as well as their long-term implications. We adopt an approach that treats rebel-to-party conversions as but one plausible pathway through which former rebels are integrated into post-conflict political systems. Rebel-to-party transformations have gained increasing scholarly attention because of the widely held view that the political integration of rebel groups constitutes an important initial step in institutionalizing peaceful channels for interest articulation.4 The more ex-combatants are integrated into the post-accord political order, the less of a threat they are thought to pose as potential ‘spoilers’.5 Beyond the institutionalization of interest articulation, the integration of former rebels also has broader political implications.6 In negotiating political settlements, armed groups often displace existing political parties as vehicles linking citizens to the state. As Andreas Mehler argues, this sends a powerful message to other would-be political entrepreneurs that ‘violence pays’ as a means of political advancement.7 Rebel-to-party transformations also represent one way different social groups – young people, working classes, women, and ethnic groups previously marginalized from political power – can challenge established political elites and hierarchies through violent conflict.8 Formal rebel-to-party transitions directly challenge the political status of pre-conflict elites and parties. Conversely, the status of established elites and the representative role of traditional political parties is less threatened when armed groups merge with existing parties or are integrated into the post-conflict order as part of the state, as ‘warlord-bureaucrats’9 or members of unified armed forces. To compare these different integration trajectories, this article develops a novel theoretical framework that explores the structural and path-dependent effects of differences in insurgent proximity, i.e. diverse pre-conflict relationships between future rebel leaders and ruling political elites. At the onset of violence, rebel groups occupy different positions vis-à-vis national-level ruling elites.10 Some groups are deeply embedded within these ruling coalitions. They are tied directly to established elites as personal militias or armed factions of existing parties. Others emerge autonomously from capital-based power structures. They command authority and resources independently from their relationship with pre-conflict ruling elites. Through a paired comparison of Côte d’Ivoire and Burundi, we examine how proximity of insurgent groups to pre-conflict ruling elites influences their divergent trajectories through two mechanisms: organization building and expansion/contraction of political space available to new parties within national party systems. This article explores these mechanisms and uses the richness of our two cases to contribute to theory building.11 Côte d’Ivoire and Burundi represent excellent cases for comparison because they share a number of theoretically relevant characteristics. Both countries experienced long-time single party rule until the beginning of the 1990s. In each case, armed movements challenged the authority of the state and controlled tracts of the country’s territory during the civil war, which divided the countries for a comparable amount of time: Côte d’Ivoire from 2002 to 2011, and Burundi from 1993 to 2008. In both cases, the civil war formally ended following the signing of a peace agreement and the holding of elections. However, while the FN in Côte d’Ivoire joined an existing party with FN members running as RDR candidates during municipal and legislative elections between 2010 and 2015, the CNDD-FDD registered as a political party and won consecutive elections between 2005 and 2015. The argument developed in this paper is based on over 150 interviews and archival research conducted in Côte d’Ivoire and Burundi between 2010 and 2015. The authors interviewed a wide range of political actors, including representatives of political parties, former members of rebel groups, traditional leaders and actors belonging to civil society groups and international organizations. Interviews in Côte d’Ivoire took place in Abidjan as well as towns in the North formerly held by the FN, including in Korhogo, Ouangolodougou and Bouna. Interviews in Burundi were conducted in the capital Bujumbura as well as in the hillsides of the country, including in Bubanza, Bujumbura Rural, Bururi and Makamba provinces. The article proceeds as follows. The first part develops our theoretical argument regarding how pre-conflict proximity shapes the integration of rebel groups into post-accord party systems. The next two sections retrace the trajectories of the FN in Côte d’Ivoire and the CNDD-FDD in Burundi. Each case is organized along a similar chronological pattern to assess how our theoretical argument plays out in each of the cases. The conclusion summarizes our findings and proposes directions for future research. Insurgent proximity and the shaping of rebel governance and political opportunities What explains differences in the ways former rebel groups integrate into post-accord party systems? Our response to this question emphasizes variations in the proximity of rebel organizers to pre-conflict power structures and ruling coalitions. We conceptualize insurgent proximity to established national-level political elites on a continuum. More proximate insurgent groups are led by actors with well-established ties to ruling elites in the pre-conflict period. Such armed groups are commonly organized in the pre-conflict period as armed wings of ruling political parties or, more narrowly, have personalized ties to individual politicians. Less proximate insurgent groups are organized around clandestine political networks that are independent of established ruling elites. They develop command structures, mobilize support and control material resources independent of ties to state institutions. Leaders of autonomous groups have typically been marginalized from pre-conflict ruling coalitions for long periods of time before the onset of violent conflict.12 We argue that relative pre-conflict proximity shapes the social space in which rebel groups originate and evolve during the course of armed conflict. Proximity influences post-accord integration trajectories through two mechanisms: rebel organization building and the development of available political space for new parties in national party systems. Contrary to popular media representations, civil wars do not always result in violent disorder.13 There are significant variations in the extent to which armed movements build institutions and preserve political order.14 Some rebel groups develop their own complex governance and popular support structures. Conversely, other groups are loosely organized and provide few governmental services to civilian populations. Wartime organizational legacies influence post-accord rebel trajectories by shaping both the relationship between rebel leaders and the rank-and-file (the internal dimension of rebel governance) as well as the linkages between rebels and civilians (the external dimension). The internal dimension of rebel governance refers to how organizations control and structure the behaviour of group members. Organizations that reinforce social ties between group members enhance the ability of their members to coordinate their activities with one another and allow group leadership to monitor and discipline the behaviour of foot soldiers.15 Organizational coherence flows in part from whether group members develop shared norms about appropriate behaviour in the field.16 Scholars also point to evidence that centralized (hierarchical, infrastructural) organizations are more effective at coordinating the behaviour of group members than decentralized (networked or cellular) organizations.17 The external dimension of rebel governance refers to how rebels organize relationships with civilians. Because civil wars divide territorial sovereignty, they often restrict the state’s ability to enforce rules and provide public goods. In lieu of the state, some armed movements (along with a host of other non-state actors) often fill this role as the primary provider of physical security and welfare services.18 Some groups build extensive parallel administration structures, leading some scholars to refer to them as embryonic or de facto states.19 Other movements do not develop an extensive set of institutional ties to civilian populations. In these cases, armed movements might only provide a limited set of services, such as security or tax collection. Alternatively, there might be spatial restrictions to rebel governance of civilians where movements govern densely populated urban areas but do not engage smaller rural villages (or vice versa).20 The proximity of armed group leadership to pre-conflict ruling coalitions creates powerful disincentives for rebel organization building. William Reno argues that armed groups in African countries often lack autonomy as a result of the non-bureaucratic means by which national-level political elites maintain and struggle for power. In the absence of effective bureaucracies, African leaders maintain political power by granting selective control over illicit markets to allies. Favoured elites capitalize on their political protection by creating armed wings of political movements to attack and marginalize rivals.21 These strategies have implications for the character of violent conflict and the organizational strategies of armed groups. Elites who break away from ruling coalitions during periods of political change privatize control over clandestine markets by drawing on the support of armed groups formed in the pre-conflict period. Such patronage-based conflicts disrupt relations between rebels and local populations. Access to illicit markets limits the need for rebels to bargain with civilian populations for resources and build effective institutions in rebel-controlled zones.22 In contrast, pressures to bargain with civilians and build institutions are heightened in cases where armed movements recruit fighters and mobilize resources autonomously from capital-based ruling elites.23 Differences in the internal and external dimensions of rebel governance influence the political integration trajectories that rebel groups take after the official end of hostilities. Rebel organizations capable of controlling group members and building strong ties with civilian populations are more likely to transform into political parties after civil war.24 These groups provide a coherent organizational basis around which new party structures can be established. Organizational ties between armed movements and civilians through the provision of public goods support rebel-to-party conversions because they bolster the legitimacy of rebel movements in the eyes of civilian populations.25 Civilian supporters function as in-place constituencies in the electoral arena for rebel parties. In contrast, rebel organizations characterized by less internal cohesion and external organization building with civilian populations are less likely to transform into parties.26 Proximity also influences post-conflict trajectories through the opening or closing of political space available to new parties in established party systems. Armed movements legitimize the use of collective violence in a variety of ways.27 However, whether legitimization strategies successfully develop constituencies for new parties depends on whether armed movements can successfully frame themselves as the sole representatives of these communities during the conflict period. In this way, our approach builds on social movement literature and the concept of political opportunity structure.28 Scholars have drawn on the notion of political opportunity to explain variations in the rise of new parties, specifically right-wing parties in Europe, despite very similar ideological bases of cross-national support for these types of parties.29 We emphasize something similar to what Jens Rydgren refers to as party system ‘niches’, or ‘gaps between the voters’ location in the political space and the perceived position of the parties (i.e. the party images or position on crucial issues) in the same space’.30 In Sub-Saharan Africa, political parties often depend on ethno-regional bases of support due to the socially fragmented character of many African states.31 Our argument is that party system ‘niches’, which facilitate the emergence of new parties, are shaped principally by the presence of parties in post-conflict party systems that represent the same ethno-regional groups as former armed movements. John Ishiyama and Michael Widmeier suggest that the presence or absence of parties who ‘compete for the same constituencies as rebel parties’32 could impact the electoral success of new parties formed from rebel groups in ‘post-conflict’ elections. Our argument goes further and suggests that the presence of established political parties that represent the same constituencies as former rebel groups are likely to dissuade the very transition from rebel group to political party altogether. Where proximity is high in the pre-conflict period, rebels are more likely to become clients of established elites and representatives of their parties. In these instances, rebel groups and traditional parties are more likely to represent the same ethno-regional groups. This does not mean that former rebels will not play prominent roles in political transitions. Rather, they are more likely to emerge as parts of the state by running as members of existing parties who represent similar ethno-regional constituencies. Where proximity is low, rebel groups have more independence from established parties and function as the principal or even sole representatives of their respective ethno-regional constituencies. This political ‘niche’ facilitates the formal transformation from rebel group to political party (Figure 1). Figure 1 View largeDownload slide Framework for explaining the integration of rebel groups into post-accord party systems Figure 1 View largeDownload slide Framework for explaining the integration of rebel groups into post-accord party systems Côte d’Ivoire: rebel-party merger after civil war Côte d’Ivoire gained independence from France in 1960. During the first two decades following independence, the ‘Ivoirian miracle’ would become a well-known African success story, characterized by relative economic growth and political stability. However, political struggles over national identity and control over the state led to decades of violence after the introduction of multiparty politics in 1990 and the death of the country’s long-time President Félix Houphouët-Boigny in 1993. Growing insecurity reached its peak in 2000 following elections that brought Laurent Gbagbo to power and excluded two of his principle competitors – Alassane Ouattara and Henri Bédié – from running. After two years of increasing persecution, elements of the opposition to Gbagbo organized a putsch. Although the attackers failed to remove Gbagbo, a coalition of armed groups that became the FN retained administrative control over Northern Côte d’Ivoire until 2011.33 The September 2002 attacks were planned and organized by a group of Ivoirian exiles based in Burkina Faso. The core of the FN’s leadership had strong political ties to an existing opposition party, the RDR, prior to the conflict.34 Rebel leadership came from two main groups. Many were former officers in the Ivoirian armed forces who were purged as a result of their suspected support for Ouattara and the RDR. Future FN military leaders, such as Chérif Fofana, Chérif Ousmane and Ouattara Issiaka (‘Wattao’), were tortured or exiled during these purges. The widely acknowledged mastermind of the rebellion, Ibrahim Coulibaly (or ‘IB’), was the former head of the Presidential Guard.35 Beyond former members of the Ivoirian military, much of the rebellion’s political leadership was comprised of former student leaders involved in university politics in the 1990s. During this period, the principal organization involved in the Ivoirian student movement, Fédération estudiantine et scolaire de Côte d’Ivoire (FESCI), became increasingly factionalized along partisan-ethnic lines, which largely mirrored cleavages underpinning political competition at the national level. The FESCI was formed in 1990 as part of the opposition movement against Côte d’Ivoire’s old single party, the Parti démocratique de Côte d’Ivoire (PDCI). As the principal opposition party, the Front populaire ivoirien (FPI) established close ties with FESCI’s leadership.36 The forced removal of former President Bédié in 1999 by General Robert Guëi and the election of Gbagbo in 2000 led to the development of divisions within the student movement that paralleled political cleavages forming at the national level. Ouattara’s exclusion from the 2000 elections and the persecution of perceived RDR supporters more generally prompted the emergence of ‘dissident’ (aligned with the RDR) and ‘loyalist’ (aligned with the FPI) factions of the FESCI on university campuses in Abidjan and Bouaké. Contests over the leadership of the organization resulted in a series of bloody clashes between these groups, commonly referred to as the ‘war of machetes’. A number of former student leaders of this ‘dissident’ faction, including former FESCI President Guillaume Soro, featured as prominent actors in the 2002 rebellion. Many former FESCI members formed the FN’s administrative core during its decade-long control of the North.37 The FN enjoyed modest popular support after failing in its attempt to remove Gbagbo from power and gaining control of much of Northern Côte d’Ivoire. After the rebels seized Bouaké, Human Rights Watch reported: the ‘MPCI were sympathetic to civilians and offered food, medicine and other aid to civilians in need.’38 Aid workers and journalists confirmed ‘the positive behaviour of the MPCI troops towards civilians in the first months.’39 However, indiscipline within the movement rose sharply over time. Reports of theft, economic racketeering and violence used against civilians in the North steadily increased. Additionally, FN leaders exploited their positions of authority within the rebellion to gain wealth through their control over illicit markets.40 As a result, popular disenchantment with the FN grew as rebel control and the territorial division of the country persisted over time. The impetus for organization building stemmed from the need to better control the military wing of the movement. Militarily, the FN administered the North through the creation of ten distinct com’zones. A zone commander, typically a former member of the Ivoirian military, headed each com’zone. The com’zones were generally the first and for a long time the only institution established by the FN in the regions they controlled. As a result, the actions of com’zone leaders remained poorly monitored and controlled by national level political and military leaders, particularly in the early stages of the conflict. This declining legitimacy forced the FN to develop political and financial institutions to manage the military side of the movement represented by the com’zones. The overarching umbrella institution responsible for the FN’s finances was the Secrétariat national chargé de l’économie et des finances. However, the autonomous body la Centrale économique was responsible for decisions related to the FN’s revenues and expenditures. The FN governed and regulated many aspects of the Northern economy through la Centrale, including transport, fuel, agricultural commodities and natural resources such as diamonds and gold.41 Much of the responsibility for the local day-to-day management of tax collection rested on the shoulders of tax officials positioned in each com’zone, called régisseurs. The Secrétariat général (or the Cabinet civil des Forces nouvelles) represented the political or administrative wing of the rebellion. The former FESCI student leader Guillaume Soro headed the Secrétariat. As indicated above, much of this administrative wing was filled with former students involved in campus politics through the FESCI. The Secrétariat was responsible for working with international organizations, supplying aid or social/health services, keeping schools open and ensuring the holding of final exams, communicating the FN’s aims and political positions to the populations under its control, and regulating problems between the civilian population and the military wing of the movement.42 Nonetheless, despite this stated mandate, the FN’s leaders generally remained hesitant to expand their role in everyday governance over explicitly ‘political’ issues such as local conflicts over land, gender relations, or chiefly succession.43 The FN also rarely expanded rebel governance to rural areas. Till Förster describes the FN as a case of ‘partial presence’ of rebel governance, where governance ‘network(s) links the bigger cities in the area but often leaves rural villages aside’.44 Finally, some observers have also described the FN’s rule as an example of local level power-sharing: although arbitrary in many respects, several domains of governance remained in the hands of other actors such as traditional authorities or international and domestic NGOs who retained some authority over specific issue areas, even after the beginning of the civil war and the retreat of the state’s formal institutions.45 Côte d’Ivoire’s political crisis was punctuated by a series of ultimately failed mediated efforts to resolve the conflict. To an extent, the Ivoirian peace process offered substantial opportunities for the FN to transform itself into a political party. Successive peace negotiations generally worked to heighten the political influence of the rebels vis-à-vis the government as well as other opposition parties. In 2003, initial efforts at peacefully resolving the conflict failed largely due to the fact that many in Gbagbo’s camp felt that the rebels gained too much.46 During the 2007 negotiations and the signing of the Ouagadougou Peace Accords, Gbagbo’s call for ‘direct dialogue’ with rebel leader Soro was seen by many as a way of dividing the political opposition and sidelining the major pre-conflict opposition parties, particularly the RDR led by Ouattara and the PDCI led by Bédié.47 Soro was named as the new Prime Minister after the signing of the Ouagadougou Peace Accords. In this way, the peace process appeared to enhance Soro’s political power and the rest of the FN’s leadership at the expense of pre-conflict, established political parties. Nonetheless, the opportunities available to the FN to transform into a political party during the course of the peace process was minimized by the on-going presence and influence of established parties. From 2005, the rebels negotiated with Gbagbo alongside an oppositional coalition, the Rassemblement des houphouëtistes pour la démocratie et la paix (RHDP), which was comprised of five opposition parties including the RDR. Given that the RDR and the FN represented identical constituencies (the North and immigrant communities based in the South), the RDR’s on-going influence under Ouattara challenged the FN’s status as a legitimate representative of these communities. The FN’s challenge to the RDR was mitigated by the fact that Ouattara’s candidacy was an important reason why many FN militants had taken up arms in the first place. Not surprisingly, the FN cast themselves as neutral brokers of peace, which worked to ensure the holding of free and fair elections, rather than as representatives of any particular group.48 Multiple delays in the holding of national elections stemmed from Gbagbo’s recognition that together the RDR and the PDCI could deliver the votes from their respective ethno-national constituencies and defeat him at the polls. The FN remained in control of Northern Côte d’Ivoire until the 2010 presidential elections. Buoyed by the support given to him by Bédié and PDCI, Ouattara emerged as the victor in the second round of these elections, gaining 54 percent of the vote. Ouattara won in large part due to the overwhelming support he received in many of the Northern departments controlled by the FN. However, not long after the announcement of Ouattara’s victory by the Commission électorale indépendante (CEI), Ivorian courts annulled the results, claiming that voting irregularities in some Northern departments had skewed the results in Ouattara’s favour. The courts reacted by subtracting the votes cast in these departments from the original total. This decision swung the outcome in favour of Gbagbo, who was sworn in as president on 4 December 2010. Gbagbo’s refusal to cede power led to a four-month stalemate that was ultimately resolved in late March 2011 when the rebels, newly named the Forces républicaines de Côte d’Ivoire (FRCI), with support from the United Nations Operation in Côte d’Ivoire and French forces based in Abidjan, launched a military assault on the government-controlled Southern half of the country. On 3 April 2011, Gbagbo was forcibly removed from power by the FRCI. This dramatic period of the Ivoirian conflict concluded when Ouattara was officially sworn in as president on 11 April 2011.49 Although the FN has not organized itself as a political party, former FN members continue to play prominent roles in Côte d’Ivoire’s incipient post-Gbagbo political order. Since 2011, Ouattara appointed a number of former FN leaders to high-ranking bureaucratic or military posts. Ouattara named former zone commanders Chérif Ousmane as the second-in-command of the military unit responsible for presidential security and Fofié Martin as the head of the military company in Korhogo.50 In 2012, Ouattara named a number of other former high-ranking FN leaders as administrative préfets.51 Other ex-FN members assumed prominent roles in the post-conflict political system as RDR party members. A number of former FN members ran as RDR candidates in the 2011 legislative elections or the 2013 regional and municipal elections. Many of these candidates were pro-RDR FESCI leaders prior to the conflict. Some prominent examples include Sidiki Konaté, Alphonse Soro, Hien Philippe, Kanigui Mamadou Soro, and former FESCI and FN leader Guillaume Soro. Rather than using the FN’s decade-long control over the North as a basis for creating a new political party, former FN leaders emerged as key players amidst factional struggles within the RDR over control of the party and succession to Ouattara.52 Burundi: rebel-to-party transformation after civil war Since its independence from Belgium in 1962, Burundi has been shaken by political assassinations, coup d’états, military dictatorships, and politico-ethnic massacres, culminating in 1993 in the outbreak of the civil war.53 After three decades of Tutsi-dominated military dictatorships,54 Burundi held its first democratic elections in June 1993. These milestone polls resulted in a landslide victory for the recently legalized predominantly Hutu party, the Front pour la démocratie au Burundi (FRODEBU). Melchior Ndadaye, FRODEBU’s charismatic leader, became president. However, Ndadaye was murdered only three months later by a small group of hardliners in the Tutsi-dominated national army. Ndadaye’s assassination sparked the civil war and a vicious cycle of inter- and intra-ethnic violence. In contrast to Côte d’Ivoire, Burundi’s armed conflict pitted several Hutu-dominated rebellions against the Tutsi army as well as each other for the stewardship of the liberation mantle. The Parti pour la libération du peuple hutu – Forces nationales de libération (PALIPEHUTU-FNL) and the Conseil national pour la défense de la démocratie – Forces pour la défense de la démocratie (CNDD-FDD) became the most important fighting forces.55 In 2005, Burundi held its first post-accord elections, which brought the CNDD-FDD, now acting as the governing political party, to power. The PALIPEHUTU-FNL continued its armed struggle until 2009, when it also transformed into its own party. Often simplistically portrayed as an inter-ethnic conflict between the Hutu majority and the Tutsi minority,56 the Burundian conflict is above all rooted in the struggle of its political elites for power.57 Unlike the FN in Côte d’Ivoire, which was organized by former members of the Ivoirian military and student leaders with close ties to pre-conflict ruling networks, the CNDD-FDD grew from Hutu-dominated clandestine political networks that enjoyed far more autonomy from the state. It is rooted in the Mouvement des étudiants progressistes barundi (MEPROBA), a leftist student organization created in exile. The MEPROBA was founded in Belgium at the beginning of the 1970s following the ethno-political massacres of 1965 and 1969. In the aftermath of the 1972 ‘selective genocide’,58 the MEPROBA split into the Tabara (‘Come to my Rescue’) and the Umugambwe wa’Bakozi Uburundi (UBU) (‘Party of Burundi Labourers’), which would become the political parent organizations of the PALIPEHUTU-FNL and the CNDD-FDD. Tabara developed a more essentialist, ethno-radical reading of the Burundian conflict; whereas, UBU had a more Marxist, class-based interpretation.59 Tabara members, most notably Rémy Gahutu, founded the PALIPEHUTU in a Tanzanian refugee camp in 1980 and the FNL, its military branch, in 1983.60 UBU members, including Ndadaye himself, founded FRODEBU clandestinely in Burundi in 1986. While FRODEBU was legally recognized in 1992 due to international pressure on the Buyoya regime to liberalize the political system, the PALIPEHUTU-FNL was never legalized in the run-up to the 1993 elections given its ethnic underpinning and rebellion. Following Ndadaye’s assassination, CNDD-FDD members recount a ‘spontaneous popular insurrection’,61 which formed the bulk of the CNDD-FDD’s rebellion. As FRODEBU was not able to control the country after Ndadaye’s assassination, the young party split over whether or not to accept sharing power with UPRONA, the former single ruling party. While one group of FRODEBU activists favoured political dialog, a breakaway faction considered that there was no other option than to take up arms to restore democracy. This radical FRODEBU offshoot became the nucleus of the CNDD’s political leadership. In the summer of 1994, several Hutu-dominated political and military groupings62 met in Uvira in neighbouring Zaïre to discuss the foundation of an insurgent front, which united the diverse pockets of popular resistance across the country. This assembly laid the foundation for the creation of the FDD, also known as Intagoheka (‘those who never sleep to remain vigilant’). The founding leaders solicited PALIPEHUTU-FNL militants’ experience in guerrilla warfare and nominated Donatien Misigaro, who had organized the FNL’s clandestine military trainings in Tanzania, as the first military chief of staff of the insurgent front.63 The FDD were later put under civilian command culminating in the CNDD-FDD’s official creation in September 1994. Léonard Nyangoma, a FRODEBU founding member and Minister of Interior under Ndadaye, became the movement’s first leader. The use of ‘Council’ in its name reflects the initial ambition to create a merger of the different existing Hutu-dominated political and military movements. In Burundi, the analysis of proximity is complicated, given the country’s pronounced bipolar ethno-political setting as well as the short time between the liberalization of the political system and the onset of the civil war. Compared to the FN in Côte d’Ivoire, the CNDD-FDD’s leadership emerged autonomously from pre-war established ruling elites. Instead, the CNDD-FDD is primarily rooted in clandestine political and military networks that emerged during and in opposition to decades of UPRONA’s military dictatorship. Given the long-term oppression of the Hutu majority population, Hutu-dominated political parties had been banned from the political scene. Instead, the population had to join UPRONA following the logic of the one-party state. The FRODEBU was only legalized in 1992 and held power for barely three months after winning the 1993 elections. In addition, the split within FRODEBU between ‘idealists’ (committed to political dialog and peaceful means) and ‘pragmatists’ (convinced that armed struggle was the only option) limited the CNDD-FDD’s proximity to national level pre-war political elites. At its inception, the CNDD-FDD was organized as an armed movement with a separate political and military branch. In Nyangoma’s vision, the political wing held supremacy over the military wing. Despite initial collaboration with the PALIPEHUTU-FNL, internal struggles over leadership and ideology led to the divorce between the two insurgent groups.64 However, several former PALIPEHUTU-FNL militants remained with the CNDD-FDD and rose to high-level political and military positions.65 Leadership of the CNDD-FDD’s military branch was subsequently given to Colonel Jean-Bosco Ndayikengurikiye, Nyangoma’s nephew and a former student of the Institut supérieur des cadres militaires.66 Nyangoma’s neglect of the battlefield, growing human rights abuses, and accusations of corruption led to his forced removal in 1998. Dissatisfied with Nyangoma’s political leadership, the military leaders reckoned that the CNDD-FDD’s next leader should oversee both the political and military wings. They wanted a commander more attuned to the requirements of the fighters and installed Ndayikengurukiye as the frontrunner of the newly integrated politico-military movement. Ndayikengurukiye soon followed in the footsteps of Nyangoma by distancing himself from the battlefield. Additionally, after having two leaders from Bururi, regional divisions within the movement grew. Many combatants felt that the next leader should not come from the traditionally privileged South. In 2001, Pierre Nkurunziza, Burundi’s current president from the Northern Province of Ngozi, ousted Ndayikengurukiye. The various leadership reversals illustrate the CNDD-FDD’s fragmented organizational character stemming from the movement’s origin in pockets of popular armed resistance. However, this changed when Nkurunziza, nicknamed Umuhuza (‘the unifier’), took charge. His commitment to staying close to the troops helped to foster internal cohesion.67 During the war, the CNDD-FDD managed to take limited territorial control over several areas. It organized as a grassroots movement and functioned around several military regions, which operated fairly independently. They were in charge of organizing their own recruitment and logistics while receiving general directives from the chief of staff concerning the overall military strategy. The CNDD-FDD recruited fighters and mobilized resources mostly autonomously from capital-based ruling elites. The CNDD-FDD forged strong ties with the local population, which became instrumental for the movement’s survival. Unlike the FN in Côte d’Ivoire, the CNDD-FDD built ‘local shadow administrations’68 primarily in the rural areas. In these partly liberated zones, it installed regional and communal commissioners, who substituted themselves for the state authorities. These commissioners were in charge of rallying the population behind the movement’s cause, shielding it from armed combat and consulting it on daily needs. The CNDD-FDD also provided a range of public goods, including education, health and justice services.69 The commissioners worked with the mobilisateurs politiques, mostly civilians, which constituted the backbone for the ideological sensibilization of the local population. The CNDD-FDD enjoyed tremendous popular support during the initial years of the war. This slowly declined during the later years, as the population became increasingly drained as the primary provider of food and shelter. However, overall popular support remained high throughout the war and has endured into the post-accord period. The CNDD-FDD’s financial bases were drawn primarily from the Burundian population and the movement’s later alliance with President Laurent-Desiré Kabila following the First Congo War. In some instances, the CNDD-FDD secretly co-opted government officials, most often FRODEBU members, giving it selected access to state resources.70 Several high-ranking FRODEBU politicians supported the movement financially, including former President Sylvestre Ntibantunganya, who donated parts of his salary. However, this co-optation remained sporadic due to the deep split within FRODEBU and the fact that it was extremely difficult for FRODEBU leaders to be part of state institutions while also supporting an insurgency against this very state.71 In addition, this limited co-optation of FRODEBU leaders was seriously undermined when, in July 1996, former President Buyoya staged another military coup. Buyoya systematically removed Hutu politicians from power.72 Successive talks between FRODEBU members, notably Jean Minani, FRODEBU’s exiled president based in Tanzania, and Ndayikengurukiye, aiming to reunite the two organizations did not yield any results.73 This illustrates the fluid nature of proximity, which evolves over time. During the civil war, Burundi’s political elites negotiated an inter-ethnic power-sharing agreement culminating in 2000 in the signing of the Arusha Peace and Reconciliation Agreement.74 However, initially various active rebel groups were excluded from the negotiations. In 2003, the CNDD-FDD was integrated in the Arusha process and signed the Pretoria Protocol, allowing the movement to transform into a political party and granting the integration of parts of its military forces into a new national army. The fact that the CNDD-FDD initially did not participate in the Arusha negotiations ultimately worked in its favour and partly explains its 2005 electoral success. The local population perceived the elite-driven peace talks in the distant Arusha with a lot of suspicion. Many politicians used their generous per-diem allowances to build grandiose hotels in the Kiriri neighbourhood of Bujumbura, known as the ‘Arusha District’.75 During the transition period, CNDD-FDD members discussed the option of returning to their respective parties of origin, notably FRODEBU, or creating their own party. During the founding congress in Gitega in August 2004, CNDD-FDD militants decided to transform the rebel movement into a political party. Given the tremendous popular support that it had built during the civil war, the CNDD-FDD was convinced that it could win the post-accord elections. During the 2005 elections, the CNDD-FDD and the FRODEBU were considered the most important political competitors among the 35 participating political parties. The CNDD-FDD, widely credited for having brought relative peace to the country, won the elections with 58.55 percent of the votes (compared to 21.7 percent for the FRODEBU). The CNDD-FDD built on its extended shadow administration structures created during the rebellion. Demobilized soldiers were approached early on and left the cantonment sites to return to their home hills (colline) and campaign for the elections. During the electoral campaign, the CNDD-FDD used its history as an armed movement to intimidate voters and collect war chest fees. This contributed to the perception that the rebel party risked returning to the maquis if it did not win the elections. In contrast to the 1993 elections, UPRONA was relegated to a secondary role. However, given the ethnic quota system enshrined in the Arusha Accord, UPRONA occupied an important role as CNDD-FDD’s future junior coalition partner.76 Even though the CNDD-FDD and FRODEBU represented the same ethno-political groups, the two organizations distanced themselves ideologically, preventing a potential merger. The FRODEBU generally was perceived as a weak party that had not helped to address the fundamental root cause of the Burundian conflict, i.e. the make-up of the national army. Indeed, through its power-sharing agreement with UPRONA following Ndadaye’s assassination, the FRODEBU allowed a ‘creeping coup’,77 which materialized in 1996 when Buyoya regained power through another putsch. As one former FRODEBU member put it provocatively: ‘The FRODEBU lost its might with Ndadaye’s assassination and the creation of the CNDD-FDD’.78 In contrast, the CNDD-FDD capitalized on this moment to impose a reform of the national army. It was this political ‘niche’ that the CNDD-FDD was able to benefit from during the 2005 elections. As one female voter explained to former President and FRODEBU candidate Ntibantunganya during the 2005 electoral campaign: ‘We like you […] but we are going to vote for those, who have a military branch, who brought an equilibrium to the army’.79 Unlike the FN in Côte d’Ivoire, the CNDD-FDD did not merge with an existing party, but instead transformed into its own party. Even though the FRODEBU and the CNDD-FDD occupy the same ethno-political space, the CNDD-FDD emerged autonomously from, and as a credible alternative to, the FRODEBU in the eyes of the Hutu majority population because of its fight for a new multi-ethnic national army. With the transformation of the PALIPEHUTU-FNL into a political party in 2009, the CNDD-FDD and the FNL,80 the two major former rebel groups, constituted the principal political competitors. Both rebel parties displaced traditional parties, sending the dangerous message that violence is necessary to access Burundian politics. Today, the CNDD-FDD formally resembles a political party, but continues to be ruled by many informal practices, popularly referred to as réflexes du maquis (‘bush mentalities’), reflecting the party’s inability to separate the political and the military branches. The CNDD-FDD encountered tremendous challenges in separating its political branch from its former military wing, culminating in deep tensions between civilian and military members.81 A handful of former FDD military generals are said to dictate key party decisions. These civil-military tensions were reflected in the on-going political crisis triggered by the CNDD-FDD’s announcement of Nkurunziza’s candidacy for a controversial third term in April 2015.82 Thus far, the CNDD-FDD’s regime has demonstrated tremendous resilience despite popular protests, a failed coup d’état, and numerous high-level civilian defections, underlining the importance of the core FDD military establishment for the maintenance of the regime. Conclusion The extent to which post-conflict transitions challenge the political status quo depends in part on the ways in which former combatants are integrated into post-conflict political systems. Whether civil wars end in outright rebel military defeat,83 rebel victory84 or negotiated settlements85 – often through international mediation, the signing of peace accords and the holding of elections86 – has important implications for the distribution of political power after the official cessation of hostilities. This article suggests that the specific ways in which former armed movements are integrated into post-conflict party systems also influence how rebel-to-party transitions shape the post-conflict political order. In the growing literature on rebel-to-party transformations, differences with regards to the various modes in which parties are integrated into post-conflict party systems remain understudied. We aimed to fill this gap by comparing two cases of liberal war-to-peace transitions in Sub-Saharan Africa. In Côte d’Ivoire, the FN eschewed party building. Instead, members of the movement’s former leadership ran as candidates in legislative elections on the RDR’s ticket or accepted appointments as part of Côte d’Ivoire’s post-conflict bureaucracy and military. In Burundi, the CNDD-FDD created its own party and won successive elections by positioning itself as the country’s hegemonic ruling party. Do these cases support the theoretical claims made in this article? In Côte d’Ivoire, many of the FN’s future leaders had close ties with pre-conflict ruling elites, as pro-RDR elements in the military and on university campuses. Strong pre-conflict ties between much of the FN’s leadership group and ruling elites shaped the FN’s organization building and the availability of national political space within the Ivoirian party system. During the FN’s control of the North, foot soldiers and military leaders alike used their authority to tax and gain control over Northern economies. Despite the FN’s efforts at organization building throughout the conflict period, the power and autonomy of these actors, particularly the com’zone commanders, remained unaffected. Overall, the FN lacked strong organizational ties to each other and to civilian populations. It also confronted restricted available political space in the post-conflict party system. Ouattara and the RDR remained credible representatives of Northern constituencies, as well as immigrant populations based in Abidjan and elsewhere in the South. Indeed, many FN members fought for, rather than challenged, Ouattara’s candidacy in the 2010 presidential elections. The case of Burundi is more complicated and illustrates several limitations of our theoretical claims. Most importantly, it underscores the fluid nature of insurgent proximity, which changes over time and does not only include relationships to national level ruling elites but also foreign patrons. The pronounced bipolar nature of Burundi’s political system at the beginning of the 1990s, as well as the short timespan between the advent of multi-partyism and the beginning of the civil war, restrained the CNDD-FDD’s future rebel leaders possibility to build close relationships with established ruling elites. Instead, the CNDD-FDD developed autonomously from capital-based ruling elites. It finds its political roots in clandestine student movements and political parties, most notably MEPROBA, UBU and FRODEBU, as well as its military roots in the PALIPEHUTU-FNL and former ISCAM students. With FRODEBU’s legal recognition in 1992, several of the CNDD-FDD’s future rebel leaders became part of the political establishment. However, the civil war was triggered only one year later, following the assassination of President Ndadaye. Given the deep split within FRODEBU between those favouring and those officially opposing the armed rebellion, the FRODEBU and the CNDD-FDD developed independently from one another during the civil war. Even though the CNDD-FDD organized as a decentralized movement, its internal cohesion was boosted under Nkurunziza’s leadership. The CNDD-FDD built close relationships with rural populations and carved out significant political space, which it capitalized on during the post-accord elections, thereby encouraging its transformation into a political party (Figure 2). Figure 2 View largeDownload slide Graphic comparison between the FN and the CNDD-FDD Figure 2 View largeDownload slide Graphic comparison between the FN and the CNDD-FDD This article inspires several avenues for future research. First, future studies could work to specify the universe of cases from which our cases are drawn. Are the FN and the CNDD-FDD representative of the range of variation in the broader universe of cases? How common are cases like the FN, in which former rebel movements merge with existing parties? Do the outcomes described in our cases exhaust the range of possible outcomes observable in post-conflict party systems? Second, our theoretical argument is highly structural and path-dependent. Group proximity is not static and can change throughout the course of conflict as groups build new networks or gain access to alternative sources of funding.87 Additionally, beyond proximity, there is a range of different casual factors that can potentially shape the outcomes described in this article. Future studies could explore dynamic features of proximity and how proximity interacts with different conflict processes that fluctuate over time and how these changes alter the trajectories predicted by our theoretical model. Finally, future research could focus more directly on the implications of these variations for long-term peace and the development of democratic politics. For instance, the FN’s merger with the RDR in Côte d’Ivoire might offer better prospects for the development of durable democratic peace given the RDR’s long-established participation in the country’s politics. In contrast, as Gervais Rufyikiri argues, the fact ‘that the CNDD-FDD developed as a fully independent organization from pre-war existing political formations during the war might explain its strained relationships with other political parties in the post-war period’,88 culminating in the authoritarian shift currently witnessed in Burundi. Footnotes 1. The term ‘post-conflict’ is ambiguous. It usually refers to the formal renouncement of hostilities stipulated in a peace accord. However, peace agreements do not necessarily coincide with the end of political violence. 2. Andreas Mehler illustrates these variations through a brief comparison of rebel-party relations in Côte d’Ivoire and the Central African Republic. He writes ‘The example of Côte d’Ivoire, where rebel leaders have tried hard to create their own local legitimacy (while not standing in national elections, at least so far), and where political parties have remained the prime political actors, suggests that there may be important variations at play in post-conflict societies.’ Andreas Mehler, ‘Rebels and parties: The impact of armed insurgency on representation in the Central African Republic’, Journal of Modern African Studies 49, 1 (2011), p. 135. 3. Key studies include Mimmi Söderberg Kovacs, From rebellion to politics: The transformation of rebel groups to political parties in civil war peace process (Uppsala University, unpublished PhD dissertation, 2007); Carrie Manning, The making of democrats: Elections and party development in postwar Bosnia, El Salvador, and Mozambique (Palgrave Macmillan, New York, NY, 2008); Jeroen De Zeeuw (ed.), From soldiers to politicians: Transforming rebel movements after civil war (Lynne Rienner Publishers, Boulder, CO, 2008); John Ishiyama (ed.), ‘Special issue: From bullets to ballots: The transformation of rebel groups into political parties’, Democratization 23, 6 (2016); Johanna Söderström and Sindre, Gyda M. (eds.), ‘Special issue: Understanding armed groups and party politics’, Civil Wars 18, 2 (2016). 4. Mimmi Söderberg Kovacs, ‘When rebels change their stripes’, in Anna K. Jarstad and Timothy D Sisk (eds.), From war to democracy: Dilemmas of peacebuilding (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2008), pp. 134–156. 5. Stephen Stedman, ‘Spoiler problems in peace processes’, International Security 22, 2 (1997), pp. 5–53; Marie-Joëlle Zahar, ‘Political violence in peace processes: voice, exit and loyalty in the post-accord period’, in John Darby (ed.), Violence and reconstruction. Volume 1 (Notre Dame University Press, South Bend, IN, 2006), pp. 159–177. 6. John Ishiyama, ‘Civil wars and party systems’, Social Science Quarterly 95, 2 (2014), pp. 425–447. 7. Mehler, ‘Rebels and parties,’ p. 116. 8. Elizabeth Wood, ‘The social processes of civil war: The wartime transformation of social networks’, Annual Review of Political Science 11 (2008), pp. 539–561. 9. Dipali Mukhopadhyay, Warlords, strongman governors, and the state in Afghanistan (Cambridge University Press, New York, NY, 2014). 10. William Reno, Warfare in independent Africa, new approaches to African history (Cambridge University, New York, NY, 2011); Paul Staniland, ‘Armed groups and militarized elections’, International Studies Quarterly 59, 4 (2015), pp. 694–705. 11. James A. Caporaso writes ‘mechanisms seek to connect background factors (often structural) with a definite but more remote outcome’. Cited in Sidney Tarrow, ‘The strategy of paired comparison: Toward a theory of practice’, Comparative Political Studies 43, 2 (2010), pp. 239–240. 12. Reno, Warfare; Staniland, ‘Armed Groups’. 13. Stathis N. Kalyvas, The logic of violence in civil war (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2006). 14. Zachariah C. Mampilly, Rebel rulers: Insurgent governance and civilian life during war (Cornell University Press, Ithaca, NY, 2011). 15. Paul Staniland, ‘Organizing insurgency: Networks, resources and rebellion in South Asia’, International Organization 37,1 (2012), pp. 150–151. 16. Jeremy Weinstein, Inside rebellion: The politics of insurgent violence (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2007), p. 264. 17. Patrick Johnston, ‘The geography of insurgent organization and its consequences for civil wars: Evidence from Liberia and Sierra Leone’, Security Studies 17, 1 (2008), pp. 112–113. 18. Ana Arjona, Nelson Kasfir and Zachariah Mampilly (eds.), Rebel governance in civil war (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2015). 19. Scott Pegg, International society and the de facto state (Ashgate, Aldershot, 1998). 20. Till Förster, ‘Dialogue direct: Rebel governance and civil order in Northern Côte d’Ivoire’, in Arjona, Kasfir and Mampilly (eds.), Rebel Governance, p. 213. 21. William Reno, ‘Patronage politics and the behavior of armed groups,’ Civil Wars 9, 4 (2007), pp. 324–42. 22. Reno writes that market-based systems of control encourage rebels ‘to capture the capital rather than build administrations in zones they can more easily control or where they can cultivate a base of popular support’. William Reno, ‘Order and commerce in turbulent areas: 19th century lessons, 21st century practice’, Third World Quarterly 25,4 (2004), p. 623. 23. Reno, Warfare in independent Africa, pp. 31–32. 24. John Ishiyama and Anna Batta, ‘Swords into plowshares: The organizational transformation of rebel groups into political parties’, Communist and Post-Communist Studies 44, 4 (2011), p. 370. 25. Mampilly, Rebel rulers, pp. 65ff. 26. De Zeeuw (ed.), From soldiers to politicians; Söderberg Kovacs, From rebellion to politics. 27. Klaus Schlichte, In the shadow of violence: The politics of armed groups (Campus Verlag, Frankfurt/Main, 2009), pp. 65–66. 28. Sidney Tarrow, Power in movement: Social movements and contentious politics (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1998), pp. 78–85. 29. Kai Arzheimer and Elizabeth Carter, ‘Political opportunity structures and right‐wing extremist party success’, European Journal of Political Research 45, 3 (2006), pp. 422–425; Herbert P. Kitschelt, The radical right in Western Europe: A comparative analysis (University of Michigan Press, Ann Arbor, MI, 1997), p. 63. 30. Jens Rydgren, ‘Explaining the emergence of radical right-wing populist parties: The case of Denmark’, West European Politics 27, 3 (2004), p. 476. 31. ‘African states are by no means unique in having multi-cultural, plural societies; but they certainly form, as a group, an extreme set of cases as measured by the sheer number and variety of ethnic, language, religious and sub-national political divisions into which they are fragmented.’ Richard Crook, ‘Winning coalitions and ethno-regional politics: The failure of the opposition in the 1990 and 1994 elections in Côte d’Ivoire’, African Affairs (1997), p. 216. 32. John Ishiyama and Michael Widmeier, ‘Territorial control, levels of violence, and the electoral performance of former rebel political parties after civil wars’, Civil Wars 14, 4 (2013), p. 535. 33. For more extended background on the political crisis in Côte d’Ivoire, see Mike McGovern, Making war in Côte d’Ivoire (University of Chicago Press, Chicago, IL, 2011); Ruth Marshall Fratani, ‘The war of ‘who is who’: Autochthony, nationalism, and citizenship in the Ivoirian crisis’, African Studies Review 49, 2 (2006), pp. 9–43; and Richard Banégas, ‘Côte d’Ivoire: Patriotism, ethnonationalism and other modes of self-writing’, African Affairs 105, 421 (2006), pp. 535–552. 34. The Mouvement patriotique de Côte d’Ivoire (MPCI) was the original movement involved in the conflict. Two other movements based in Western Côte d’Ivoire – the Mouvement pour la Justice et la Paix (MJP) and the Mouvement populaire Ivoirian du Grand Ouest (MPIGO) – joined the fighting later in November 2002. These three movements merged to form the FN in December 2002. 35. International Crisis Group, ‘Côte d’Ivoire: The war is not yet over’ (International Crisis Group, Africa Report No. 72, Brussels, 2003); Daniel Balint-Kurti, ‘Côte d’Ivoire’s Forces nouvelles’ (Chatham House, Africa Program Non-State Actors Series, London, September 2007); Arthur Boutellis, ‘The security sector in Côte d’Ivoire: A source of conflict and a key to peace’ (International Peace Institute, New York, 2011). 36. As FESCI’s Secrétaire général, future rebel leader Guillaume Soro had strong ties with Gbagbo, the leader of the FPI. Gbagbo himself was the former Director of the Institute of History, Art and African Archaeology at the University of Abidjan. Beyond Gbagbo, many leaders of Côte d’Ivoire’s opposition parties emerged from university campuses. Yacouba Konaté, ‘Les enfants de la balle. De la FESCI aux mouvements de patriotes’, Politique africaine 89, 1 (2003), pp. 52–58. 37. Human Rights Watch suggests that there was an explicit connection between the 2002 rebellion and the student politics of the 1990s and 2000s for many on the government side. ‘[…] in the eyes of many FESCI loyalists, the rebellion was but a continuation of the dissident insurgency they thought they had vanquished on the university campus some 18 months prior.’ Human Rights Watch, ‘The best school: Student violence, impunity and the crisis in Côte d’Ivoire’ (Human Rights Watch, New York, May 2008), pp. 29–32. 38. Human Rights Watch, ‘Trapped between two wars: Violence against civilians in Western Côte d’Ivoire’ (Human Rights Watch, New York, August 2003), p. 25. 39. Ibid, p. 25. 40. Human Rights Watch, ‘Country on a precipice – the precarious state of human rights and civilian protection in Côte d’Ivoire’ (Human Rights Watch, New York, May 2005), pp. 19–20; Thomas J. Bassett, ‘The costs of the road in a divided Côte d’Ivoire’ (Hot Spots, Cultural Anthropology website, November 2011), <http://www.culanth.org/fieldsights/190-the-costs-of-the-road-in-a-divided-cote-d-ivoire> (10 September 2016); Guillaume Soro, Pourquoi je suis devenu un rebelle: La Côte d’Ivoire au bord du gouffre (Hachette, Paris), pp. 106–107. 41. United Nations Security Council, ‘Group of experts on Côte d’Ivoire pursuant to paragraph 11 of Security Council resolution 1842 (2008)’ (UN Security Council, New York, 9 October 2009), pp. 47–50. 42. For more on the organization of the Northern rebellion, see Moussa Fofana, ‘Les jeunes dans la rébellion du nord de la Côte d’Ivoire: Les raisons de la mobilisation’, Afrika Focus 24, 1 (2011), pp. 51–70. 43. Jeremy Speight, ‘Warlord undone? Strongman politics and post-conflict state-building in Northeastern Côte d’Ivoire (2002–2013)’, Canadian Journal of African Studies 48, 2 (2014), p. 233. 44. Förster, ‘Dialogue Direct’ in Rebel Governance. 45. Kathrin Heitz, ‘Power-Sharing in the local arena: Man – A rebel-held town in Western Côte d’Ivoire’, Africa Spectrum 4, 3 (2010), pp. 109–131; Till Förster, ‘Maintenant, on sait qui est qui: Statehood and political reconfiguration in Northern Côte d’Ivoire’, Development and Change 41, 4 (2010), pp. 699–722. 46. International Crisis Group, ‘Côte d’Ivoire: The war is not yet over’ (International Crisis Group, Africa Report 72, New York, November 2003); Andreas Mehler, ‘Power-sharing in Africa: A not so obvious relationship’, African Affairs 108, 432 (2009), p. 466. 47. International Crisis Group, ‘Can the Ouagadougou agreement bring peace?’ (International Crisis Group, Africa Report 127, Dakar/Brussels, June 2007), p. 4. 48. Moussa Fofana, ‘Des forces nouvelles aux forces républicaines de Côte d’Ivoire’, Politique Africaine 122 (2011), pp. 171–173. 49. Thomas J. Bassett, ‘Winning coalition, sore loser: Côte d’Ivoire’s 2010 presidential elections’, African Affairs 110, 440 (2011). 50. AFP, ‘Côte d’Ivoire: des chefs de l’ex-rébellion affectés dans la nouvelle armée’, Abidjan.net, 4 August 2011, <http://news.abidjan.net/h/406735.html> (8 September 2016). 51. Baudelaire Mieu, ‘Côte d’Ivoire: Ouattara nomme trois anciens chefs de guerre de la rébellion à la tête de régions sensibles’, Jeune Afrique, 26 September 2012, <http://www.jeuneafrique.com/Article/ARTJAWEB20120926161042/> (8 September 2016). 52. Haby Niakate, ‘Côte d’Ivoire: Soro, l’homme pressé … d’être en 2020’, Jeune Afrique, 22 April 2015. <http://www.jeuneafrique.com/mag/289439/politique/cote-divoire-guillaume-soro-a-croisee-chemins/> (8 September 2016); Hamadou Ziao, ‘Changement de régime: Guerre larvée FN-RDR pour la succession de Ouattara’, Abidjan.net, 7 June 2011, <http://news.abidjan.net/h/400917.html> (8 September 2016). 53. René Lemarchand, Burundi: Ethnic conflict and genocide (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1996). 54. From 1966 until 1993, Burundi was governed by military dictatorships whose leaders exclusively came from the Tutsi-Hima faction from the Southern Region of Bururi. The military leaders Michel Micombero, Jean-Baptiste Bagaza and Pierre Buyoya, who came from the same hill and even the same family, installed a political system in which the Tutsi dominated the state institutions including the national army. In the process, the once inclusive Union pour le progrès national (UPRONA), which had led the country to independence, was transformed into a Tutsi-dominated party operating in a one-party state. 55. At the height of the civil war, PALIPEHUTU-FNL had around 5,000 combatants and CNDD-FDD had around 18,000. Peter Uvin, Life after violence: A people’s story of Burundi (Zed Books, New York, NY, 2009), pp. 15ff. 56. The Burundian population consists of three ethnicities, including 85 percent Hutu, 14 percent Tutsi and 1 percent Twa. For a discussion of the origin of these ethnic identities, see Jean-Pierre Chrétien and Gérard Prunier, Les ethnies ont une histoire (Karthala, Paris, 2003). 57. Lemarchand, Burundi. 58. René Lemarchand and David Martin, ‘Selective genocide in Burundi’ (Minority Rights Group, London, 1974). 59. Katrin Wittig, ‘Politics in shadow of the gun: Revisiting the literature on ‘Rebel-to-Party Transformations’ through the case of Burundi’, Civil Wars 18, 2 (2016), pp. 145. 60. Valeria Alfieri, ‘La courte « reconversion » du PALIPEHUTU-FNL: Continuités et ruptures’, in Filip Reyntjens, Stef Vandeginste and Marijke Verpoorten (eds.) L’Afrique des Grands Lacs. Annuaire 2014–15 (L’Harmattan, Paris, 2015), pp. 98–141. 61. While CNDD-FDD members speak of a ‘spontaneous popular insurrection’, UPRONA members qualify the various Hutu insurgent groups as génocidaires given the many Tutsi populations falling victim to them. 62. This included, most notably, FRODEBU, UBU, PALIPEHUTU-FNL and Front pour la libération nationale (FROLINA), a Southern offshoot of the PALIPEHUTU-FNL. 63. Gervais Rufyikiri, ‘Failure of rebel movement-to-political party transformation of the CNDD-FDD in Burundi: An issue of balance between change and continuity’ (Institute of Development Policy and Management, University of Antwerp, 2016), p. 9. 64. The PALIPEHUTU-FNL and the CNDD-FDD intermittently tried to collaborate with each other throughout the civil war. However, suspicions among their respective members caused these attempts to remain short-lived. 65. Rufyikiri, ‘Failure’, p. 13. 66. Ndayikengurukiye was one of the few Hutus that had been admitted to the military academy. In May 1994, he defected with four other Hutu colleagues. Students of the Institut supérieur des cadres militaires became crucial in organizing the FDD’s military struggle. 67. Willy Nindorera, ‘The CNDD-FDD in Burundi: From armed struggle to political struggle’ (Berghof Transitions Series, Berghof Foundation, Berlin, 2010), p. 17. 68. Peter Uvin and Leanne Bayer, ‘The political economy of statebuilding in Burundi,’ in Mats Berdal and Dominik Zaum, Political economy of statebuilding: Power after peace (Routledge, London, 2013). 69. Cara E. Jones, Giving up the gun: Rebel to ruler transformations in Africa’s Great Lakes Region (University of Florida, unpublished PhD dissertation, 2013), p. 270f. 70. Ibid, p. 270f. 71. Rufyikiri, ‘Failure’, p. 10. 72. One year after Buyoya’s second putsch, only 31 out of 271 communal administrators belonged to the Hutu ethnic group, 22 of them members of UPRONA. Human Rights Watch, ‘Proxy targets: Civilians and the war in Burundi’ (Human Rights Watch, New York, 1998), p. 23. 73. Rufyikiri, ‘Failure’, p. 11. 74. Arusha stipulates ethnic quotas for the security forces (granting equitable representation of 50 percent to Hutu and Tutsi) and political institutions (giving the Tutsi minority 40 percent of posts in government and the National Assembly as well as 50 percent in the Senate, whereas the Hutu majority occupies 60 percent and 50 percent respectively). 75. Thomas Kwasi Tieku, ‘How perks for delegates can influence peace process outcomes’ (Africa Initiative and Centre for International Governance Innovation, Waterloo, 2012). 76. Filip Reyntjens, ‘Chronique politique du Rwanda et du Burundi, 2003–2005,’ in Filip Reyntjens and Stefaan Marysse (eds.), L’Afrique des Grands Lacs. Annuaire 2004–2005 (L’Harmattan, Paris, 2006), pp. 1–26. 77. Filip Reyntjens, The great African war: Congo and regional geopolitics, 1996–2006 (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2009), p. 34. 78. Interview with former FRODEBU member, Bujumbura, 1 May 2015. 79. Interview with Sylvestre Ntibantunganya, Bujumbura, 1 July 2015. 80. The PALIPEHUTU-FNL had to drop its ethnic name to comply with Burundi’s post-accord constitution. 81. Willy Nindorera, ‘Burundi: The deficient transformation of the CNDD-FDD’, in De Zeeuw (ed.), From Soldiers to Politicians, p. 119. 82. Stef Vandeginste, ‘Briefing: Burundi’s electoral crisis – Back to power-sharing politics as usual?’, African Affairs 114, 457 (2015), pp. 624–636. 83. Chris R. Day, ‘The fates of rebels: Insurgencies in Uganda’, Comparative Politics 43, 4 (2011), pp. 439–458. 84. Terrence Lyons, ‘From victorious rebels to strong authoritarian parties: Prospects for post-war democratization’, Democratization 23, 6 (2016), pp. 1026–1041. 85. Söderberg Kovacs, From Rebellion to Politics. 86. Roland Paris, At war’s end: Building peace after civil conflict (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2004); Séverine Autesserre, The trouble with the Congo: Local violence and the failure of international peacebuilding (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2010). 87. Staniland, ‘Armed groups’, p. 3. 88. Rufyikiri, ‘Failure’, p. 10. © The Author 2017. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of Royal African Society. All rights reserved http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png African Affairs Oxford University Press

Pathways from rebellion: Rebel-party configurations in Côte d’Ivoire and Burundi

Loading next page...
 
/lp/ou_press/pathways-from-rebellion-rebel-party-configurations-in-c-te-d-ivoire-afslx1qL15
Publisher
Oxford University Press
Copyright
© The Author 2017. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of Royal African Society. All rights reserved
ISSN
0001-9909
eISSN
1468-2621
D.O.I.
10.1093/afraf/adx042
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

Abstract Across diverse liberal war-to-peace transitions, the integration of former armed movements into the post-accord political system has been identified as a significant factor in determining the success of peace processes. There is now a growing literature focusing on rebel-to-party transformations in the aftermath of armed conflict. Despite on-going debates over the long-term implications of rebel-to-party conversions for existing party systems, actual studies focusing on diverse patterns of rebel-party configurations in post-accord transitions remain rare. This article takes a first step to fill this gap by comparing pathways in rebel-party relations in Côte d’Ivoire and Burundi. While the FN in Côte d’Ivoire joined the RDR, an established political party, with FN members running as candidates for the RDR in post-accord elections, the CNDD-FDD in Burundi formed its own party becoming the country’s current ruling party. We develop a theoretical framework analyzing these divergent pathways by exploring how ties between armed movements and pre-conflict political parties shape trajectories of rebel groups during and beyond civil war. Why do some rebel groups merge with pre-existing political parties while others transform into their own party organizations in the aftermath of civil war? This article explores differences in how former insurgent movements integrate into ‘post-conflict’ party systems.1 It examines these variations by focusing on two cases of liberal war-to-peace transitions in Sub-Saharan Africa: Côte d’Ivoire and Burundi. While many former members of the Forces nouvelles (FN) in Côte d’Ivoire joined the Rassemblement des républicains (RDR), an established political party, the Conseil national pour la défense de la démocratie – Forces pour la défense de la démocratie (CNDD-FDD) in Burundi formed its own political party.2 What explains these distinct trajectories? There is now a growing literature on the transformation of rebel groups into political parties.3 This scholarship has overwhelmingly focused on the causal factors facilitating formal rebel-to-party transformations as well as their long-term implications. We adopt an approach that treats rebel-to-party conversions as but one plausible pathway through which former rebels are integrated into post-conflict political systems. Rebel-to-party transformations have gained increasing scholarly attention because of the widely held view that the political integration of rebel groups constitutes an important initial step in institutionalizing peaceful channels for interest articulation.4 The more ex-combatants are integrated into the post-accord political order, the less of a threat they are thought to pose as potential ‘spoilers’.5 Beyond the institutionalization of interest articulation, the integration of former rebels also has broader political implications.6 In negotiating political settlements, armed groups often displace existing political parties as vehicles linking citizens to the state. As Andreas Mehler argues, this sends a powerful message to other would-be political entrepreneurs that ‘violence pays’ as a means of political advancement.7 Rebel-to-party transformations also represent one way different social groups – young people, working classes, women, and ethnic groups previously marginalized from political power – can challenge established political elites and hierarchies through violent conflict.8 Formal rebel-to-party transitions directly challenge the political status of pre-conflict elites and parties. Conversely, the status of established elites and the representative role of traditional political parties is less threatened when armed groups merge with existing parties or are integrated into the post-conflict order as part of the state, as ‘warlord-bureaucrats’9 or members of unified armed forces. To compare these different integration trajectories, this article develops a novel theoretical framework that explores the structural and path-dependent effects of differences in insurgent proximity, i.e. diverse pre-conflict relationships between future rebel leaders and ruling political elites. At the onset of violence, rebel groups occupy different positions vis-à-vis national-level ruling elites.10 Some groups are deeply embedded within these ruling coalitions. They are tied directly to established elites as personal militias or armed factions of existing parties. Others emerge autonomously from capital-based power structures. They command authority and resources independently from their relationship with pre-conflict ruling elites. Through a paired comparison of Côte d’Ivoire and Burundi, we examine how proximity of insurgent groups to pre-conflict ruling elites influences their divergent trajectories through two mechanisms: organization building and expansion/contraction of political space available to new parties within national party systems. This article explores these mechanisms and uses the richness of our two cases to contribute to theory building.11 Côte d’Ivoire and Burundi represent excellent cases for comparison because they share a number of theoretically relevant characteristics. Both countries experienced long-time single party rule until the beginning of the 1990s. In each case, armed movements challenged the authority of the state and controlled tracts of the country’s territory during the civil war, which divided the countries for a comparable amount of time: Côte d’Ivoire from 2002 to 2011, and Burundi from 1993 to 2008. In both cases, the civil war formally ended following the signing of a peace agreement and the holding of elections. However, while the FN in Côte d’Ivoire joined an existing party with FN members running as RDR candidates during municipal and legislative elections between 2010 and 2015, the CNDD-FDD registered as a political party and won consecutive elections between 2005 and 2015. The argument developed in this paper is based on over 150 interviews and archival research conducted in Côte d’Ivoire and Burundi between 2010 and 2015. The authors interviewed a wide range of political actors, including representatives of political parties, former members of rebel groups, traditional leaders and actors belonging to civil society groups and international organizations. Interviews in Côte d’Ivoire took place in Abidjan as well as towns in the North formerly held by the FN, including in Korhogo, Ouangolodougou and Bouna. Interviews in Burundi were conducted in the capital Bujumbura as well as in the hillsides of the country, including in Bubanza, Bujumbura Rural, Bururi and Makamba provinces. The article proceeds as follows. The first part develops our theoretical argument regarding how pre-conflict proximity shapes the integration of rebel groups into post-accord party systems. The next two sections retrace the trajectories of the FN in Côte d’Ivoire and the CNDD-FDD in Burundi. Each case is organized along a similar chronological pattern to assess how our theoretical argument plays out in each of the cases. The conclusion summarizes our findings and proposes directions for future research. Insurgent proximity and the shaping of rebel governance and political opportunities What explains differences in the ways former rebel groups integrate into post-accord party systems? Our response to this question emphasizes variations in the proximity of rebel organizers to pre-conflict power structures and ruling coalitions. We conceptualize insurgent proximity to established national-level political elites on a continuum. More proximate insurgent groups are led by actors with well-established ties to ruling elites in the pre-conflict period. Such armed groups are commonly organized in the pre-conflict period as armed wings of ruling political parties or, more narrowly, have personalized ties to individual politicians. Less proximate insurgent groups are organized around clandestine political networks that are independent of established ruling elites. They develop command structures, mobilize support and control material resources independent of ties to state institutions. Leaders of autonomous groups have typically been marginalized from pre-conflict ruling coalitions for long periods of time before the onset of violent conflict.12 We argue that relative pre-conflict proximity shapes the social space in which rebel groups originate and evolve during the course of armed conflict. Proximity influences post-accord integration trajectories through two mechanisms: rebel organization building and the development of available political space for new parties in national party systems. Contrary to popular media representations, civil wars do not always result in violent disorder.13 There are significant variations in the extent to which armed movements build institutions and preserve political order.14 Some rebel groups develop their own complex governance and popular support structures. Conversely, other groups are loosely organized and provide few governmental services to civilian populations. Wartime organizational legacies influence post-accord rebel trajectories by shaping both the relationship between rebel leaders and the rank-and-file (the internal dimension of rebel governance) as well as the linkages between rebels and civilians (the external dimension). The internal dimension of rebel governance refers to how organizations control and structure the behaviour of group members. Organizations that reinforce social ties between group members enhance the ability of their members to coordinate their activities with one another and allow group leadership to monitor and discipline the behaviour of foot soldiers.15 Organizational coherence flows in part from whether group members develop shared norms about appropriate behaviour in the field.16 Scholars also point to evidence that centralized (hierarchical, infrastructural) organizations are more effective at coordinating the behaviour of group members than decentralized (networked or cellular) organizations.17 The external dimension of rebel governance refers to how rebels organize relationships with civilians. Because civil wars divide territorial sovereignty, they often restrict the state’s ability to enforce rules and provide public goods. In lieu of the state, some armed movements (along with a host of other non-state actors) often fill this role as the primary provider of physical security and welfare services.18 Some groups build extensive parallel administration structures, leading some scholars to refer to them as embryonic or de facto states.19 Other movements do not develop an extensive set of institutional ties to civilian populations. In these cases, armed movements might only provide a limited set of services, such as security or tax collection. Alternatively, there might be spatial restrictions to rebel governance of civilians where movements govern densely populated urban areas but do not engage smaller rural villages (or vice versa).20 The proximity of armed group leadership to pre-conflict ruling coalitions creates powerful disincentives for rebel organization building. William Reno argues that armed groups in African countries often lack autonomy as a result of the non-bureaucratic means by which national-level political elites maintain and struggle for power. In the absence of effective bureaucracies, African leaders maintain political power by granting selective control over illicit markets to allies. Favoured elites capitalize on their political protection by creating armed wings of political movements to attack and marginalize rivals.21 These strategies have implications for the character of violent conflict and the organizational strategies of armed groups. Elites who break away from ruling coalitions during periods of political change privatize control over clandestine markets by drawing on the support of armed groups formed in the pre-conflict period. Such patronage-based conflicts disrupt relations between rebels and local populations. Access to illicit markets limits the need for rebels to bargain with civilian populations for resources and build effective institutions in rebel-controlled zones.22 In contrast, pressures to bargain with civilians and build institutions are heightened in cases where armed movements recruit fighters and mobilize resources autonomously from capital-based ruling elites.23 Differences in the internal and external dimensions of rebel governance influence the political integration trajectories that rebel groups take after the official end of hostilities. Rebel organizations capable of controlling group members and building strong ties with civilian populations are more likely to transform into political parties after civil war.24 These groups provide a coherent organizational basis around which new party structures can be established. Organizational ties between armed movements and civilians through the provision of public goods support rebel-to-party conversions because they bolster the legitimacy of rebel movements in the eyes of civilian populations.25 Civilian supporters function as in-place constituencies in the electoral arena for rebel parties. In contrast, rebel organizations characterized by less internal cohesion and external organization building with civilian populations are less likely to transform into parties.26 Proximity also influences post-conflict trajectories through the opening or closing of political space available to new parties in established party systems. Armed movements legitimize the use of collective violence in a variety of ways.27 However, whether legitimization strategies successfully develop constituencies for new parties depends on whether armed movements can successfully frame themselves as the sole representatives of these communities during the conflict period. In this way, our approach builds on social movement literature and the concept of political opportunity structure.28 Scholars have drawn on the notion of political opportunity to explain variations in the rise of new parties, specifically right-wing parties in Europe, despite very similar ideological bases of cross-national support for these types of parties.29 We emphasize something similar to what Jens Rydgren refers to as party system ‘niches’, or ‘gaps between the voters’ location in the political space and the perceived position of the parties (i.e. the party images or position on crucial issues) in the same space’.30 In Sub-Saharan Africa, political parties often depend on ethno-regional bases of support due to the socially fragmented character of many African states.31 Our argument is that party system ‘niches’, which facilitate the emergence of new parties, are shaped principally by the presence of parties in post-conflict party systems that represent the same ethno-regional groups as former armed movements. John Ishiyama and Michael Widmeier suggest that the presence or absence of parties who ‘compete for the same constituencies as rebel parties’32 could impact the electoral success of new parties formed from rebel groups in ‘post-conflict’ elections. Our argument goes further and suggests that the presence of established political parties that represent the same constituencies as former rebel groups are likely to dissuade the very transition from rebel group to political party altogether. Where proximity is high in the pre-conflict period, rebels are more likely to become clients of established elites and representatives of their parties. In these instances, rebel groups and traditional parties are more likely to represent the same ethno-regional groups. This does not mean that former rebels will not play prominent roles in political transitions. Rather, they are more likely to emerge as parts of the state by running as members of existing parties who represent similar ethno-regional constituencies. Where proximity is low, rebel groups have more independence from established parties and function as the principal or even sole representatives of their respective ethno-regional constituencies. This political ‘niche’ facilitates the formal transformation from rebel group to political party (Figure 1). Figure 1 View largeDownload slide Framework for explaining the integration of rebel groups into post-accord party systems Figure 1 View largeDownload slide Framework for explaining the integration of rebel groups into post-accord party systems Côte d’Ivoire: rebel-party merger after civil war Côte d’Ivoire gained independence from France in 1960. During the first two decades following independence, the ‘Ivoirian miracle’ would become a well-known African success story, characterized by relative economic growth and political stability. However, political struggles over national identity and control over the state led to decades of violence after the introduction of multiparty politics in 1990 and the death of the country’s long-time President Félix Houphouët-Boigny in 1993. Growing insecurity reached its peak in 2000 following elections that brought Laurent Gbagbo to power and excluded two of his principle competitors – Alassane Ouattara and Henri Bédié – from running. After two years of increasing persecution, elements of the opposition to Gbagbo organized a putsch. Although the attackers failed to remove Gbagbo, a coalition of armed groups that became the FN retained administrative control over Northern Côte d’Ivoire until 2011.33 The September 2002 attacks were planned and organized by a group of Ivoirian exiles based in Burkina Faso. The core of the FN’s leadership had strong political ties to an existing opposition party, the RDR, prior to the conflict.34 Rebel leadership came from two main groups. Many were former officers in the Ivoirian armed forces who were purged as a result of their suspected support for Ouattara and the RDR. Future FN military leaders, such as Chérif Fofana, Chérif Ousmane and Ouattara Issiaka (‘Wattao’), were tortured or exiled during these purges. The widely acknowledged mastermind of the rebellion, Ibrahim Coulibaly (or ‘IB’), was the former head of the Presidential Guard.35 Beyond former members of the Ivoirian military, much of the rebellion’s political leadership was comprised of former student leaders involved in university politics in the 1990s. During this period, the principal organization involved in the Ivoirian student movement, Fédération estudiantine et scolaire de Côte d’Ivoire (FESCI), became increasingly factionalized along partisan-ethnic lines, which largely mirrored cleavages underpinning political competition at the national level. The FESCI was formed in 1990 as part of the opposition movement against Côte d’Ivoire’s old single party, the Parti démocratique de Côte d’Ivoire (PDCI). As the principal opposition party, the Front populaire ivoirien (FPI) established close ties with FESCI’s leadership.36 The forced removal of former President Bédié in 1999 by General Robert Guëi and the election of Gbagbo in 2000 led to the development of divisions within the student movement that paralleled political cleavages forming at the national level. Ouattara’s exclusion from the 2000 elections and the persecution of perceived RDR supporters more generally prompted the emergence of ‘dissident’ (aligned with the RDR) and ‘loyalist’ (aligned with the FPI) factions of the FESCI on university campuses in Abidjan and Bouaké. Contests over the leadership of the organization resulted in a series of bloody clashes between these groups, commonly referred to as the ‘war of machetes’. A number of former student leaders of this ‘dissident’ faction, including former FESCI President Guillaume Soro, featured as prominent actors in the 2002 rebellion. Many former FESCI members formed the FN’s administrative core during its decade-long control of the North.37 The FN enjoyed modest popular support after failing in its attempt to remove Gbagbo from power and gaining control of much of Northern Côte d’Ivoire. After the rebels seized Bouaké, Human Rights Watch reported: the ‘MPCI were sympathetic to civilians and offered food, medicine and other aid to civilians in need.’38 Aid workers and journalists confirmed ‘the positive behaviour of the MPCI troops towards civilians in the first months.’39 However, indiscipline within the movement rose sharply over time. Reports of theft, economic racketeering and violence used against civilians in the North steadily increased. Additionally, FN leaders exploited their positions of authority within the rebellion to gain wealth through their control over illicit markets.40 As a result, popular disenchantment with the FN grew as rebel control and the territorial division of the country persisted over time. The impetus for organization building stemmed from the need to better control the military wing of the movement. Militarily, the FN administered the North through the creation of ten distinct com’zones. A zone commander, typically a former member of the Ivoirian military, headed each com’zone. The com’zones were generally the first and for a long time the only institution established by the FN in the regions they controlled. As a result, the actions of com’zone leaders remained poorly monitored and controlled by national level political and military leaders, particularly in the early stages of the conflict. This declining legitimacy forced the FN to develop political and financial institutions to manage the military side of the movement represented by the com’zones. The overarching umbrella institution responsible for the FN’s finances was the Secrétariat national chargé de l’économie et des finances. However, the autonomous body la Centrale économique was responsible for decisions related to the FN’s revenues and expenditures. The FN governed and regulated many aspects of the Northern economy through la Centrale, including transport, fuel, agricultural commodities and natural resources such as diamonds and gold.41 Much of the responsibility for the local day-to-day management of tax collection rested on the shoulders of tax officials positioned in each com’zone, called régisseurs. The Secrétariat général (or the Cabinet civil des Forces nouvelles) represented the political or administrative wing of the rebellion. The former FESCI student leader Guillaume Soro headed the Secrétariat. As indicated above, much of this administrative wing was filled with former students involved in campus politics through the FESCI. The Secrétariat was responsible for working with international organizations, supplying aid or social/health services, keeping schools open and ensuring the holding of final exams, communicating the FN’s aims and political positions to the populations under its control, and regulating problems between the civilian population and the military wing of the movement.42 Nonetheless, despite this stated mandate, the FN’s leaders generally remained hesitant to expand their role in everyday governance over explicitly ‘political’ issues such as local conflicts over land, gender relations, or chiefly succession.43 The FN also rarely expanded rebel governance to rural areas. Till Förster describes the FN as a case of ‘partial presence’ of rebel governance, where governance ‘network(s) links the bigger cities in the area but often leaves rural villages aside’.44 Finally, some observers have also described the FN’s rule as an example of local level power-sharing: although arbitrary in many respects, several domains of governance remained in the hands of other actors such as traditional authorities or international and domestic NGOs who retained some authority over specific issue areas, even after the beginning of the civil war and the retreat of the state’s formal institutions.45 Côte d’Ivoire’s political crisis was punctuated by a series of ultimately failed mediated efforts to resolve the conflict. To an extent, the Ivoirian peace process offered substantial opportunities for the FN to transform itself into a political party. Successive peace negotiations generally worked to heighten the political influence of the rebels vis-à-vis the government as well as other opposition parties. In 2003, initial efforts at peacefully resolving the conflict failed largely due to the fact that many in Gbagbo’s camp felt that the rebels gained too much.46 During the 2007 negotiations and the signing of the Ouagadougou Peace Accords, Gbagbo’s call for ‘direct dialogue’ with rebel leader Soro was seen by many as a way of dividing the political opposition and sidelining the major pre-conflict opposition parties, particularly the RDR led by Ouattara and the PDCI led by Bédié.47 Soro was named as the new Prime Minister after the signing of the Ouagadougou Peace Accords. In this way, the peace process appeared to enhance Soro’s political power and the rest of the FN’s leadership at the expense of pre-conflict, established political parties. Nonetheless, the opportunities available to the FN to transform into a political party during the course of the peace process was minimized by the on-going presence and influence of established parties. From 2005, the rebels negotiated with Gbagbo alongside an oppositional coalition, the Rassemblement des houphouëtistes pour la démocratie et la paix (RHDP), which was comprised of five opposition parties including the RDR. Given that the RDR and the FN represented identical constituencies (the North and immigrant communities based in the South), the RDR’s on-going influence under Ouattara challenged the FN’s status as a legitimate representative of these communities. The FN’s challenge to the RDR was mitigated by the fact that Ouattara’s candidacy was an important reason why many FN militants had taken up arms in the first place. Not surprisingly, the FN cast themselves as neutral brokers of peace, which worked to ensure the holding of free and fair elections, rather than as representatives of any particular group.48 Multiple delays in the holding of national elections stemmed from Gbagbo’s recognition that together the RDR and the PDCI could deliver the votes from their respective ethno-national constituencies and defeat him at the polls. The FN remained in control of Northern Côte d’Ivoire until the 2010 presidential elections. Buoyed by the support given to him by Bédié and PDCI, Ouattara emerged as the victor in the second round of these elections, gaining 54 percent of the vote. Ouattara won in large part due to the overwhelming support he received in many of the Northern departments controlled by the FN. However, not long after the announcement of Ouattara’s victory by the Commission électorale indépendante (CEI), Ivorian courts annulled the results, claiming that voting irregularities in some Northern departments had skewed the results in Ouattara’s favour. The courts reacted by subtracting the votes cast in these departments from the original total. This decision swung the outcome in favour of Gbagbo, who was sworn in as president on 4 December 2010. Gbagbo’s refusal to cede power led to a four-month stalemate that was ultimately resolved in late March 2011 when the rebels, newly named the Forces républicaines de Côte d’Ivoire (FRCI), with support from the United Nations Operation in Côte d’Ivoire and French forces based in Abidjan, launched a military assault on the government-controlled Southern half of the country. On 3 April 2011, Gbagbo was forcibly removed from power by the FRCI. This dramatic period of the Ivoirian conflict concluded when Ouattara was officially sworn in as president on 11 April 2011.49 Although the FN has not organized itself as a political party, former FN members continue to play prominent roles in Côte d’Ivoire’s incipient post-Gbagbo political order. Since 2011, Ouattara appointed a number of former FN leaders to high-ranking bureaucratic or military posts. Ouattara named former zone commanders Chérif Ousmane as the second-in-command of the military unit responsible for presidential security and Fofié Martin as the head of the military company in Korhogo.50 In 2012, Ouattara named a number of other former high-ranking FN leaders as administrative préfets.51 Other ex-FN members assumed prominent roles in the post-conflict political system as RDR party members. A number of former FN members ran as RDR candidates in the 2011 legislative elections or the 2013 regional and municipal elections. Many of these candidates were pro-RDR FESCI leaders prior to the conflict. Some prominent examples include Sidiki Konaté, Alphonse Soro, Hien Philippe, Kanigui Mamadou Soro, and former FESCI and FN leader Guillaume Soro. Rather than using the FN’s decade-long control over the North as a basis for creating a new political party, former FN leaders emerged as key players amidst factional struggles within the RDR over control of the party and succession to Ouattara.52 Burundi: rebel-to-party transformation after civil war Since its independence from Belgium in 1962, Burundi has been shaken by political assassinations, coup d’états, military dictatorships, and politico-ethnic massacres, culminating in 1993 in the outbreak of the civil war.53 After three decades of Tutsi-dominated military dictatorships,54 Burundi held its first democratic elections in June 1993. These milestone polls resulted in a landslide victory for the recently legalized predominantly Hutu party, the Front pour la démocratie au Burundi (FRODEBU). Melchior Ndadaye, FRODEBU’s charismatic leader, became president. However, Ndadaye was murdered only three months later by a small group of hardliners in the Tutsi-dominated national army. Ndadaye’s assassination sparked the civil war and a vicious cycle of inter- and intra-ethnic violence. In contrast to Côte d’Ivoire, Burundi’s armed conflict pitted several Hutu-dominated rebellions against the Tutsi army as well as each other for the stewardship of the liberation mantle. The Parti pour la libération du peuple hutu – Forces nationales de libération (PALIPEHUTU-FNL) and the Conseil national pour la défense de la démocratie – Forces pour la défense de la démocratie (CNDD-FDD) became the most important fighting forces.55 In 2005, Burundi held its first post-accord elections, which brought the CNDD-FDD, now acting as the governing political party, to power. The PALIPEHUTU-FNL continued its armed struggle until 2009, when it also transformed into its own party. Often simplistically portrayed as an inter-ethnic conflict between the Hutu majority and the Tutsi minority,56 the Burundian conflict is above all rooted in the struggle of its political elites for power.57 Unlike the FN in Côte d’Ivoire, which was organized by former members of the Ivoirian military and student leaders with close ties to pre-conflict ruling networks, the CNDD-FDD grew from Hutu-dominated clandestine political networks that enjoyed far more autonomy from the state. It is rooted in the Mouvement des étudiants progressistes barundi (MEPROBA), a leftist student organization created in exile. The MEPROBA was founded in Belgium at the beginning of the 1970s following the ethno-political massacres of 1965 and 1969. In the aftermath of the 1972 ‘selective genocide’,58 the MEPROBA split into the Tabara (‘Come to my Rescue’) and the Umugambwe wa’Bakozi Uburundi (UBU) (‘Party of Burundi Labourers’), which would become the political parent organizations of the PALIPEHUTU-FNL and the CNDD-FDD. Tabara developed a more essentialist, ethno-radical reading of the Burundian conflict; whereas, UBU had a more Marxist, class-based interpretation.59 Tabara members, most notably Rémy Gahutu, founded the PALIPEHUTU in a Tanzanian refugee camp in 1980 and the FNL, its military branch, in 1983.60 UBU members, including Ndadaye himself, founded FRODEBU clandestinely in Burundi in 1986. While FRODEBU was legally recognized in 1992 due to international pressure on the Buyoya regime to liberalize the political system, the PALIPEHUTU-FNL was never legalized in the run-up to the 1993 elections given its ethnic underpinning and rebellion. Following Ndadaye’s assassination, CNDD-FDD members recount a ‘spontaneous popular insurrection’,61 which formed the bulk of the CNDD-FDD’s rebellion. As FRODEBU was not able to control the country after Ndadaye’s assassination, the young party split over whether or not to accept sharing power with UPRONA, the former single ruling party. While one group of FRODEBU activists favoured political dialog, a breakaway faction considered that there was no other option than to take up arms to restore democracy. This radical FRODEBU offshoot became the nucleus of the CNDD’s political leadership. In the summer of 1994, several Hutu-dominated political and military groupings62 met in Uvira in neighbouring Zaïre to discuss the foundation of an insurgent front, which united the diverse pockets of popular resistance across the country. This assembly laid the foundation for the creation of the FDD, also known as Intagoheka (‘those who never sleep to remain vigilant’). The founding leaders solicited PALIPEHUTU-FNL militants’ experience in guerrilla warfare and nominated Donatien Misigaro, who had organized the FNL’s clandestine military trainings in Tanzania, as the first military chief of staff of the insurgent front.63 The FDD were later put under civilian command culminating in the CNDD-FDD’s official creation in September 1994. Léonard Nyangoma, a FRODEBU founding member and Minister of Interior under Ndadaye, became the movement’s first leader. The use of ‘Council’ in its name reflects the initial ambition to create a merger of the different existing Hutu-dominated political and military movements. In Burundi, the analysis of proximity is complicated, given the country’s pronounced bipolar ethno-political setting as well as the short time between the liberalization of the political system and the onset of the civil war. Compared to the FN in Côte d’Ivoire, the CNDD-FDD’s leadership emerged autonomously from pre-war established ruling elites. Instead, the CNDD-FDD is primarily rooted in clandestine political and military networks that emerged during and in opposition to decades of UPRONA’s military dictatorship. Given the long-term oppression of the Hutu majority population, Hutu-dominated political parties had been banned from the political scene. Instead, the population had to join UPRONA following the logic of the one-party state. The FRODEBU was only legalized in 1992 and held power for barely three months after winning the 1993 elections. In addition, the split within FRODEBU between ‘idealists’ (committed to political dialog and peaceful means) and ‘pragmatists’ (convinced that armed struggle was the only option) limited the CNDD-FDD’s proximity to national level pre-war political elites. At its inception, the CNDD-FDD was organized as an armed movement with a separate political and military branch. In Nyangoma’s vision, the political wing held supremacy over the military wing. Despite initial collaboration with the PALIPEHUTU-FNL, internal struggles over leadership and ideology led to the divorce between the two insurgent groups.64 However, several former PALIPEHUTU-FNL militants remained with the CNDD-FDD and rose to high-level political and military positions.65 Leadership of the CNDD-FDD’s military branch was subsequently given to Colonel Jean-Bosco Ndayikengurikiye, Nyangoma’s nephew and a former student of the Institut supérieur des cadres militaires.66 Nyangoma’s neglect of the battlefield, growing human rights abuses, and accusations of corruption led to his forced removal in 1998. Dissatisfied with Nyangoma’s political leadership, the military leaders reckoned that the CNDD-FDD’s next leader should oversee both the political and military wings. They wanted a commander more attuned to the requirements of the fighters and installed Ndayikengurukiye as the frontrunner of the newly integrated politico-military movement. Ndayikengurukiye soon followed in the footsteps of Nyangoma by distancing himself from the battlefield. Additionally, after having two leaders from Bururi, regional divisions within the movement grew. Many combatants felt that the next leader should not come from the traditionally privileged South. In 2001, Pierre Nkurunziza, Burundi’s current president from the Northern Province of Ngozi, ousted Ndayikengurukiye. The various leadership reversals illustrate the CNDD-FDD’s fragmented organizational character stemming from the movement’s origin in pockets of popular armed resistance. However, this changed when Nkurunziza, nicknamed Umuhuza (‘the unifier’), took charge. His commitment to staying close to the troops helped to foster internal cohesion.67 During the war, the CNDD-FDD managed to take limited territorial control over several areas. It organized as a grassroots movement and functioned around several military regions, which operated fairly independently. They were in charge of organizing their own recruitment and logistics while receiving general directives from the chief of staff concerning the overall military strategy. The CNDD-FDD recruited fighters and mobilized resources mostly autonomously from capital-based ruling elites. The CNDD-FDD forged strong ties with the local population, which became instrumental for the movement’s survival. Unlike the FN in Côte d’Ivoire, the CNDD-FDD built ‘local shadow administrations’68 primarily in the rural areas. In these partly liberated zones, it installed regional and communal commissioners, who substituted themselves for the state authorities. These commissioners were in charge of rallying the population behind the movement’s cause, shielding it from armed combat and consulting it on daily needs. The CNDD-FDD also provided a range of public goods, including education, health and justice services.69 The commissioners worked with the mobilisateurs politiques, mostly civilians, which constituted the backbone for the ideological sensibilization of the local population. The CNDD-FDD enjoyed tremendous popular support during the initial years of the war. This slowly declined during the later years, as the population became increasingly drained as the primary provider of food and shelter. However, overall popular support remained high throughout the war and has endured into the post-accord period. The CNDD-FDD’s financial bases were drawn primarily from the Burundian population and the movement’s later alliance with President Laurent-Desiré Kabila following the First Congo War. In some instances, the CNDD-FDD secretly co-opted government officials, most often FRODEBU members, giving it selected access to state resources.70 Several high-ranking FRODEBU politicians supported the movement financially, including former President Sylvestre Ntibantunganya, who donated parts of his salary. However, this co-optation remained sporadic due to the deep split within FRODEBU and the fact that it was extremely difficult for FRODEBU leaders to be part of state institutions while also supporting an insurgency against this very state.71 In addition, this limited co-optation of FRODEBU leaders was seriously undermined when, in July 1996, former President Buyoya staged another military coup. Buyoya systematically removed Hutu politicians from power.72 Successive talks between FRODEBU members, notably Jean Minani, FRODEBU’s exiled president based in Tanzania, and Ndayikengurukiye, aiming to reunite the two organizations did not yield any results.73 This illustrates the fluid nature of proximity, which evolves over time. During the civil war, Burundi’s political elites negotiated an inter-ethnic power-sharing agreement culminating in 2000 in the signing of the Arusha Peace and Reconciliation Agreement.74 However, initially various active rebel groups were excluded from the negotiations. In 2003, the CNDD-FDD was integrated in the Arusha process and signed the Pretoria Protocol, allowing the movement to transform into a political party and granting the integration of parts of its military forces into a new national army. The fact that the CNDD-FDD initially did not participate in the Arusha negotiations ultimately worked in its favour and partly explains its 2005 electoral success. The local population perceived the elite-driven peace talks in the distant Arusha with a lot of suspicion. Many politicians used their generous per-diem allowances to build grandiose hotels in the Kiriri neighbourhood of Bujumbura, known as the ‘Arusha District’.75 During the transition period, CNDD-FDD members discussed the option of returning to their respective parties of origin, notably FRODEBU, or creating their own party. During the founding congress in Gitega in August 2004, CNDD-FDD militants decided to transform the rebel movement into a political party. Given the tremendous popular support that it had built during the civil war, the CNDD-FDD was convinced that it could win the post-accord elections. During the 2005 elections, the CNDD-FDD and the FRODEBU were considered the most important political competitors among the 35 participating political parties. The CNDD-FDD, widely credited for having brought relative peace to the country, won the elections with 58.55 percent of the votes (compared to 21.7 percent for the FRODEBU). The CNDD-FDD built on its extended shadow administration structures created during the rebellion. Demobilized soldiers were approached early on and left the cantonment sites to return to their home hills (colline) and campaign for the elections. During the electoral campaign, the CNDD-FDD used its history as an armed movement to intimidate voters and collect war chest fees. This contributed to the perception that the rebel party risked returning to the maquis if it did not win the elections. In contrast to the 1993 elections, UPRONA was relegated to a secondary role. However, given the ethnic quota system enshrined in the Arusha Accord, UPRONA occupied an important role as CNDD-FDD’s future junior coalition partner.76 Even though the CNDD-FDD and FRODEBU represented the same ethno-political groups, the two organizations distanced themselves ideologically, preventing a potential merger. The FRODEBU generally was perceived as a weak party that had not helped to address the fundamental root cause of the Burundian conflict, i.e. the make-up of the national army. Indeed, through its power-sharing agreement with UPRONA following Ndadaye’s assassination, the FRODEBU allowed a ‘creeping coup’,77 which materialized in 1996 when Buyoya regained power through another putsch. As one former FRODEBU member put it provocatively: ‘The FRODEBU lost its might with Ndadaye’s assassination and the creation of the CNDD-FDD’.78 In contrast, the CNDD-FDD capitalized on this moment to impose a reform of the national army. It was this political ‘niche’ that the CNDD-FDD was able to benefit from during the 2005 elections. As one female voter explained to former President and FRODEBU candidate Ntibantunganya during the 2005 electoral campaign: ‘We like you […] but we are going to vote for those, who have a military branch, who brought an equilibrium to the army’.79 Unlike the FN in Côte d’Ivoire, the CNDD-FDD did not merge with an existing party, but instead transformed into its own party. Even though the FRODEBU and the CNDD-FDD occupy the same ethno-political space, the CNDD-FDD emerged autonomously from, and as a credible alternative to, the FRODEBU in the eyes of the Hutu majority population because of its fight for a new multi-ethnic national army. With the transformation of the PALIPEHUTU-FNL into a political party in 2009, the CNDD-FDD and the FNL,80 the two major former rebel groups, constituted the principal political competitors. Both rebel parties displaced traditional parties, sending the dangerous message that violence is necessary to access Burundian politics. Today, the CNDD-FDD formally resembles a political party, but continues to be ruled by many informal practices, popularly referred to as réflexes du maquis (‘bush mentalities’), reflecting the party’s inability to separate the political and the military branches. The CNDD-FDD encountered tremendous challenges in separating its political branch from its former military wing, culminating in deep tensions between civilian and military members.81 A handful of former FDD military generals are said to dictate key party decisions. These civil-military tensions were reflected in the on-going political crisis triggered by the CNDD-FDD’s announcement of Nkurunziza’s candidacy for a controversial third term in April 2015.82 Thus far, the CNDD-FDD’s regime has demonstrated tremendous resilience despite popular protests, a failed coup d’état, and numerous high-level civilian defections, underlining the importance of the core FDD military establishment for the maintenance of the regime. Conclusion The extent to which post-conflict transitions challenge the political status quo depends in part on the ways in which former combatants are integrated into post-conflict political systems. Whether civil wars end in outright rebel military defeat,83 rebel victory84 or negotiated settlements85 – often through international mediation, the signing of peace accords and the holding of elections86 – has important implications for the distribution of political power after the official cessation of hostilities. This article suggests that the specific ways in which former armed movements are integrated into post-conflict party systems also influence how rebel-to-party transitions shape the post-conflict political order. In the growing literature on rebel-to-party transformations, differences with regards to the various modes in which parties are integrated into post-conflict party systems remain understudied. We aimed to fill this gap by comparing two cases of liberal war-to-peace transitions in Sub-Saharan Africa. In Côte d’Ivoire, the FN eschewed party building. Instead, members of the movement’s former leadership ran as candidates in legislative elections on the RDR’s ticket or accepted appointments as part of Côte d’Ivoire’s post-conflict bureaucracy and military. In Burundi, the CNDD-FDD created its own party and won successive elections by positioning itself as the country’s hegemonic ruling party. Do these cases support the theoretical claims made in this article? In Côte d’Ivoire, many of the FN’s future leaders had close ties with pre-conflict ruling elites, as pro-RDR elements in the military and on university campuses. Strong pre-conflict ties between much of the FN’s leadership group and ruling elites shaped the FN’s organization building and the availability of national political space within the Ivoirian party system. During the FN’s control of the North, foot soldiers and military leaders alike used their authority to tax and gain control over Northern economies. Despite the FN’s efforts at organization building throughout the conflict period, the power and autonomy of these actors, particularly the com’zone commanders, remained unaffected. Overall, the FN lacked strong organizational ties to each other and to civilian populations. It also confronted restricted available political space in the post-conflict party system. Ouattara and the RDR remained credible representatives of Northern constituencies, as well as immigrant populations based in Abidjan and elsewhere in the South. Indeed, many FN members fought for, rather than challenged, Ouattara’s candidacy in the 2010 presidential elections. The case of Burundi is more complicated and illustrates several limitations of our theoretical claims. Most importantly, it underscores the fluid nature of insurgent proximity, which changes over time and does not only include relationships to national level ruling elites but also foreign patrons. The pronounced bipolar nature of Burundi’s political system at the beginning of the 1990s, as well as the short timespan between the advent of multi-partyism and the beginning of the civil war, restrained the CNDD-FDD’s future rebel leaders possibility to build close relationships with established ruling elites. Instead, the CNDD-FDD developed autonomously from capital-based ruling elites. It finds its political roots in clandestine student movements and political parties, most notably MEPROBA, UBU and FRODEBU, as well as its military roots in the PALIPEHUTU-FNL and former ISCAM students. With FRODEBU’s legal recognition in 1992, several of the CNDD-FDD’s future rebel leaders became part of the political establishment. However, the civil war was triggered only one year later, following the assassination of President Ndadaye. Given the deep split within FRODEBU between those favouring and those officially opposing the armed rebellion, the FRODEBU and the CNDD-FDD developed independently from one another during the civil war. Even though the CNDD-FDD organized as a decentralized movement, its internal cohesion was boosted under Nkurunziza’s leadership. The CNDD-FDD built close relationships with rural populations and carved out significant political space, which it capitalized on during the post-accord elections, thereby encouraging its transformation into a political party (Figure 2). Figure 2 View largeDownload slide Graphic comparison between the FN and the CNDD-FDD Figure 2 View largeDownload slide Graphic comparison between the FN and the CNDD-FDD This article inspires several avenues for future research. First, future studies could work to specify the universe of cases from which our cases are drawn. Are the FN and the CNDD-FDD representative of the range of variation in the broader universe of cases? How common are cases like the FN, in which former rebel movements merge with existing parties? Do the outcomes described in our cases exhaust the range of possible outcomes observable in post-conflict party systems? Second, our theoretical argument is highly structural and path-dependent. Group proximity is not static and can change throughout the course of conflict as groups build new networks or gain access to alternative sources of funding.87 Additionally, beyond proximity, there is a range of different casual factors that can potentially shape the outcomes described in this article. Future studies could explore dynamic features of proximity and how proximity interacts with different conflict processes that fluctuate over time and how these changes alter the trajectories predicted by our theoretical model. Finally, future research could focus more directly on the implications of these variations for long-term peace and the development of democratic politics. For instance, the FN’s merger with the RDR in Côte d’Ivoire might offer better prospects for the development of durable democratic peace given the RDR’s long-established participation in the country’s politics. In contrast, as Gervais Rufyikiri argues, the fact ‘that the CNDD-FDD developed as a fully independent organization from pre-war existing political formations during the war might explain its strained relationships with other political parties in the post-war period’,88 culminating in the authoritarian shift currently witnessed in Burundi. Footnotes 1. The term ‘post-conflict’ is ambiguous. It usually refers to the formal renouncement of hostilities stipulated in a peace accord. However, peace agreements do not necessarily coincide with the end of political violence. 2. Andreas Mehler illustrates these variations through a brief comparison of rebel-party relations in Côte d’Ivoire and the Central African Republic. He writes ‘The example of Côte d’Ivoire, where rebel leaders have tried hard to create their own local legitimacy (while not standing in national elections, at least so far), and where political parties have remained the prime political actors, suggests that there may be important variations at play in post-conflict societies.’ Andreas Mehler, ‘Rebels and parties: The impact of armed insurgency on representation in the Central African Republic’, Journal of Modern African Studies 49, 1 (2011), p. 135. 3. Key studies include Mimmi Söderberg Kovacs, From rebellion to politics: The transformation of rebel groups to political parties in civil war peace process (Uppsala University, unpublished PhD dissertation, 2007); Carrie Manning, The making of democrats: Elections and party development in postwar Bosnia, El Salvador, and Mozambique (Palgrave Macmillan, New York, NY, 2008); Jeroen De Zeeuw (ed.), From soldiers to politicians: Transforming rebel movements after civil war (Lynne Rienner Publishers, Boulder, CO, 2008); John Ishiyama (ed.), ‘Special issue: From bullets to ballots: The transformation of rebel groups into political parties’, Democratization 23, 6 (2016); Johanna Söderström and Sindre, Gyda M. (eds.), ‘Special issue: Understanding armed groups and party politics’, Civil Wars 18, 2 (2016). 4. Mimmi Söderberg Kovacs, ‘When rebels change their stripes’, in Anna K. Jarstad and Timothy D Sisk (eds.), From war to democracy: Dilemmas of peacebuilding (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2008), pp. 134–156. 5. Stephen Stedman, ‘Spoiler problems in peace processes’, International Security 22, 2 (1997), pp. 5–53; Marie-Joëlle Zahar, ‘Political violence in peace processes: voice, exit and loyalty in the post-accord period’, in John Darby (ed.), Violence and reconstruction. Volume 1 (Notre Dame University Press, South Bend, IN, 2006), pp. 159–177. 6. John Ishiyama, ‘Civil wars and party systems’, Social Science Quarterly 95, 2 (2014), pp. 425–447. 7. Mehler, ‘Rebels and parties,’ p. 116. 8. Elizabeth Wood, ‘The social processes of civil war: The wartime transformation of social networks’, Annual Review of Political Science 11 (2008), pp. 539–561. 9. Dipali Mukhopadhyay, Warlords, strongman governors, and the state in Afghanistan (Cambridge University Press, New York, NY, 2014). 10. William Reno, Warfare in independent Africa, new approaches to African history (Cambridge University, New York, NY, 2011); Paul Staniland, ‘Armed groups and militarized elections’, International Studies Quarterly 59, 4 (2015), pp. 694–705. 11. James A. Caporaso writes ‘mechanisms seek to connect background factors (often structural) with a definite but more remote outcome’. Cited in Sidney Tarrow, ‘The strategy of paired comparison: Toward a theory of practice’, Comparative Political Studies 43, 2 (2010), pp. 239–240. 12. Reno, Warfare; Staniland, ‘Armed Groups’. 13. Stathis N. Kalyvas, The logic of violence in civil war (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2006). 14. Zachariah C. Mampilly, Rebel rulers: Insurgent governance and civilian life during war (Cornell University Press, Ithaca, NY, 2011). 15. Paul Staniland, ‘Organizing insurgency: Networks, resources and rebellion in South Asia’, International Organization 37,1 (2012), pp. 150–151. 16. Jeremy Weinstein, Inside rebellion: The politics of insurgent violence (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2007), p. 264. 17. Patrick Johnston, ‘The geography of insurgent organization and its consequences for civil wars: Evidence from Liberia and Sierra Leone’, Security Studies 17, 1 (2008), pp. 112–113. 18. Ana Arjona, Nelson Kasfir and Zachariah Mampilly (eds.), Rebel governance in civil war (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2015). 19. Scott Pegg, International society and the de facto state (Ashgate, Aldershot, 1998). 20. Till Förster, ‘Dialogue direct: Rebel governance and civil order in Northern Côte d’Ivoire’, in Arjona, Kasfir and Mampilly (eds.), Rebel Governance, p. 213. 21. William Reno, ‘Patronage politics and the behavior of armed groups,’ Civil Wars 9, 4 (2007), pp. 324–42. 22. Reno writes that market-based systems of control encourage rebels ‘to capture the capital rather than build administrations in zones they can more easily control or where they can cultivate a base of popular support’. William Reno, ‘Order and commerce in turbulent areas: 19th century lessons, 21st century practice’, Third World Quarterly 25,4 (2004), p. 623. 23. Reno, Warfare in independent Africa, pp. 31–32. 24. John Ishiyama and Anna Batta, ‘Swords into plowshares: The organizational transformation of rebel groups into political parties’, Communist and Post-Communist Studies 44, 4 (2011), p. 370. 25. Mampilly, Rebel rulers, pp. 65ff. 26. De Zeeuw (ed.), From soldiers to politicians; Söderberg Kovacs, From rebellion to politics. 27. Klaus Schlichte, In the shadow of violence: The politics of armed groups (Campus Verlag, Frankfurt/Main, 2009), pp. 65–66. 28. Sidney Tarrow, Power in movement: Social movements and contentious politics (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1998), pp. 78–85. 29. Kai Arzheimer and Elizabeth Carter, ‘Political opportunity structures and right‐wing extremist party success’, European Journal of Political Research 45, 3 (2006), pp. 422–425; Herbert P. Kitschelt, The radical right in Western Europe: A comparative analysis (University of Michigan Press, Ann Arbor, MI, 1997), p. 63. 30. Jens Rydgren, ‘Explaining the emergence of radical right-wing populist parties: The case of Denmark’, West European Politics 27, 3 (2004), p. 476. 31. ‘African states are by no means unique in having multi-cultural, plural societies; but they certainly form, as a group, an extreme set of cases as measured by the sheer number and variety of ethnic, language, religious and sub-national political divisions into which they are fragmented.’ Richard Crook, ‘Winning coalitions and ethno-regional politics: The failure of the opposition in the 1990 and 1994 elections in Côte d’Ivoire’, African Affairs (1997), p. 216. 32. John Ishiyama and Michael Widmeier, ‘Territorial control, levels of violence, and the electoral performance of former rebel political parties after civil wars’, Civil Wars 14, 4 (2013), p. 535. 33. For more extended background on the political crisis in Côte d’Ivoire, see Mike McGovern, Making war in Côte d’Ivoire (University of Chicago Press, Chicago, IL, 2011); Ruth Marshall Fratani, ‘The war of ‘who is who’: Autochthony, nationalism, and citizenship in the Ivoirian crisis’, African Studies Review 49, 2 (2006), pp. 9–43; and Richard Banégas, ‘Côte d’Ivoire: Patriotism, ethnonationalism and other modes of self-writing’, African Affairs 105, 421 (2006), pp. 535–552. 34. The Mouvement patriotique de Côte d’Ivoire (MPCI) was the original movement involved in the conflict. Two other movements based in Western Côte d’Ivoire – the Mouvement pour la Justice et la Paix (MJP) and the Mouvement populaire Ivoirian du Grand Ouest (MPIGO) – joined the fighting later in November 2002. These three movements merged to form the FN in December 2002. 35. International Crisis Group, ‘Côte d’Ivoire: The war is not yet over’ (International Crisis Group, Africa Report No. 72, Brussels, 2003); Daniel Balint-Kurti, ‘Côte d’Ivoire’s Forces nouvelles’ (Chatham House, Africa Program Non-State Actors Series, London, September 2007); Arthur Boutellis, ‘The security sector in Côte d’Ivoire: A source of conflict and a key to peace’ (International Peace Institute, New York, 2011). 36. As FESCI’s Secrétaire général, future rebel leader Guillaume Soro had strong ties with Gbagbo, the leader of the FPI. Gbagbo himself was the former Director of the Institute of History, Art and African Archaeology at the University of Abidjan. Beyond Gbagbo, many leaders of Côte d’Ivoire’s opposition parties emerged from university campuses. Yacouba Konaté, ‘Les enfants de la balle. De la FESCI aux mouvements de patriotes’, Politique africaine 89, 1 (2003), pp. 52–58. 37. Human Rights Watch suggests that there was an explicit connection between the 2002 rebellion and the student politics of the 1990s and 2000s for many on the government side. ‘[…] in the eyes of many FESCI loyalists, the rebellion was but a continuation of the dissident insurgency they thought they had vanquished on the university campus some 18 months prior.’ Human Rights Watch, ‘The best school: Student violence, impunity and the crisis in Côte d’Ivoire’ (Human Rights Watch, New York, May 2008), pp. 29–32. 38. Human Rights Watch, ‘Trapped between two wars: Violence against civilians in Western Côte d’Ivoire’ (Human Rights Watch, New York, August 2003), p. 25. 39. Ibid, p. 25. 40. Human Rights Watch, ‘Country on a precipice – the precarious state of human rights and civilian protection in Côte d’Ivoire’ (Human Rights Watch, New York, May 2005), pp. 19–20; Thomas J. Bassett, ‘The costs of the road in a divided Côte d’Ivoire’ (Hot Spots, Cultural Anthropology website, November 2011), <http://www.culanth.org/fieldsights/190-the-costs-of-the-road-in-a-divided-cote-d-ivoire> (10 September 2016); Guillaume Soro, Pourquoi je suis devenu un rebelle: La Côte d’Ivoire au bord du gouffre (Hachette, Paris), pp. 106–107. 41. United Nations Security Council, ‘Group of experts on Côte d’Ivoire pursuant to paragraph 11 of Security Council resolution 1842 (2008)’ (UN Security Council, New York, 9 October 2009), pp. 47–50. 42. For more on the organization of the Northern rebellion, see Moussa Fofana, ‘Les jeunes dans la rébellion du nord de la Côte d’Ivoire: Les raisons de la mobilisation’, Afrika Focus 24, 1 (2011), pp. 51–70. 43. Jeremy Speight, ‘Warlord undone? Strongman politics and post-conflict state-building in Northeastern Côte d’Ivoire (2002–2013)’, Canadian Journal of African Studies 48, 2 (2014), p. 233. 44. Förster, ‘Dialogue Direct’ in Rebel Governance. 45. Kathrin Heitz, ‘Power-Sharing in the local arena: Man – A rebel-held town in Western Côte d’Ivoire’, Africa Spectrum 4, 3 (2010), pp. 109–131; Till Förster, ‘Maintenant, on sait qui est qui: Statehood and political reconfiguration in Northern Côte d’Ivoire’, Development and Change 41, 4 (2010), pp. 699–722. 46. International Crisis Group, ‘Côte d’Ivoire: The war is not yet over’ (International Crisis Group, Africa Report 72, New York, November 2003); Andreas Mehler, ‘Power-sharing in Africa: A not so obvious relationship’, African Affairs 108, 432 (2009), p. 466. 47. International Crisis Group, ‘Can the Ouagadougou agreement bring peace?’ (International Crisis Group, Africa Report 127, Dakar/Brussels, June 2007), p. 4. 48. Moussa Fofana, ‘Des forces nouvelles aux forces républicaines de Côte d’Ivoire’, Politique Africaine 122 (2011), pp. 171–173. 49. Thomas J. Bassett, ‘Winning coalition, sore loser: Côte d’Ivoire’s 2010 presidential elections’, African Affairs 110, 440 (2011). 50. AFP, ‘Côte d’Ivoire: des chefs de l’ex-rébellion affectés dans la nouvelle armée’, Abidjan.net, 4 August 2011, <http://news.abidjan.net/h/406735.html> (8 September 2016). 51. Baudelaire Mieu, ‘Côte d’Ivoire: Ouattara nomme trois anciens chefs de guerre de la rébellion à la tête de régions sensibles’, Jeune Afrique, 26 September 2012, <http://www.jeuneafrique.com/Article/ARTJAWEB20120926161042/> (8 September 2016). 52. Haby Niakate, ‘Côte d’Ivoire: Soro, l’homme pressé … d’être en 2020’, Jeune Afrique, 22 April 2015. <http://www.jeuneafrique.com/mag/289439/politique/cote-divoire-guillaume-soro-a-croisee-chemins/> (8 September 2016); Hamadou Ziao, ‘Changement de régime: Guerre larvée FN-RDR pour la succession de Ouattara’, Abidjan.net, 7 June 2011, <http://news.abidjan.net/h/400917.html> (8 September 2016). 53. René Lemarchand, Burundi: Ethnic conflict and genocide (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1996). 54. From 1966 until 1993, Burundi was governed by military dictatorships whose leaders exclusively came from the Tutsi-Hima faction from the Southern Region of Bururi. The military leaders Michel Micombero, Jean-Baptiste Bagaza and Pierre Buyoya, who came from the same hill and even the same family, installed a political system in which the Tutsi dominated the state institutions including the national army. In the process, the once inclusive Union pour le progrès national (UPRONA), which had led the country to independence, was transformed into a Tutsi-dominated party operating in a one-party state. 55. At the height of the civil war, PALIPEHUTU-FNL had around 5,000 combatants and CNDD-FDD had around 18,000. Peter Uvin, Life after violence: A people’s story of Burundi (Zed Books, New York, NY, 2009), pp. 15ff. 56. The Burundian population consists of three ethnicities, including 85 percent Hutu, 14 percent Tutsi and 1 percent Twa. For a discussion of the origin of these ethnic identities, see Jean-Pierre Chrétien and Gérard Prunier, Les ethnies ont une histoire (Karthala, Paris, 2003). 57. Lemarchand, Burundi. 58. René Lemarchand and David Martin, ‘Selective genocide in Burundi’ (Minority Rights Group, London, 1974). 59. Katrin Wittig, ‘Politics in shadow of the gun: Revisiting the literature on ‘Rebel-to-Party Transformations’ through the case of Burundi’, Civil Wars 18, 2 (2016), pp. 145. 60. Valeria Alfieri, ‘La courte « reconversion » du PALIPEHUTU-FNL: Continuités et ruptures’, in Filip Reyntjens, Stef Vandeginste and Marijke Verpoorten (eds.) L’Afrique des Grands Lacs. Annuaire 2014–15 (L’Harmattan, Paris, 2015), pp. 98–141. 61. While CNDD-FDD members speak of a ‘spontaneous popular insurrection’, UPRONA members qualify the various Hutu insurgent groups as génocidaires given the many Tutsi populations falling victim to them. 62. This included, most notably, FRODEBU, UBU, PALIPEHUTU-FNL and Front pour la libération nationale (FROLINA), a Southern offshoot of the PALIPEHUTU-FNL. 63. Gervais Rufyikiri, ‘Failure of rebel movement-to-political party transformation of the CNDD-FDD in Burundi: An issue of balance between change and continuity’ (Institute of Development Policy and Management, University of Antwerp, 2016), p. 9. 64. The PALIPEHUTU-FNL and the CNDD-FDD intermittently tried to collaborate with each other throughout the civil war. However, suspicions among their respective members caused these attempts to remain short-lived. 65. Rufyikiri, ‘Failure’, p. 13. 66. Ndayikengurukiye was one of the few Hutus that had been admitted to the military academy. In May 1994, he defected with four other Hutu colleagues. Students of the Institut supérieur des cadres militaires became crucial in organizing the FDD’s military struggle. 67. Willy Nindorera, ‘The CNDD-FDD in Burundi: From armed struggle to political struggle’ (Berghof Transitions Series, Berghof Foundation, Berlin, 2010), p. 17. 68. Peter Uvin and Leanne Bayer, ‘The political economy of statebuilding in Burundi,’ in Mats Berdal and Dominik Zaum, Political economy of statebuilding: Power after peace (Routledge, London, 2013). 69. Cara E. Jones, Giving up the gun: Rebel to ruler transformations in Africa’s Great Lakes Region (University of Florida, unpublished PhD dissertation, 2013), p. 270f. 70. Ibid, p. 270f. 71. Rufyikiri, ‘Failure’, p. 10. 72. One year after Buyoya’s second putsch, only 31 out of 271 communal administrators belonged to the Hutu ethnic group, 22 of them members of UPRONA. Human Rights Watch, ‘Proxy targets: Civilians and the war in Burundi’ (Human Rights Watch, New York, 1998), p. 23. 73. Rufyikiri, ‘Failure’, p. 11. 74. Arusha stipulates ethnic quotas for the security forces (granting equitable representation of 50 percent to Hutu and Tutsi) and political institutions (giving the Tutsi minority 40 percent of posts in government and the National Assembly as well as 50 percent in the Senate, whereas the Hutu majority occupies 60 percent and 50 percent respectively). 75. Thomas Kwasi Tieku, ‘How perks for delegates can influence peace process outcomes’ (Africa Initiative and Centre for International Governance Innovation, Waterloo, 2012). 76. Filip Reyntjens, ‘Chronique politique du Rwanda et du Burundi, 2003–2005,’ in Filip Reyntjens and Stefaan Marysse (eds.), L’Afrique des Grands Lacs. Annuaire 2004–2005 (L’Harmattan, Paris, 2006), pp. 1–26. 77. Filip Reyntjens, The great African war: Congo and regional geopolitics, 1996–2006 (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2009), p. 34. 78. Interview with former FRODEBU member, Bujumbura, 1 May 2015. 79. Interview with Sylvestre Ntibantunganya, Bujumbura, 1 July 2015. 80. The PALIPEHUTU-FNL had to drop its ethnic name to comply with Burundi’s post-accord constitution. 81. Willy Nindorera, ‘Burundi: The deficient transformation of the CNDD-FDD’, in De Zeeuw (ed.), From Soldiers to Politicians, p. 119. 82. Stef Vandeginste, ‘Briefing: Burundi’s electoral crisis – Back to power-sharing politics as usual?’, African Affairs 114, 457 (2015), pp. 624–636. 83. Chris R. Day, ‘The fates of rebels: Insurgencies in Uganda’, Comparative Politics 43, 4 (2011), pp. 439–458. 84. Terrence Lyons, ‘From victorious rebels to strong authoritarian parties: Prospects for post-war democratization’, Democratization 23, 6 (2016), pp. 1026–1041. 85. Söderberg Kovacs, From Rebellion to Politics. 86. Roland Paris, At war’s end: Building peace after civil conflict (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2004); Séverine Autesserre, The trouble with the Congo: Local violence and the failure of international peacebuilding (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2010). 87. Staniland, ‘Armed groups’, p. 3. 88. Rufyikiri, ‘Failure’, p. 10. © The Author 2017. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of Royal African Society. All rights reserved

Journal

African AffairsOxford University Press

Published: Jan 1, 2018

There are no references for this article.

You’re reading a free preview. Subscribe to read the entire article.


DeepDyve is your
personal research library

It’s your single place to instantly
discover and read the research
that matters to you.

Enjoy affordable access to
over 18 million articles from more than
15,000 peer-reviewed journals.

All for just $49/month

Explore the DeepDyve Library

Search

Query the DeepDyve database, plus search all of PubMed and Google Scholar seamlessly

Organize

Save any article or search result from DeepDyve, PubMed, and Google Scholar... all in one place.

Access

Get unlimited, online access to over 18 million full-text articles from more than 15,000 scientific journals.

Your journals are on DeepDyve

Read from thousands of the leading scholarly journals from SpringerNature, Elsevier, Wiley-Blackwell, Oxford University Press and more.

All the latest content is available, no embargo periods.

See the journals in your area

DeepDyve

Freelancer

DeepDyve

Pro

Price

FREE

$49/month
$360/year

Save searches from
Google Scholar,
PubMed

Create lists to
organize your research

Export lists, citations

Read DeepDyve articles

Abstract access only

Unlimited access to over
18 million full-text articles

Print

20 pages / month

PDF Discount

20% off