The late January 2026 decision by Burkina Faso’s interim leader, Captain Ibrahim Traoré, marked the formal end of political pluralism in the country. On January 29, all registered political parties—including those that had backed his September 2022 takeover—were officially dissolved.
While parties had already been suspended after Traoré’s rise, the junta framed the permanent ban as part of a sweeping state restructuring aimed at reducing social divisions. In reality, the move stripped away the last remnants of independent civic engagement and consolidated power firmly under the captain’s control. Party assets were seized by the state.
Despite initially drawing enthusiastic civilian backing, the decision starkly contradicts the junta’s rhetoric of popular mobilization and revolutionary renewal. Yet this pattern is far from unprecedented. Across the Sahel and beyond, African military putschists have discovered that early civilian enthusiasm rarely translates into lasting political influence. Coups that begin with broad public support often end with the sidelining—or outright repression—of the very groups that helped cement the junta’s grip on power. This cycle has repeated itself for decades.
Having studied African military takeovers for nearly a decade, I’ve observed that once in power, juntas show little interest in sharing authority. Civilian allies are useful in the coup’s immediate aftermath, providing crowds, legitimacy, and the appearance of popular mandate. But their independent voices, demands, and expectations quickly become liabilities. Juntas fear the loss of control more than they value the initial support.
Recent events in Burkina Faso serve as a stark reminder: civilian backing may help trigger or stabilize a coup, but it rarely secures long-term influence over post-coup transitions.
why civilian allies rarely shape post-coup transitions
Contrary to popular belief, many African coups attract at least some degree of civilian support—sometimes enthusiastic, sometimes reluctant. In recent years, popular backing has played a key role in the success of military interventions from Mali to Niger. Civil society groups, opposition parties, and religious leaders have publicly endorsed or tacitly accepted coups, providing juntas with visible legitimacy and a ready-made support base.
Yet a consistent pattern emerges: once juntas consolidate power, they systematically marginalize, sideline, or even repress former allies. Civilian groups that once cheered the coup soon find their influence evaporating as the military tightens its grip. This dynamic transcends ideological divides and regional boundaries, repeating itself from one decade to the next.
Take Sudan’s 1969 coup: the Communist Party initially aligned with the Free Officers led by Colonel Gaafar Nimeiri, offering critical political support. Within months, however, Nimeiri began purging communists from government. By 1971, he had launched a brutal crackdown that crushed the party entirely.
A similar fate befell Egypt’s Tamarod movement after its support for General Abdel Fattah el-Sisi’s 2013 takeover. Despite helping legitimize the coup, the movement’s influence vanished as civic space rapidly contracted under military rule.
how Sahel juntas turn on their civilian allies
The same story is playing out today in the Sahel. In Mali, the June 5 Movement–Rally of Patriotic Forces (M5-RFP), a broad coalition of opposition parties, clerics, and activists led by imam Mahmoud Dicko, initially hailed the August 2020 coup that ousted President Ibrahim Boubacar Keïta. The movement hoped to shape the transition—but its influence quickly faded as the junta of Colonel Assimi Goïta excluded its leaders from key posts.
When Goïta staged a second coup in May 2021—toppling the civilian transitional government and consolidating military control—the M5-RFP was further sidelined. What began as a tactical alliance ended in marginalization. A comparable trajectory unfolded in Guinea after the 2021 takeover by General Mamady Doumbouya. Opposition leaders initially welcomed the coup, even urging the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) to refrain from sanctions and legitimizing the intervention as necessary. Yet within months, junta leaders barred civilian allies from meaningful participation. By late 2024, party members were being arrested for criticizing their exclusion from the transition process.
Viewed through this lens, Burkina Faso’s recent ban on political parties fits a well-established mold. Early civilian support may help launch a coup, but it guarantees no ongoing access or influence once military leaders have entrenched their authority.
