On 29 September, the trial of former Prime Minister Moussa Mara opened at Mali’s specialised cybercrime court in the capital, Bamako. Mara, an outspoken critic of military rule, was arrested in August after posting on social media about political prisoners. His message expressed solidarity with ‘prisoners of conscience’ and declared he’d ‘fight by all means’ for the end of military rule. For doing so, he faces charges of undermining state authority, inciting public disorder and spreading false information. He’s not alone. The junta has levelled the same vague charges against dozens of other critics.

A week earlier, on 22 September, Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger – all under military rule –announced their immediate withdrawal from the International Criminal Court (ICC). The joint communiqué was signed by General Assimi Goïta in his dual role as Mali’s de facto president and rotating head of the Confederation of Sahel States, the alliance the three states formed in 2023 to counter pressure to restore democracy from the key regional organisation, the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS). The statement branded the ICC as ‘an instrument of neo-colonialist repression’ and accused it of selective justice.

Although the withdrawal won’t take effect for another year and the ICC retains jurisdiction over crimes committed while Mali was a member, the announcement signals the junta’s determination to operate beyond international legal constraints.

These developments have come amid escalating repression. In August, the junta arrested several senior generals and civilians, alleging a conspiracy to destabilise state institutions. The arrests came just months after sweeping decrees outlawed political parties and dissolved almost all organised opposition. Rather than preparing for a repeatedly delayed democratic handover, initially promised for 2022, then postponed supposedly to March 2024, the junta has continued methodically dismantling what remains of Mali’s fragile civic space.

A transition in name only

When Goïta first seized power in August 2020, ousting President Ibrahim Boubacar Keïta following mass protests over corruption and insecurity, he pledged to oversee a swift return to civilian rule. Goïta went back on that commitment less than a year later, when he staged a second coup to sideline transitional civilian leaders.

In 2023, the junta organised a constitutional referendum, claiming it would pave the way to democracy. The new constitution, supposedly approved by an overwhelming 97 per cent of voters, albeit on a low 39 per cent turnout, provided for significantly strengthened presidential powers, allowing the president to determine national policy, appoint and dismiss prime ministers and cabinet members, and making the government answerable to the president rather than parliament. Conveniently, the changes also granted amnesty to those who participated in the 2020 and 2021 coups.

But deadlines for elections have kept slipping, and following April 2025 decrees, they’re now effectively off the table until at least 2030.

In April, the junta organised a national consultation purportedly to chart Mali’s political future. Boycotted by pretty much all major political parties, which denounced it as a facade to legitimise indefinite military rule, the consultation recommended appointing Goïta as president for a renewable five-year term until 2030. The recommendation obviously contradicted any pledges to restore multi-party democracy.

Within days of the consultation, the junta moved to eliminate political opposition. On 7 May, Goïta signed a decree suspending the activities of all political parties and related associations until further notice. The government justified this by claiming it would avert destabilising activities and uphold public order – language it’s used to justify each new restriction on civic freedoms. On 12 May, the National Transition Council (CNT), the junta-appointed legislative body that replaced Mali’s elected parliament, revoked the 2005 Charter of Political Parties, which provided the legal framework for political competition and the status of political opposition. On 13 May, another presidential decree dissolved close to 300 political parties, forbidding all meetings or activities under threat of prosecution.

Courts predictably rejected appeals against the decision. Following the 2023 constitutional changes, Goïta has gained absolute control over Supreme Court appointments, and the judiciary has become beholden to the executive, effectively ending its role as an independent check on its power.

In May, the Minister Delegate for Political Reform announced that a new law on political parties would sharply restrict their number and impose stricter formation requirements. The regime has made clear it wants a tightly managed political landscape, stripped of genuine pluralism.

This isn’t the first time the junta has suspended political activities – similar measures were imposed between February and April 2024 before being lifted in July – but the latest crackdown appears more comprehensive and durable.

Civic space under assault

The crackdown on political parties sparked the first major public resistance to military rule since the 2020 coup. In early May, thousands took to Bamako’s streets to protest against the party ban and extension of Goïta’s mandate. Security forces dispersed crowds with teargas. On 5 May, civil society and opposition leaders held a press conference calling for a rapid return to constitutional order through the organisation of free and fair elections. Protests planned for 9 May were however cancelled after organisers received warnings of violent retaliation.

In mid-May, protests erupted in the Mopti region. Dozens of civilians, including women and children, held a peaceful protest in Diafarabé after Malian soldiers allegedly executed at least 20 people during a military operation. The United Nations (UN) urged investigations and the army reportedly opened inquiries, although little meaningful progress followed.

The attack on political parties forms part of a broader campaign against civil society. Since 2022, the junta has suspended civil society groups that receive foreign funding, particularly those linked to the former colonial power France – at odds with the junta because it urged a return to democracy – and imposed stringent regulatory controls. More recently, it has introduced draft legislation aimed at taxing civil society organisations.

Along with repression of protests, there’s been a spike in enforced disappearances. On 14 March, unidentified people widely believed to be state security agents abducted civil society leader Aliou Badra Sacko. He was taken while participating in a meeting to develop strategies to resist new taxes, and held in a secret prison for two months. His disappearance sent a message: even advocacy on economic issues could provoke the regime’s wrath.

In late April, police arrested and detained opposition leader Mamadou Traoré after he criticised corruption among transitional authorities and questioned the 2023 referendum’s legitimacy. Two opposition leaders who’d opposed the April decrees extending Goïta’s rule were abducted on 8 May: Abba Alhassane of Convergence for the Development of Mali and Bachir Thiam of The Change party.

Religious figures face persecution too. In January, Imam Sekou Sidibé was arrested and sentenced to two years in prison after a video went viral of him making inflammatory statements against military trainers for conducting training during Ramadan. In February 2025, law enforcement officers reportedly arrested several followers of Imam Mahmoud Dicko, a prominent critic of the regime, during preparations to welcome his return from exile. The heavy presence of security forces and concerns about violence forced Dicko to postpone his arrival.

The junta is also determined to silence independent media. In November 2024, the High Authority for Communication suspended, and later revoked, JOLIBA TV News’ licence following a complaint by Burkina Faso’s military rulers – an example of growing cross-border coordination among authoritarian regimes to suppress dissent. In December, the regulatory body increased licence fees on media outlets by 900 per cent, placing unsustainable burdens on smaller operations. In early May, it suspended TV5-Monde, accusing it of failing to adhere to impartiality principles in covering protests.

The government has weaponised cybercrime laws – intended to combat online fraud and harassment – to target civil society activists and journalists, just as it did against Mara and other politicians. It slaps them with charges of ‘undermining state credibility’, ‘spreading false information’ and ‘damaging the credit of the state’, catch-all offences applicable to almost any criticism. The law’s vague language gives prosecutors enormous discretion and has created legal uncertainty that encourages self-censorship.

In April 2025, police arrested and detained Alfousseini Togo, publishing director of Le Canard de la Venise, for an article that fact-checked and challenged government claims. The Judicial Unit Against Cybercrime charged him with undermining the judiciary, disturbing peace and defamation. He was granted bail on 12 May. In May, police arrested journalist Seydou Oumar Traoré, accusing him of insulting Guinea’s interim president – a further example of mutual authoritarianism linking military-run states.

Looking ahead

Five years after Goïta seized power promising to restore civilian rule, Mali keeps heading in the opposite direction.

The initial coup in August 2020 enjoyed some popular support, fuelled by anger at corruption and the civilian government’s failure to address jihadist insurgencies. But no improvements have come. Jihadist groups continue to kill thousands of people every year, while the Malian army and its new Russian mercenary allies – following the departure of French and allied forces – also routinely commit atrocities against civilians. Meanwhile the freedoms that would allow people to voice their grievances and demand accountability have been systematically stripped away.

The junta has eliminated any domestic institution that might constrain its power. Now with the ICC withdrawal, even international accountability mechanisms are being cast aside. What began as a supposed corrective to civilian misrule has hardened into outright authoritarianism, dressed in the language of national security and public order.

Mali’s trajectory matters beyond its borders. It was the first in a series of Central and West African countries to fall under military rule in recent years, and is spearheading a regional pushback against global democracy and human rights standards. The international community has responded by calling out Mali’s regression. On 8 May, UN independent human rights experts condemned the abolition of multiparty politics and urged authorities to reverse course. Multiple international civil society groups have documented the systematic restriction of civic space. The ICC withdrawal has prompted renewed criticism, with observers noting it reflected unwillingness to countenance accountability for atrocities.

ECOWAS has imposed sanctions in the past, but much of its leverage evaporated when Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger withdrew to form the Alliance of Sahel States, deepening ties with Russia. While the African Union and ECOWAS have continued to call for credible election timetables, the Mali regime has shown it doesn’t want to listen.

In this bleak context, Malian civil society activists, journalists and opposition figures continue to speak out at tremendous personal risk. Their courage demands more than statements of condemnation: it calls for tangible support in the form of emergency funding, secure communication channels, legal assistance, temporary refuge and sustained diplomatic pressure. The international community’s commitment to human rights and democratic values, in Mali and across Central and West Africa, must translate into meaningful solidarity with those risking everything to defend them.

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