Multilateralism Reaching Breaking Point

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Multilateralism Reaching Breaking Point

Credit: Jonathan Ernst/Reuters via Gallo Images

BRUSSELS, Belgium, Feb 13 2026 (IPS) – The latest World Economic Forum made clear the current crisis of multilateralism. Over 60 heads of state and 800 corporate executives assembled in Davos under a ‘Spirit of Dialogue’ theme aimed at strengthening global cooperation, but it was preceded by a series of events pointing to a further unravelling of the international system.

On 3 January, Donald Trump launched an illegal military strike on Venezuela to abduct President Nicolás Maduro, which was widely condemned as a violation of international law. On 7 January, he signed an executive order withdrawing the USA from 66 international bodies and processes, including 31 UN entities, such as the UN Democracy Fund, the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change and UN Women. Then came the launch of Trump’s Board of Peace, evidently an attempt to supplant the UN Security Council. The country that helped build the multilateral system is walking away from the parts it doesn’t like and seeking to reshape the rest in its interests.

Trump’s approach to multilateralism is nakedly transactional. His administration engages with international processes only when they advance immediate US interests and withdraws from those that impose obligations. This disassociates multilateralism from its core principles: accountability over shared standards, equality among nations and universality. It encourages other states to follow suit.

This approach brings devastating financial impacts. US threats to defund international bodies have left institutions scrambling. UN development, human rights and peacekeeping programmes all depended heavily on US financial contributions. The World Health Organization faces shortfalls that threaten its ability to respond to health emergencies because the US government quit without paying its overdue contributions.

The USA’s closest allies aren’t safe. Trump threatened NATO member Denmark with 25 per cent tariffs unless it agreed to the USA’s purchase of Greenland, and suggested he might seize the territory by force. NATO’s Article 5 on collective defence – invoked only once, by the USA after 9/11 – lies in doubt. European states are reacting by seeking strategic autonomy, slashing development aid and reducing UN contributions while finding extra billions for military spending.

Problematic alternatives are looking to capitalise on crisis. At Davos, China positioned itself as the grown-up alternative to Trump, promoting its Friends of Global Governance initiative, a group of 43 mostly authoritarian states including Belarus, Nicaragua and North Korea.

The queue of heads of government meeting China’s leader Xi Jinping shows many states are pivoting this way. But it comes at a cost: in China’s vision of international cooperation, state sovereignty is paramount and there’s no room for international scrutiny of human rights or cooperation to promote democratic freedoms.

It’s the same story with the new Board of Peace. The body originated in a controversial November 2025 Security Council resolution establishing external governance for Gaza, but Trump clearly envisions a permanent, wider role for it. He chairs it in a personal capacity, with full power to veto decisions, set agendas and invite or dismiss members. Permanent membership costs US$1 billion, with the money’s destination unclear.

The Board’s draft charter makes no mention of human rights protections, contains no provisions for civil society participation and establishes no accountability mechanisms. Most members so far are autocratic states such as Belarus, Egypt and Saudi Arabia. Its credibility is further undermined by the fact that Israel has just joined, despite having made a mockery of international humanitarian law. More democratic states have declined invitations, mostly due to concerns about the body’s unclear relationship with the UN. Trump’s response was to threaten increased tariffs against France and withdraw Canada’s invitation. He has made clear he considers himself above international law, casting himself as a de facto world president able to resolve conflicts through personal power and pressure.

As the old order dissolves, civil society must play a critical role in defining what comes next. While the UN – particularly its Security Council, hamstrung by the use of veto powers by China, Russia and the USA – needs reform, it remains the only global framework built on formal equality and universal human rights. As the UN faces assault from those abandoning it or seeking to dilute its human rights mandate, civil society must mobilise to keep it anchored to its founding principles and challenge the hierarchies that exclude global south voices.

It falls on civil society to organise across borders to uphold international law, document violations of international humanitarian and human rights law and demand accountability. Not for the first time, civil society needs to win the argument that might doesn’t make right.

Samuel King is a researcher with the Horizon Europe-funded research project ENSURED: Shaping Cooperation for a World in Transition at CIVICUS: World Alliance for Citizen Participation.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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‘After Decades of Denial and Silence, the Suffering of Rohingya People Is Being Heard at the World’s Highest Court’

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Feb 9 2026 (IPS) –  
CIVICUS discusses the genocide case against Myanmar at the International Court of Justice (ICJ) with Mohammed Nowkhim of the Arakan Rohingya Society for Peace & Human Rights (ARSPHR), a civil society organisation led by Rohingya people born out of refugee camps in Bangladesh to document atrocities, preserve survivor testimony and advocate for accountability and justice.

‘After Decades of Denial and Silence, the Suffering of Rohingya People Is Being Heard at the World’s Highest Court’

Mohammed Nowkhim

On 12 January, the ICJ began hearings in the genocide case brought by The Gambia against Myanmar over the military’s treatment of the Rohingya Muslim minority. The Gambia, representing the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation’s 57 members, accuses Myanmar of breaching the Genocide Convention. The Gambia’s justice minister presented evidence of mass killings, sexual violence and village destruction during a government crackdown in 2017 that forced over 700,000 Rohingya people to flee to Bangladesh. Rohingya survivors testified in closed sessions. Myanmar denies genocidal intent, characterising its actions as counterterrorism. A final judgment is expected before the end of the year.

What atrocities were committed against Rohingya people and what is being examined in court?

During what were called ‘clearance operations’ in 2017, Myanmar security forces burned entire villages, raped women, killed children and threw them into fires and wells. According to documented reports, over 10,000 people were killed and around 700,000, including me, were forced to flee Myanmar. These were not random acts of violence; they were systematic and targeted attacks aimed at erasing our community.

In 2019, The Gambia, supported by 11 other states, filed a case against Myanmar at the ICJ, accusing it of genocide. Judges are now examining evidence of mass killings, sexual violence, village destruction and forced displacement. They are also reviewing official policies and actions that show intent to destroy Rohingya people as a group, including patterns of violence, coordination by state forces and the systematic denial of basic rights.

This case shows that genocide claims can be examined through law rather than dismissed for political convenience. But for the Rohingya, this is not just a legal process. It represents acknowledgment and a source of hope for present and future generations. After decades of denial and silence, our suffering is being heard at the world’s highest court and recognised in a legal space where truth matters. The hearings can’t erase our wounds, but they can offer some solace and a path towards justice.

What evidence supports the case against Myanmar?

The case was built on years of evidence-gathering. The Gambia relied on extensive material from the Independent Investigative Mechanism for Myanmar and United Nations (UN) fact-finding missions, as well as documentation collected over many years by human rights organisations, including Fortify Rights, Human Rights Watch and Rohingya-led groups.

Civil society played a key role when states failed to act. Even when the world looked away, organisations continued to document the truth and refused to let these crimes be erased or rewritten. Long before any court agreed to listen, groups including the ARSPHR were collecting survivor testimonies, documenting violations and carefully preserving evidence, knowing it might one day be used in court. Without that work, much of what happened would have been lost and perpetrators couldn’t have been challenged.

In a way, civil society became the memory of the Rohingya people. Today, this evidence forms part of the case before the ICJ.

Why is accountability so difficult?

Politics often protects perpetrators. Those with power choose stability over justice and shield those responsible for crimes. Myanmar’s authorities continue to deny wrongdoing and refuse to cooperate, which delays justice.

International law also has its limits. Justice moves slowly because ICJ rulings do not automatically lead to consequences. International courts can establish the truth, but they can’t force states to act. Enforcement depends on political will, often through the UN Security Council, where countries such as China and Russia can block action, even when crimes are clear and well documented.

What must happen to ensure justice?

There must be real action. Perpetrators must be held accountable, Rohingya citizenship must be restored and discriminatory laws that enabled genocide must be removed. Any return of refugees must be voluntary, safe and dignified. It can’t happen without international monitoring and guarantees of protection. People can’t be sent back to the same conditions that forced them to flee.

Ultimately, justice is not only about the past, but also about ensuring that future generations of Rohingya can live with rights, safety and dignity. This case is only the beginning. What happens after the judgment will decide whether justice is real or only symbolic.

CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.

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Myanmar’s junta tightens its grip CIVICUS Lens 12.Dec.2025
International Court of Justice offers hope of rules-based order CIVICUS Lens 19.May.2025
Myanmar at a crossroads CIVICUS Lens 28.Oct.2024

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Venezuela at a Crossroads

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Evelis Cano, mother of political prisoner Jack Tantak Cano, pleads with the police for her son’s release outside a detention centre in Caracas, Venezuela, 20 January 2026. Credit: Gaby Oraa/Reuters via Gallo Images

MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Feb 2 2026 (IPS) – When US special forces seized Nicolás Maduro and his wife from the presidential residence in Caracas on 3 January, killing at least 24 Venezuelan security officers and 32 Cuban intelligence operatives in the process, many in the Venezuelan opposition briefly dared hope. They speculated that intervention might finally bring the democratic transition thwarted when Maduro entrenched himself in power after losing the July 2024 election. But within hours, those hopes were crushed. Trump announced the USA would now ‘run’ Venezuela and Vice-President Delcy Rodríguez was sworn in to replace Maduro. Venezuela’s sovereignty had been violated twice: first by an authoritarian regime that usurped the popular will, and then by an external power that deliberately violated international law.

A cynical intervention

Under Trump, the USA has abandoned any pretence of promoting democracy. Trump wrapped the intervention in the rhetoric of anti-narcotics operations while openly salivating over Venezuela’s oil reserves, rare earth deposits and investment opportunities. He repeatedly made clear that US regional hegemony is the number one priority. His contempt for Venezuelans’ right to self-determination was explicit: when asked about opposition leader María Corina Machado, Trump dismissed her as lacking ‘respect’ and ‘capacity to lead’. The message to Venezuela’s democratic movement was clear: your struggle doesn’t matter, only our interests do.

Ironically, the US intervention achieved what years of Maduro’s propaganda failed to do, giving anti-imperialist rhetoric a shot in the arm. For decades, Latin American authoritarian regimes have justified repression by pointing to the threat of US intervention, even though this was a largely historical grievance. Not anymore: Trump has handed every Latin American dictator the perfect justification for continuing authoritarian rule.

The global response has been equally revealing. The loudest defenders of national sovereignty are authoritarian powers such as China, Iran and Russia: states that routinely violate their citizens’ rights expressed their ‘solidarity with the people of Venezuela’ and positioned themselves as champions of international law. By blatantly violating a foundational principle of the post-1945 international order, Trump made the leaders of some of the world’s most repressive regimes look like the adults in the room. And across Latin America, the political conversation has now shifted dramatically: the question is no longer how to restore democracy in Venezuela, but how to prevent the next US military adventure in Latin America.

Authoritarianism continues

Meanwhile, Venezuela’s authoritarian regime remains intact. Maduro may be in a New York courtroom, but the structures that kept him in power – the corrupt military, embedded Cuban intelligence, patronage networks and the repressive apparatus – continue unchanged. Rodríguez will likely try to run down the clock, claiming Maduro could return at any moment to avoid calling elections while quietly negotiating oil deals with US companies and reasserting authoritarian control. For both Rodríguez and Trump, democracy seems like an inconvenient obstacle to resource extraction.

For Venezuelan civil society, this creates real dilemmas. As she was sworn in, Rodríguez denounced the operation that put her in charge and vowed that Venezuela would ‘never again be a colony of any empire’. She has wrapped herself in the flag, framing regime continuity as a patriotic stand against western imperialism, and can now easily paint opposition activists who have long demanded international pressure for democracy as treasonous collaborators with foreign powers. This is despite being an insider of a regime that welcomed Cuban intelligence, Iranian oil traders and Russian military advisers, and is now negotiating oil deals with the USA and crossing its own red line by promising legal changes to enable private investment.

A Venezuelan solution for Venezuela

But there may be some cracks in the regime. With Maduro gone, frictions inside the ruling party have become apparent. For instance, there have been obvious disagreements on how to handle the pressure to free Venezuela’s over 800 political prisoners. These may yield opportunities the democracy movement can exploit.

This is the time for the democratic opposition to reclaim the narrative. In the immediate aftermath of the intervention, families of political prisoners mounted vigils outside detention centres, demanding releases the government has only partially delivered. Civil society must amplify these voices, making clear that any transitional arrangement requires the dismantling of the repressive apparatus, not merely a change of faces at the top.

A broad coalition of civil society organisations has issued 10 demands that chart a path to democratic transition. They call for the immediate and unconditional release of political prisoners, the dismantling of irregular armed groups, unfettered access for human rights monitors and humanitarian aid and, crucially, a free and fair presidential election with international observers. These demands deserve international backing, not as conditions for oil contracts, but as non-negotiable requirements for any government that can claim to represent Venezuela.

Venezuela’s democratic forces can either accept marginalisation as Trump and Rodríguez carve up their country’s resources, or use this chaotic moment to advance a genuinely Venezuelan democratic agenda. That means rejecting both Maduro’s authoritarianism and Trump’s intervention, and insisting that any legitimacy Rodríguez’s government claims must come from Venezuelan voters, not US armed forces or oil contracts. Any window of opportunity may however be closing fast. The question is whether Venezuela’s democratic movement can seize it to build the country they have strived for, or whether they will remain spectators while others decide their fate.

Inés M. Pousadela is CIVICUS Head of Research and Analysis, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report. She is also a Professor of Comparative Politics at Universidad ORT Uruguay.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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‘Since the Coup, Factory Employers Have Increasingly Worked with the Military to Restrict Organising and Silence Workers’

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Jan 28 2026 (IPS) –  
CIVICUS speaks to the Business and Human Rights Centre (BHRC) about labour rights abuses in Myanmar’s garment industry since the 2021 military coup.

Myanmar’s garment sector, which employs hundreds of thousands of workers, is in deep crisis. Since the coup, labour protections have collapsed, independent unions have been dismantled and workers who try to organise face intimidation, dismissal and arrest. Inside factories, reports show multiple cases of child labour, forced overtime, harassment, poverty wages and unsafe conditions. At the same time, rising living costs and US tariffs are pushing many workers further into insecurity as factories close and layoffs become more common. Garment workers, most of them women, are trapped between exploitation, repression and a rapidly shrinking industry.

How have conditions inside Myanmar’s garment factories changed since the coup?

Our monitoring between February 2021 and October 2024 shows a sharp rise in both the number and severity of pre-existing labour rights abuses. Since the coup, factory employers have increasingly worked with the military to restrict organising and silence workers. This collaboration has led to threats, arrests and violent attacks against workers. In one case, security forces carried out joint military and police raids on the homes of workers who demanded unpaid wages and limits on overtime.

Factories have also expanded surveillance. Workers report invasive searches, phone confiscation and installation of CCTV inside factories, including near toilets. Employers also force workers to lie during audits. These practices aim to hide abuses and have exacerbated the abuses workers already faced.

What abuses do garment workers suffer in the workplace?

Factories force workers to meet extreme production targets through excessive and often unpaid overtime. Many workers must stay overnight until dawn, often without enough food, water or ventilation, leading to exhaustion and health problems. Managers threaten and abuse workers who refuse to work overtime or fail to meet targets. We have documented a case where supervisors denied workers food and water as punishment for not meeting targets.

Health and safety conditions have worsened. Workers report dirty, insufficient toilets, poor food quality and unsafe drinking water. They’ve also reported blocked emergency exits, inadequate ventilation and leaking roofs that put lives at risk. Factory-provided transport creates further dangers, as they are often overcrowded and suffer frequent road accidents. In one case, a major crash involving a worker shuttle left several workers badly hurt, including one who needed abdominal surgery.

Women workers face particularly severe abuses, including hair-pulling, physical assault, sexual harassment and verbal attacks. In one case, supervisors punched and kicked women workers and called them ‘dogs’.

What happen to workers who try to speak out or organise?

Workers who dare speak out face brutal reprisals. After the military declared 16 labour unions and labour rights organisations illegal, arrests, home raids and surveillance increased, particularly against union leaders and activists linked to the Civil Disobedience Movement. The movement began after the coup and brings together workers who refuse to cooperate with military rule through strikes and other forms of non-violent resistance.

Inside factories, employers threaten and dismiss union leaders on false grounds. In one case, a factory reopened and refused to reinstate union members and publicly humiliated them. Employers have also created Workplace Coordination Committees to replace independent unions, denying workers the right to choose their representatives and silencing their complaints. Prominent union leaders such as Myo Myo Aye have been arrested multiple times simply for continuing to organise.

What should international brands be doing in this context?

Under the United Nations Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights, brands operating in conflict settings must carry out heightened, conflict-sensitive due diligence and demonstrate, with independent and verifiable evidence, that it works. In Myanmar’s current context, where surveillance and violent repression run through all the supply chain, this standard is exceptionally hard to meet.

Any brand that stays must deliver clear and demonstrable improvements in working conditions. Brands that can’t meet this threshold must carry out a responsible exit, working with workers and their representatives and taking steps to reduce harm, rather than adding to the instability garment workers already face under military rule.

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Myanmar’s junta tightens its grip CIVICUS Lens 12.Dec.2025
Historic wins and hard truths at International Labour Conference CIVICUS Lens 27.Jun.2025
Business and Human Rights Treaty: a decade of struggle for corporate accountability CIVICUS Lens 08.Mar.2025

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‘Freedom Always Returns – but Only If We Hold Fast to Our Values and Sustain the Struggle’

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Jan 23 2026 (IPS) –  
CIVICUS speaks with Belarusian activist, blogger and journalist Mikola Dziadok about his experiences as a two-time political prisoner and the repression of dissent in Belarus. Mikola was jailed following mass protests in 2020.

CIVICUS speaks with Belarusian activist, blogger and journalist Mikola Dziadok about his experiences as a two-time political prisoner and the repression of dissent in Belarus

Mikola Dziadok

Amid continued repression, Belarus experienced two limited waves of political prisoner releases in 2025. In September, authorities freed around 50 detainees following diplomatic engagement, and in December they pardoned and released over 120, including Nobel laureate Ales Bialiatski and opposition figure Maria Kolesnikova. Many were forced into exile. Human rights groups stress that releases appear driven by geopolitical bargaining rather than systemic reform, with over 1,200 political prisoners believed to remain behind bars.

Why were you arrested following protests in 2020?

I was arrested because I was not silent and I was visible. During the 2020 uprising, I ran Telegram and YouTube channels where I shared political analysis, explained what was happening and gave people advice on how to resist repression. I talked about strategies to protect ourselves, counter state violence and survive under authoritarian pressure. The regime viewed this as extremely threatening.

By that time, I had around 17 years of experience in the anarchist movement, which is a part of a broader democratic movement in Belarus. But most people who joined the protests weren’t political at all: they’d never protested before, never faced repression, never dealt with police violence. They were desperate for guidance, particularly as there was an information war between regime propaganda, pro-Kremlin narratives and independent voices.

Authorities made a clear distinction between ‘ordinary people’ who apologised and promised never to protest again, who were released, and activists, organisers and others who spoke publicly, who were treated as enemies. I was imprisoned because I belonged to the second category.

What sparked the 2020 uprising?

By 2020, Belarus had already lived through five fraudulent elections. We only had one election the international community recognised as legitimate, held in 1994. After that, President Alexander Lukashenko changed the constitution so he could rule indefinitely.

For many years, people believed there was nothing they could do to make change happen. But in 2020, several things came together. The COVID-19 pandemic left the state’s complete failure exposed. As authorities did nothing to protect people, civil society stepped in. Grassroots initiatives provided information and medical help. People suddenly saw they could do what the state couldn’t. From the regime’s perspective, this was a very dangerous realisation.

But what truly ignited mass mobilisation was violence. In the first two days after the 9 August presidential election, over 7,000 protesters were detained. Thousands were beaten, humiliated, sexually abused and tortured. When they were released and showed their injuries, the images spread through social media and Telegram, and people were shocked. This brought hundreds of thousands onto the streets, protesting against both election fraud and violence against protesters.

What’s the situation of political prisoners?

Since 2020, over 50,000 people have spent time in detention, in a country of only nine million. There have been almost 4,000 officially recognised political prisoners, and there are now around 1,200, although the real number is higher. Many prisoners ask not to be named publicly because they fear retaliation against themselves or their families.

Repression has never subsided. Civil society organisations, human rights groups and independent media have been destroyed or forced into exile. Belarussians live under constant pressure, not a temporary crackdown.

Political prisoners are treated much worse than regular prisoners. I spent 10 years as a political prisoner: five years between 2010 and 2015, and another five years after 2020. During my second sentence, I spent two and a half years in solitary confinement. This is deliberate torture designed to break people physically and psychologically.

How did your release happen?

My release was a political transaction. Lukashenko has always used political prisoners as bargaining chips. He arrests people, waits for international pressure to reach its peak and then offers releases in exchange for concessions. This time, international negotiations, unexpectedly involving the USA, triggered a limited release.

The process itself was terrifying. I was taken suddenly from prison, handcuffed, hooded and transferred to the KGB prison in the centre of Minsk. I was placed in an isolation cell and not told what would happen. It was only when I saw other well-known political prisoners being brought into the same space that I realised we were going to be freed, most likely by forced expulsion.

No formal conditions were announced, but our passports were confiscated and we were forced into exile. We were transported under armed guard and handed over at the Lithuanian border. Many deportees still fear for relatives who remain in the country, because repression often continues through family members. That’s why I asked my wife to leave Belarus as quickly as possible.

What should the international community and civil society do now?

First, they should make sure Belarus continues receiving international attention. Lukashenko is afraid of isolation, sanctions and scrutiny. Any attempt to normalise relations with Belarus without real change will only strengthen repression and put remaining prisoners at greater risk.

Second, they should financially support independent Belarusian human rights organisations and media. Many are struggling to survive, particularly after recent funding cuts. Without them doing their job, abuses will remain hidden and prisoners will be forgotten.

Most importantly, activists should not lose hope. We are making history. Dictatorships fall and fear eventually breaks. Freedom always returns – but only if we hold fast to our values and sustain the struggle.

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‘Belarus is closer than ever to totalitarianism, with closed civic space and repression a part of daily life’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Human Rights House 14.Oct.2025
Belarus: ‘The work of human rights defenders in exile is crucial in keeping the democratic movement alive’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Natallia Satsunkevich 15.Feb.2025
Belarus: a sham election that fools no one CIVICUS Lens 31.Jan.2025

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Guinea’s Path to Electoral Autocracy

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Credit: Luc Gnago/Reuters via Gallo Images

MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Jan 20 2026 (IPS) – In December, the dust settled on Guinea’s first presidential election since the military took control in a 2021 coup. General Mamady Doumbouya stayed in power after receiving 87 per cent of the vote. But the outcome was never in doubt: this was no a democratic milestone; it was the culmination of Guinea’s denied transition to civilian rule.

Doumbouya has successfully performed an act of political alchemy, turning a military autocracy into an electoral one. By systematically dismantling the opposition, silencing the press and rewriting laws to suit his ambitions, he has made sure to shield his grip on power with a thin veil of electoral legitimacy.

The architecture of autocracy

The path to this moment was paved with precision. In April 2025, Doumbouya announced a constitutional referendum, a move that may have looked like it would herald the beginning of the end of military rule. But it was something else entirely. By June, Doumbouya had further centralised control by creating a new General Directorate of Elections. This body, placed firmly under the thumb of the Ministry of Territorial Administration, reversed previous efforts to establish an independent electoral institution.

The constitution was drafted in the shadows by the National Council of the Transition, the junta-appointed legislative body. While early drafts reportedly contained safeguards against lifetime presidencies, these were stripped away before the final text reached the public. The result was a document that removed a ban on junta members running for office, extended presidential terms from five to seven years and granted the president the power to appoint a third of the newly created Senate.

When the referendum was held on 21 September, it rubber-stamped de facto rule. Official figures claimed 89 per cent support with an 86 per cent turnout, numbers that defied the reality of a widespread opposition boycott and a palpable lack of public enthusiasm.

A climate of fear

With a blanket ban on protests in effect since May 2022, those who’ve dared challenge the junta’s controlled transition have been met with security force violence. On 6 January 2025, security forces killed at least three people, including two children, during demonstrations called by the opposition coalition Forces Vives de Guinée.

The political landscape was further cleared through administrative and judicial means. In October 2024, the government dissolved over 50 political parties. By August 2025, major opposition groups such as the Rally of the People of Guinea had been suspended. Key challengers, including former Prime Minister Cellou Dalein Diallo, remain in exile, while others, among them Aliou Bah, have been sentenced to prison – in Bah’s case, for allegedly insulting Doumbouya.

The atmosphere of fear has been reinforced by a brutal crackdown on the media. Guinea plummeted 25 places in the 2025 World Press Freedom Index, the year’s largest fall. Independent outlets have had their licences revoked and journalists have been detained. Those still working have learned to practise strict self-censorship to avoid becoming the next target. This meant that as voters went to the polls, there was nobody to provide diverse perspectives, scrutinise the process, investigate irregularities or hold authorities accountable.

Coup contagion

Guinea is no outlier. Since 2020, a coup contagion has swept through Africa, with military takeovers in Burkina Faso, Chad, Gabon, Guinea-Bissau, Madagascar, Mali, Niger and Sudan. In each instance, the script has been similar: military leaders seize power promising to ‘correct’ the failures of the previous regime, only to break their promises of a return to civilian rule.

Guinea is now the third country among this recent wave to move from a military dictatorship to an electoral autocracy. It follows in the footsteps of Chad, where Mahamat Idriss Déby secured victory in May 2024 after the suspicious killing of his main opponent, and Gabon, where General Brice Oligui Nguema won a 2025 election with a reported 90 per cent of the vote.

The international community does little. Doumbouya routinely ignored deadlines and sanctions from the Economic Community of West African States, which once prided itself on a ‘zero-tolerance’ policy for coups, and no consequences ensued. The African Union and the United Nations offered rhetorical concern, but their warnings were not accompanied by tangible diplomatic or economic repercussions.

The world’s willingness to maintain business as usual while Doumbouya steered through a fake transition sends a dangerous message to other aspiring autocrats, in the region and beyond.

Democracy denied

When Doumbouya seized power in 2021, he was greeted with a degree of cautious optimism. His predecessor, Alpha Condé, had controversially amended the constitution to secure a third term amid violent protests and corruption and fraud allegations. Doumbouya promised to fix things, but instead became a mirror image of the man he ousted, using the same tactics of constitutional revision and repression to secure his power.

The statistics of the December election – an 87 per cent victory on a claimed 80 per cent turnout – do not reflect a genuine mandate but rather a vacuum: with no independent media to scrutinise the process and no viable opposition allowed to run, the election was a technicality.

The prospects for real democracy in Guinea appear remote. Doumbouya has secured a seven-year mandate through an election that eliminated the essential infrastructure needed for democracy. In the absence of stronger international pressure and tangible support for Guinean civil society, Guinea faces prolonged authoritarian rule behind a democratic facade, with dismal human rights prospects.

Inés M. Pousadela is CIVICUS Head of Research and Analysis, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report. She is also a Professor of Comparative Politics at Universidad ORT Uruguay.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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