Context and Conflict Documents

Documents recovered from battlefields are tantalizing to an analyst. They contain raw data that can be mundane or groundbreaking, holding out the prospect of knowledge often hidden under dull pleasantries, flowery language, and stains left by the very destruction that made them available. They can also provide insight into little-understood insurgent groups, as seen most recently in the sands and bombed-out buildings of northern Mali’s main cities. As reporters have flooded in just behind French, Malian, and other African forces, some have been digging through the reams of paper left behind as al-Qa’ida in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM), the Movement for Tawhid and Jihad in West Africa (MUJAO) and Ansar al-Din fled Gao, Timbuktu, and Kidal, seeking refuge in riverine villages and mountain hideouts.

Just last week, The Telegraph, Foreign Policy, and the Associated Press published some of these documents, providing a glimpse into the day-to-day operations of these groups in northern Mali, the minute detail put into the implementation of shari’ah, possible divergences over strategies and leadership, and the long-term plans AQIM’s leadership had (and may still have) for the Sahel. These are not the first instances of documents emerging from the failed jihadist offensive in Mali; the AP’s Rukmini Callimachi and Baba Ahmed previously found AQIM commander Abou Zeid’s trash and notebooks in Diabaly, while Lindsey Hilsum explored documents that littered the floor of the Islamic Police station in Gao following that city’s liberation. But they do show that we may soon learn much more about how AQIM and its affiliates thought and operated before and during the 10-month occupation of northern Mali.

However, it is important when analyzing these documents to provide the necessary context to understand what these documents do (and do not) show. For instance, the AP report, which details a 9-page letter from AQIM leader Abdelmalek Droukdel, shows divisions between Droukdel and his subordinates over the speed with which the latter implemented shari’ah in Timbuktu, as well as the failure to collaborate effectively with local groups, including the National Movement for the Liberation of the Azawad (MNLA). The primary evidence provides key evidence not just of disagreements between the leader and his lieutenants, but also shows that Mali was part of a long-term strategy for AQIM to implement shari’ah in the north, or at least plant the “seeds” of the idea.

What the article does not note is that when Droukdel expressed these ideas to his local commanders some time after June (the letter is undated), it was not the first time. In May, Droukdel released an audio statement saying much the same thing, urging AQIM to use local Islamist groups like Ansar al-Din as cover for their activities in northern Mali, pushing for the gradual implementation of shari’ah in the north, and urging cooperation with the MNLA. Droukdel’s missive to AQIM in Timbuktu was not, then, the first instance in which he’d urged this path, a fact that could explain his pique at the actions undertaken subsequent to his “directions” from May. Furthermore, it is also possible that unease at the failure to implement his orders prompted Droukdel in part to travel to northern Mali at some point over the past year.

The documents unearthed by the various media organizations also show the difficulties in communication between northern Algeria (where Droukdel was previously based and to where he may have returned after his time in northern Mali) and the desert thousands of kilometers to the south. Droukdel has reportedly struggled for years to keep the southern katibat in line, sending three different men to the south to assume overall control of these fighters and appointing a fourth, Yahya Abou al-Hammam, after Saharan emir Nabil Makhloufi was killed in a car accident in August. It is also possible that Droukdel traveled to Mali to more directly coordinate with his commanders and with other militant and local leaders, including Ansar al-Din’s Iyad Ag Ghali. Unfortunately, it is a vanishingly small group of people that genuinely knows the truth about the subject. Still, the documents reinforce Droukdel’s isolation and the difficulty in maintaining control of far-flung and semi-autonomous commanders; Osama bin Laden struggled with this in Abottabad, and Droukdel has had to cope with increasingly effective military pressure from Algerian forces in and around Kabylia — another possible reason for him to have undertaken the dangerous and risky trip to Mali.

Still, while these documents raise some fascinating subjects and questions, they provide only snapshots in a complicated tableau. For instance, the AP suggests that one of the reasons the past 10 months saw fewer amputations than Gao was because of direct AQIM leadership in Timbuktu, as opposed to that of MUJAO in Gao. This is definitely a possibility, though it could also simply be because different leaders with different personalities and different personalities behave differently. Additionally, Ansar al-Din/AQIM in Timbuktu still engaged in their share of horrible and abusive behavior, just of another sort. I would suggest, though, that aside from the possibility that different leadership drove different group behavior, we would be well-served to look at the actual composition of these groups’ recruits. To take Gao as an example, we have known for months that the group recruited heavily from the Gao region, specifically from villages that have long been known for “Wahhabi” religious practice, the term used by many in Mali to refer to reformist or Salafi practices. I strongly suspect that this had a significant impact on the group’s actions in Gao, especially given that the fighters present in the city were largely these local recruits, though in recent months foreign fighters and in particular foreign leaders became more prominent in the management of affairs in the city.

Additionally, the documents present more anecdotal evidence that previous conceptions of AQIM may be incorrect, or at least severely deficient. In the document, Droukdel talks at some length about not just being a flexible and adaptable organization to adjust to changing conditions, but also about changing outside appearances and organizational structures in line with different stated aims. To this end, he suggests:

As for internal activity, in this we would be under the emirate of Ansar Dine.

Our emir would follow their emir and our opinion would follow their opinion. By internal activity, we mean all activity connected to participating in bearing the responsibilities of the liberated areas.

In external activity, connected to our global jihad, we would be independent of them (Ansar Dine). We would ensure that none of that activity or its repercussions is attributed to them, as care must be taken over negative impacts on the project of the state.

If this sounds familiar, it’s because it appears to closely follow the apparent divergence between AQIM and MUJAO, with the latter group originally engaging largely in external activities yet still appearing to maintain a close or at least a working relationship with AQIM, the organization from which it ostensibly split in anger in late 2011. This is far from conclusive evidence for my contention that MUJAO’s formation represented a “managed separation” from AQIM but it does demonstrate the ability to accommodate multiple structures as well as the organization’s attempts to use group designs to shape outside opinions of northern Mali’s militant groups.

Finally, the documents shed an interesting light on continued racial and ethnic biases that may be present and at work among jihadis in northern Mali, especially the largely Algerian leadership of AQIM. In her excellent book Smugglers and Saints of the Sahara, the British social anthropologist Judith Scheele discusses the conception that many Algerian traders and their families held — and still hold — about northern Mali as a kind of wilderness that corrupted men and ruined families (forgive the lack of page citation, but I’m currently traveling and do not have the book with me). At the same time, Scheele notes that various families claim credit for their ancestors’ having first brought tea to the bilad as-Sudan, with tea here symbolizing civilization. That same paternalistic attitude toward the region creeps in to Droukdel’s writing, and his discussion of the “Azawad Islamic project”:

It is very important that we view our Islamic project in Azawad as a small newborn, with many phases ahead of it that it must pass through to grow and mature. The current baby is in its first days, crawling on its knees, and has not yet stood on its two legs. So is it wise that we start now to lay burdens on it that will inevitably prevent it from standing on its own two feet and perhaps even smother it?!! If we really want it to stand on its own two feet in this world full of enemies waiting to pounce, we must ease its burden, take it by the hand, help it and support it until it stands.

Analyzing Foreign Influence and Jihadi Networks in Nigeria

After France intervened militarily in Mali on January 11, a move that hastened the deployment of Malian soldiers and African partners to northern Mali, many expected a kind of ripple effect expanding outward from Mali. This was driven out of concern both that such a move would push militants into neighboring countries, and draw negative responses from Muslims around the world. Yet hordes of angry protestors have thus far not materialized, and the response so far among jihadist groups in the sub-region’s other prominent hotspot for violent extremism, Nigeria, has been decidedly mixed. The Boko Haram splinter group Ansaru, whose full name is Jama’atu Ansaril Muslimina fi Biladis Sudan, or “Vanguard for the Protection of Muslims in Black Africa,” attacked a group of Nigerian soldiers heading to Mali on January 20, killing two officers. Meanwhile, a Boko Haram spokesman announced a ceasefire after a brief increase in violence, to the general surprise of observers. However, these different responses may give us a window to examine differences between Ansaru and Boko Haram, the role that groups like al-Qa’ida in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM) have and have not played in shaping these groups, and the frameworks analysts apply when examining jihadist militancy.

While Boko Haram’s violence and links to regional militant groups like AQIM has garnered significant attention in Nigeria, Africa, and the West, Ansaru, which announced its dissidence from Boko Haram in January 2012, has kept a somewhat lower profile. Though the group distanced itself from Boko Haram due to the latter’s attacks against Muslims, violence Ansaru’s first statement termed “inhuman,” it has since become known for its similarities and suspected links to AQIM and allied groups like the Movement for Tawhid and Jihad in West Africa (MUJAO). In addition to the attack on Nigerian soldiers, Ansaru claimed responsibility for the kidnapping of a French engineer in the state of Katsina, an operation involving 30 men assaulting a compound. In a statement, the group said the operation was prompted by “ the stance of the French government and the French people on Islam and Muslims,” including France’s ban on the niqab and partial ban on the hijab, as well as  ”France’s major role in the (planned) attack on the Islamic state in northern Mali.”

This was the second kidnapping believed to have been carried by Ansaru, with the first coming in May 2011 when gunmen seized two men, a Briton named Christopher McManus and an Italian named Franco Lamolinara, from Birnin-Kebbi. Though the kidnapping was claimed by “Al-Qaeda in the Lands Beyond the Sahel” the British government suggested in October 2012 when it declared Ansaru a terrorist organization that the group was actually behind the seizure, which ended tragically in the deaths of both hostages in a failed rescue attempt in March 2012. As Jacob Zenn points out, this kidnapping was similar to to previous AQIM operations, and certainly looked very similar to the kidnapping of a German engineer in Kano, an operation claimed directly by AQIM (though I have lingering doubts about AQIM directly carrying out a kidnapping in Nigeria, as opposed to being allowed to claim credit for an action carried out by a group like Ansaru or another jihadist or criminal faction).

Regardless, the pattern of attacks, the available evidence, and denials of involvement from Boko Haram’s leadership suggest a certain kinship between Ansaru and AQIM, though Boko Haram has its own share of assumed, reported, and occasionally confirmed links to the array of groups operating in northern Mali. It is this international aspect to Ansaru’s activities and rhetoric that seems to define it for some analysts. Yet there is a distinct aspect to Ansaru that has gone largely unexplored: Its specific ideological links to AQIM and its particular brand of international jihadism — though I prefer Jean-Luc Marret’s characterization of the group as “glocal.”

Current writing about AQIM tends to obscure or leave out altogether important components of its history, namely that its predecessor, the Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat (GSPC) was itself a splinter group of the Armed Islamic Group (GIA), which formed in the late 1990′s largely in response to the uncontrolled violence perpetrated by the GIA against Algerian civilians. It is striking that, given the aspirational and possibly operational closeness between Ansaru and AQIM, Ansaru’s stated justification for its split from Boko Haram was largely the same as that of the GSPC in leaving the GIA.

With that in mind, let’s re-examine Ansaru’s admittedly brief history. Broadly speaking, there are two ways of interpreting the May 2011 kidnapping in particular, as well as the December 2012 kidnapping and the January attack on Nigerian troops. On the one hand, the choice of name used to claim the May 2011 kidnapping, as well as the choice of tactics and target for that and subsequent actions, can be seen as overtures to AQIM, a means of showing agreement and a desire to cooperate by mirroring the more prominent organization. The other way to evaluate Ansaru’s actions is as a sign of pre-existing links with AQIM and associates of the group that in turn shaped the group that would eventually become Ansaru.

As evidence to support the latter conclusion, observers have pointed to the role that a man known as Khalid al-Barnawi (alternately spelled Barnawy or Barnaoui) reportedly played in the kidnapping. Barnawi was designated as a “global terrorist” by the U.S. State Department in June 2012. The Mauritanian news service Agence Nouakchott d’Information (ANI) reported after the two men were killed that they were held by a group led by Barnawi, adding that Barnawi was one of the first  Nigeriens* to join the GSPC and participated in the assault on the Mauritanian army post at Lemgheity in June 2005. His reported participation has in part led Zenn (see footnote 45) and Morgan Lorraine Roach to conclude that al-Barnawi is a leader in Ansaru. Another interesting indication of possible links to AQIM is that, again according to ANI, the negotiator handling talks for a ransom payment to free Lamolinara and McManus was none other than Mustapha Ould Limam Chaffi, a Mauritanian opposition figure, special counselor to Blaise Compaoré, and negotiator who handled multiple AQIM hostage takings. However Chaffi came to be part of the negotiations (assuming the ANI story was correct), his presence bolsters the anecdotal evidence of certain ties between Ansaru, or at least factions of Boko Haram, and AQIM.

The possibility of ties between AQIM in northern Mali and Ansaru, or a Boko Haram faction that would later become Ansaru, raises a significant question about Nigerian jihadis in Mali. Nigerians have been reportedly training with the GSPC and AQIM for years, though the last two years and specifically the last nine months have seen a proliferation of reports placing Boko Haram fighters specifically in northern Mali, working alongside AQIM and allied groups. I’ve questioned these reports in the past, and while it seems certain at this point that Nigerian jihadis have been flowing in some numbers into northern Mali, whether to train, join AQIM/MUJAO, or cooperate with them, I have often wondered how exactly  the journalists reporting these stories came to identify these fighters specifically as Boko Haram members. Did the fighters identify themselves as Boko Haram members? Did local witnesses hear fighters speaking Hausa, and assume that they were from Boko Haram? Did intelligence agencies tracking known Boko Haram members or Nigerian jihadis find evidence of movement into and out of Northern Mali? With relatively few exceptions, we just don’t know. But I would posit that given the anecdotal evidence and the ideological affinity between Ansaru and AQIM/MUJAO, at least some of the fighters in Mali identified as belonging to Boko Haram may actually have been with — or subsequently joined — Ansaru.

While this may seem like a very nitpicky point (because it is) it could influence the relative strength of the groups in question, as well as their future operations. After all, different groups, even splinters that maintain ties, still have different motivations and make different cost/benefit calculations about operations based on different factors. Which ultimately goes to show that, counter to what some might think, not all Muslims think and react the same way to complex and rapidly evolving events. Not even Nigerian jihadis.

*There seems to be some disagreement over Barnawi’s origin. The State Department refers to Barnawi as being from Nigeria, and indeed his name *could* signify that he is from the Nigerian state of Borno. However, as Alex Thurston pointed out last year, “Khaled al-Barnawi” is roughly the equivalent of “Bob from Maine” in terms of helping actually identify someone. Additionally, this name could simply mean that al-Barnawi spent time in Borno, something that would in no way be unusual for a Nigerien. While the U.S. Government may have specific information on Barnawi’s origins to which I am not privy, ANI is generally well-informed on security and terrorism issues, and cited a source close to AQIM for the story I linked to above. 

Primer on Jihadi Players in Algeria & Mali

Below is a primer I put together on the four main jihadist groups currently operating in Algeria and Mali for Jihadica, who have been kind enough to solicit and post my work from the past week. Fellow al-Wasat editor Aaron Zelin was kind enough to compile the 4-part series, and links to the original posts appear at the bottom of the post. 

The brazen assault and hostage taking in southern Algeria has brought about a sudden surge of interest in the region’s jihadist groups, especially given the complex history of the man reportedly behind the assault, Mokhtar Belmokhtar. This, in turn, has led to a good deal of questioning about Belmokhtar’s past, his “new” jihadist group, and the other militant groups currently occupying northern Mali. Here’s a quick explainer:

al-Qaida in the Islamic Maghreb

The best-known of the groups operating in northern Mali is almost certainly al-Qaida in the Islamic Maghreb, or AQIM, led by Abdelmalek Droukel (Abu Musab Abdelwadud). Renamed in 2007 after officially merging with al-Qaeda, AQIM was previously known as the Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat (GSPC in French), itself created in 1998 as a rejection of the brutal behavior and takfirist stance of the Algerian Armed Islamic Group (GIA in French). The GIA was the first Algerian jihadist group to send fighters (including Mokhtar Belmokhtar) to the Sahel, though it was the GSPC that first truly implanted itself in the region and in northern Mali in particular. There it recruited fighters, set up training camps, sowed deep ties with some local communities, got deeply involved in local and regional smuggling networks, and kidnapped foreigners for ransoms (the first such operation took place in southern Algeria in 2003). The GSPC also engaged in military activities, notably the 2005 attack on a Mauritanian military base in Leimgheity. Among the many young Mauritanians who joined the organization after police crackdowns in 2004 and 2005 was Younis al-Mauritani, who helped facilitate the GSPC’s merger with al-Qaeda in 2006 and was a key operational leader in al-Qaeda Core in Pakistan until his arrest in Quetta in 2011.

After a rush of deadly AQIM activity in northern Algeria in 2007 and 2008, Algerian authorities gained the upper hand and were progressively able to restrict AQIM to isolated and mountainous areas east of Algiers. AQIM’s kata’ib(battalions) in the Sahel, however, expanded, as Belmokhtar and Abdelhamid Abou Zeid (a senior AQIM commander) began a run of audacious kidnappings that led to an estimated tens of millions of dollars in ransom payments (more, according to some sources)–money reportedly bolstered by income from cigarette smuggling and taxes from the region’s growing drug trade. AQIM’s southern groups, believed before 2012 to number several hundred fighters, also continued operations across the region, killing tourists, conducting attacks (including suicide bombings) against regional and foreign militaries and government facilities. AQIM fighters are believed to have been heavily involved in fighting in northern Mali after the outbreak of the Tuareg rebellion in January 2012, and have largely controlled the city of Timbuktu since April.

AQIM has for years enjoyed good relationships with some local populations, having strengthened its roots in northern Mali through marriage and business ties. Recently the group announced the creation of a new battalion to be led by a Tuareg, as part of a larger rearrangement of personnel and leadership. The battalion is said to be leading the fighting under the command of Abou Zeid around the town of Diabaly against Malian and French troops. AQIM holds 7 foreign hostages.

Belmokhtar and Those Who Sign with Blood

The man allegedly behind the gas facility attack, Mokhtar Belmokhtar, had, until recently, run AQIM’s Katibat al-Moulathimin (“The Veiled Brigade”), a reference to the practice of male veiling common in parts of the Sahel.  In October 2012 AQIM stated that Belmokhtar had been “suspended” from the command of the group, owing to Belmokhtar’s supposed deviations from the goals of the group’s leadership. Belmokhtar was purportedly at loggerheads with three AQIM leaders: AQIM’s amir Droukdel, the recently-appointed Saharan emir Yahya Abou el-Hammam, and Katibat Tariq Ibn Ziad commander Abou Zeid.

Belmokhtar’s spokesman denied the removal but in December Belmokhtar appeared on video for the first time to announce his departure* from AQIM and his creation of a new group, al-Mouwakoune Bi-Dima (“Those Who Sign with Blood”), a reference to the name of the GIA detachment responsible for the 1994 hijacking of an Air France flight. In his video, Belmokhtar said his group aimed to consolidate shari’ah in northern Mali. He also threatened to attack Algeria and France and called on Mauritanian imams to come to the aid of the “Azawad,” a term used largely (but not exclusively) by Tuareg nationalists to refer to northern Mali.

In an interview with the Associated Press, Belmokhtar’s close associate Oumar Ould Hamaha relayed that Belmokhtar remained under the orders of al-Qaeda central. Moreover, the “split” with AQIM does not appear to have inhibited Belmokhtar’s actions; by all available indications he took his fighters with him to his “new” group, and they have reportedly been working alongside jihadist MUJAO group in Gao and in In Khalil (more on them tomorrow). In telephone calls with journalists during the current hostage crisis, jihadis involved in the attack said they were from “al-Qaeda” before specifying their membership in al-Moulathimin and al-Mouakoune Bi-Dima. They further conveyed that the operation had been in the works for two months, suggesting that the supposed internal turmoil in AQIM did not adversely affect the complicated preparations for a major assault staged hundreds of miles away from northern Mali.

Algerian security officials said they took at least one member of the attack team alive, meaning that we may find out more about the group’s structure in the coming days and weeks. We do know that the attack team involved at least two longtime Belmokhtar aides, Abu al-Bara and Aberrahman al-Nigeri, and reports indicate that the hostage takers included Egyptians, Tunisians, Libyans, as well as possibly a Frenchman and a Canadian.

*CORRECTION: In the video, Belmokhtar does not actually announce a departure from AQIM, only the creation of al-Mouakoune Bi-Dima. Instead, the talk of a “split” came from press accounts, including an Associated Press interview with close Belmokhtar associate Omar Ould Hamaha (h/t @GCTAT on Twitter).

Movement for Tawhid and Jihad in West Africa

The Movement for Tawhid and Jihad in West Africa (MUJAO, in French) is an AQIM splinter group that publicly appeared in December 2011, when they claimed the kidnapping of three European aid workers in Tindouf, Algeria. Led by the Mauritanian Hamada Ould Kheiru*, an explosives expert, preacher, and longtime GSPC/AQIM member close to Belmokhtar, the group’s stated reason for leaving AQIM was the latter’s purported lack of devotion to jihad and failure to promote non-Algerians to leadership positions.

Ostensibly dedicated to propagating jihad in West Africa, the group’s leadership was originally believed to be largely composed of Mauritanians and Arabs from the Gao region, though recent announcements indicate that the leadership has diversified to include a Saudi, an Egyptian, and a Tunisian, as well as other “foreign fighters”. The group has also reportedly recruited from local populations and some sub-Saharan Africans.

MUJAO, which controls the Malian city of Gao, benefits from a close relationship with Mokhtar Belmokhtar, whose forces fought with and may have led MUJAO’s successful military attacks against the Tuareg nationalist group the MNLA in Gao in June, and in Ménaka in November. MUJAO and Belmokhtar’s Katibat al-Mulathimeen (Battalion of the Veiled Men) seized the infamous smuggling town of In Khalil (sometimes written as al-Khalil) in late December, and are reportedly involved in the current Islamist offensive in central Mali.

One of the MUJAO’s key military leaders, spokesmen, and favorite quote machine for Western journalists, Omar Ould Hamaha, was a commander under Belmokhtar and was identified for a time as the military commander of Ansar al-Din. Hamaha is also, according to some reports, Belmokhtar’s father-in-law.

While rumors abound that MUJAO receives support from local businessmen and known traffickers, in addition to foreign governments, MUJAO has also made an extensive effort to portray itself as a “true” jihadist organization by instituting hudud punishments in and around Gao, conducting attacks against foreign targets, and adopting a media strategy that includes a web forum, a Facebook page, a Twitter account, and battalion names recalling past Muslim leaders, famous jihadist figures, and also a local Muslim organization.

Despite its stated focus on West Africa, MUJAO has conducted 4 operations (including two suicide bombings) in Algeria or against Algerian targets, in addition to the kidnapping of 7 Algerian diplomats from the Algerian consulate in the northern Malian city of Gao. MUJAO currently holds 3 of the 7–after releasing three and killing one–and one French-Portuguese hostage kidnapped in November.

* While some sources indicate that Kheiru founded MUJAO in cooperation with other “dissident” AQIM members, this explanation is not universal. For instance, Mauritanian journalist Mohamed Mahmoud Abu al-Ma’ali, who published a lengthy analysis in May of the various jihadist groups occupying northern Mali, says that the group was founded by the businessman, smuggler, and AQIM member Sultan Ould Bady, with Kheiru subsequently joining the group. Regardless, both were represented as key leaders of the group until recently, when Ould Bady purportedly left MUJAO to join Ansar al-Din. In December the United States Department of State referred to Kheiru (written as Khairy) as a “founding leader” of MUJAO alongside Ahmed el-Tilemsi, when the State Department designated MUJAO a terrorist organization and applied sanctions to Kheiru and Tilemsi (but no other MUJAO leaders).

Ansar al-Din

Ansar al-Din was created in November 2011 by Iyad Ag Ghali, a legendary Tuareg powerbroker in northern Mali who led two rebellions against the Malian government in the 1990′s and in 2006. According to journalistic accounts as well as scholarly writing, Ag Ghali grew increasingly religious and joined the Tablighi Jamaat, the Pakistani Islamic missionary organization known for its piety as well as quietist political views. However, Ag Ghali at some point moved away from the group, and in 2010 Saudi authorities expelled him from his diplomatic post in Jeddah due to suspected contacts with unknown radicals.

Various sources claim that Ag Ghali only founded Ansar al-Din after failing in his efforts to become the leader of the MNLA and of the Ifoghas Tuareg tribe, though as far as I can tell these claims all come from sources close to or within the MNLA.  Initially composed of veteran rebels from the same tribe (and in many cases the same clan), Ag Ghali’s ranks were swollen in early 2012 by the addition of at least 40 AQIM fighters brought by his cousin, an AQIM commander named Hamada Ag Hama (commonly known as Abdelkrim el-Targui).

Ansar al-Din played a key role in fighting the Malian army in Aguelhoc (where nearly 100 Malian soldiers were reportedly executed), Tessalit, and Kidal. After the March 2012 coup and the departure of the Malian army from the north, Ansar al-Din took responsibility for the cities of Kidal and Timbuktu. At least one “Ansar al-Din” leader in Timbuktu, Sanda Ould Boumama (Sanda Abou Mohamed), was a suspected GSPC and AQIM member, and AQIM is largely believed to have exerted real control over the city.

Various Tuareg Ansar al-Din leaders and spokesmen engaged in negotiations in Burkina Faso and Algeria, and Ag Ghali himself endorsed mediation efforts to achieve a political solution to the Malian crisis. Nevertheless, the group’s leadership appears to be divided and has made contradictory remarks about the group’s goals, in particular where they sought to apply shari’ah (in Kidal? In northern Mali? In all of Mali? Across West Africa?). Ag Ghali himself put an end to the ambiguity when he announced the end of a ceasefire in January 2013, and then led an advance of Islamist forces into central Mali on January 10. This in turn prompted the French intervention in Mali the following day.

Original Posts:

Part 1- http://www.jihadica.com/primer-on-jihadi-players-in-algeria-and-mali-pt-1-aqim/

Part 2- http://www.jihadica.com/primer-on-jihadi-players-in-algeria-and-mali-pt-2-belmokhtar-those-who-sign-with-blood/

Part 3- http://www.jihadica.com/primer-on-jihadi-players-in-algeria-and-mali-pt-3-movement-for-tawhid-and-jihad-in-west-africa/ 

Part 4- http://www.jihadica.com/primer-on-jihadi-players-in-algeria-and-mali-pt-4-final-ansar-al-din/

Militancy and Ethnic Politics in Northern Mali

For those of you who are interested, I’ve just published my first piece at Think Africa Press, on how militant groups in northern Mali use local ethnic politics to their advantage. Here’s an excerpt:

Yet it is not just the militias aiming to retake the north that have their eye on Mali’s ethnic fault lines. On November 24, the jihadist forum Ansar al-Mujahideen published a statement in Arabic by the ‘Majlis Shura al-Mujahidin in Gao’ following the outbreak of fighting in Gao between the MNLA and the Movement for Oneness and Jihad in West Africa (MUJAO), a splinter group of al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM). This fighting, which broke out on November 16 near Ansongo and Ménaka, appears to have ended in defeat for the MNLA in the movement’s last major stronghold. While both sides and third parties have given dramatically different tolls from the fighting, witnesses and town notables have indicated that MUJAO forces executed some of those involved in defending the town, including the president of the local cercle, Alwabégat Ag Salakatou.

In the forum statement, the ‘Majlis Shura al-Mujahidin’ – indicating the leadership council for MUJAO, whom Gao inhabitants generally refer to simply as “the mujahidin” – justified their combat against the MNLA, saying in an English translation posted several days later by the Ansar al-Mujahideen English Forum: “we [are] in our war with the MNLA (National Movement for the Liberation of Azawad) this secular movement that doesn’t want the implementation of the Islamic Sharia…the mujahidin fought it because they became like the Tawagit [tyrants]”. It continued: “we call them to resort to the Sharia [law] of Allah but they refuse” and claimed the MNLA was oppressing Muslims “by taking their money unjustly and killing them and their dividing of the Muslims”.

 

What to Make of Foreign Fighters in Mali

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the lexicon of modern analysis of terrorism and insurgency, the term “foreign fighter” has a particular power. The presence or suspicion of foreign fighters in a conflict zone, whether true or not, implies for many a increase in seriousness and scope of a conflict. Particularly after the war in Iraq, and the hard evidence of foreign fighter recruitment and networks found at places like Sinjar, reports about foreign fighters carried with them a risk of increased technical proficiency in central conflict zones that could then radiate outward after these fighters — if they survive — return home.

Sometimes these reports of foreign fighters can be overplayed or the impact of these fighters greatly exaggerated, as my colleague Alex Thurston pointed out to me earlier this month weekend when we went to Gainesville to speak at the Center for African Studies at the University of Florida. The discussion arose after an Agence France-Presse (AFP) report claimed that up to 150 fighters, largely composed of Sudanese and Sahraouis from Tindouf in Algeria or the Western Sahara, had very recently traveled to Timbuktu and Gao. Other reports suggested an influx of Egyptians and Tunisians, especially in Gao, while a spokesman for the Movement for Tawhid and Jihad in West Africa (often shortened to MUJWA in English or MUJAO in French) stated that, “They want war, we’ll give them war. This is why our brothers are joining us from all over…They are coming from the camps of Tindouf in Algeria, from Senegal, from Ivory Coast, from everywhere.”

This news came on the heels of reports that several Westerners, including French citizens, had attempted to or successfully joined AQIM or other militant groups in Mali. One of these French AQIM members, a convert to Islam from Bretagne (Brittany) named Abdel Jellil who has lived for the past two years in Timbuktu, even made a video giving some of his personal history and threatening France, the UN, and the United States not to intervene in Mali. These reports certainly have gotten the attention of French intelligence, but have more broadly helped spread fears of a new “Malistan” that could attract jihadists to the Sahel, with negative consequences for the region and possibly even Europe.

So, how do we go about analyzing these various reports?

For one thing, these reports are hardly new; AQIM has been recruiting non-Algerians for years, though it is only more recently that its leadership has diversified to include non-Algerians. Some analysts believe that tension between non-Algerians and the group’s Algerian leadership prompted MUJWA to break off from AQIM, though as I’ve noted before I am unsure of the extent to which the division of these groups represented a true schism, rather than a somewhat less hostile separation. And though in recent months this recruitment appears to have picked up, including not just a number of North and West Africans but also purportedly Pakistanis and others, it is not a sudden phenomenon.

Additionally, it is incredibly difficult to ascertain what exactly is going on in northern Mali, making it challenging to get a clear picture about foreign fighters in the north, whether discussing nationalities or numbers. While it seems clear from various witness reports that accounts of foreign fighters, and even the recent entry of foreign fighters, is not simply a feedback loop, some reports put the number of new entrants into northern Mali far lower than others, while both the Tuareg National Movement for the Liberation of the Azawad (MNLA) and Ansar Al-Din have denied that the influx of fighters took place at all — though both groups have their own reasons for denying the reports, and Ansar Al-Din in Timbuktu spokesman Sanda Ould Boumama’s already weak denials have become less convincing the more people asked. But these divergences highlight the confusion that can arise in an environment with few journalists (unlike, say, Syria), high danger, and a reliance on impossible to confirm local reports.

And finally, we should be cautious of other political agendas that can worm their way forward in reporting about terrorism issues. Despite reports only indicating that some fighters may have come from Tindouf in Algeria or the Western Sahara, pro-Moroccan press outlets or writers quickly spun that to claim that it was the Polisario that had “sent” fighters to northern Mali, or to only highlight that fighters came from Tindouf, rather than allowing the possibility that Sahraouis may have traveled to northern Mali from several places, including Moroccan-controlled Western Sahara. Regardless, the point is that for some, news of foreign fighters immediately became just another political football, a chance to lash out at opponents instead of focusing on other issues.

What does this mean for Mali?

The first thing to note is that it appears that recruiting networks to the Sahel, and particuarly (but not exclusively) AQIM, have shifted recently. Again, while AQIM has for years been recruiting in sub-Saharan Africa, it is interesting that previously, most analysts regarded AQIM, in northern Algeria as well as the Sahel as having broadly failed to recruit extensively among other North Africans and Europeans. While the organization had links to other Maghrebi jihadist groups and cells of varying capacity, AQIM never approached one of its stated goals, to unify the region’s militant groups into one organization. However, if the anecdotal evidence about Tunisians and Egyptians in particular is true, it could be a sign that northern Mali is becoming more attractive  for other jihadists, something that I would attribute at least in part to the very public application of shari’ah that has earned Mali’s Islamist groups international condemnation. The same is true for French fighters, whose small but growing presence in Mali is a change from recent years, where the vast majority of recruits seem to have been drawn to Pakistan’s tribal areas.

While this is largely speculation, I suspect that the opportunity to implement shari’ah, in addition to visual proof of its implementation, has drawn some fighters in while dispelling for others lingering suspicions about AQIM in particular. Additionally, the ability of AQIM, MUJWA, and Ansar Al-Din to operate openly and uncontested over a vast area of Mali, including northern Mali’s three main cities, has undoubtedly made it easier to reach and join these groups, though it remains extremely difficult for potential fighters to get to Mali in the first place, especially with the international attention focused on the country.

More interesting, however, is what these foreign fighter inflows may indicate about militant groups’ strategies in the face of a possible intervention in northern Mali. Based on discussions and observations, it appears that a number of countries particularly in ECOWAS, seem to have thought until recently that an intervention in northern Mali would be relatively easy. This despite the fact that intervention’s biggest booster, France, has recently acknowledged that an intervention would in fact be “difficult” and would require “hardened troops.” Still, it appears that by at least threatening intervention, some groups believed to represent a more localized or Malian militancy, namely Iyad Ag Ghali and Ansar Al-Din but also the MNLA, could be induced to separate from AQIM and MUJWA and seek negotiations. According to this thinking, the more hardline “terrorists” and “drug traffickers” in these groups could then be marginalized, isolated, and more easily targeted.

While this plan has potential to at least disaggregate the various militant groups in northern Mali, it does not take into account the plans these groups have already made for their own defense. Recent accounts have discussed efforts undertaken by Ansar Al-Din as well as MUJWA to disperse forces, with a “psychosis” reportedly taking hold in Kidal, leaders fleeing to Algeria or to the brush, others leaving Ansar Al-Din altogether, and MUJWA closing off some quarters of Gao and bringing people into the city’s center to purportedly use as “human shields.” Ansar Al-Din in Timbuktu (which I and others believe to largely be composed of AQIM members) and MUJWA in Gao and Douentza have also reportedly dispersed their forces, while concentrating “local” recruits inside the cities.

These movements can be interpreted as a reaction to the growing threat of a foreign intervention in Mali, and the reports of growing concern, confusion, and fear among northern Mali’s militant groups appear credible. Yet we should not assume that concern over intervention or dispersing forces means that the diverse forces arrayed across northern Mali will simply pack up and leave in the event of an intervention. After all, these groups have known for some time that an intervention could happen, as ECOWAS and France have been threatening such a move for months, even if the contours of such an operation appear to be ploddingly taking shape and more countries possibly coming on board for some type of military operation in Mali. MUJWA, for instance, has reportedly been keeping the bulk of its military forces at least 15 km outside of Gao since at least August, in anticipation of possible strikes.

This is where northern Mali’s new, foreign recruits come in. While the skills and capacity of foreign fighters in northern Mali is unclear — are they experienced? Novices? Trainers? — they may represent more than simply “reinforcements” or replacements for fighters who have left Ansar Al-Din, AQIM, or MUJWA. Instead, these fighters, whatever their numbers, represent another example of these militant groups showing a desire to dig in, and even set down roots in the north. For months now, these groups (especially MUJWA) have spent rather significant amounts of money on paying fighters, keeping down the price of food and other goods, and providing some level of services, like electricity free of charge. They’ve also taken steps like initiating meetings with local leaders to discuss governance, as Ansar Al-Din’s Sanda Ould Boumama recently did in Timbuktu.

In this context, foreign fighters could present a more solid kind of support than local troops, given that they have likely not traversed dangerous and bleak terrain, only to arrive at a place and leave at the threat of military attack. This does not mean that Islamist militant groups in Mali will not pursue other actions, whether extending current dispersal efforts, fleeing into other parts of the north’s hinterlands, or even heading to other countries in search of shelter. This fragmentation and separation may be more likely to occur if, as some reports have suggested, a struggle for leadership is taking place between factions of AQIM and MUJWA. And this is where the number and skill of fighters comes into play in terms of impacting the ability of militant groups to maneuver, defend territory, or otherwise ensnare ECOWAS troops on unfamiliar territory. But insofar as recent reports indicate a willingness to accept and even promote these fighters, their presence could signify an attention to at least make life difficult for any intervention force in Mali, something that could undercut current projections for the eventual success of such a force.

UPDATE: In the comments below, Nasser and 7our make excellent points related to the difficulty inherent in defining a “foreign” fighter in a region where ethno-linguistic groups cross borders, where some borders barely exist, and where centuries of trade and intermingling make it very hard to define who belongs and who does now. These comments remind me of something the great scholar of northern Mali Baz Lecocq noted in April, after RFI reported locals hearing fighters speaking Hassaniyya; as Lecocq pointed out then (and 7our points out below) a number of people speak Hassaniyya, including some Moors (Bidan) in northern Mali. One could complicate the issue further by pointing out that longstanding marriage and other ties can also blur the line between nationalities; for instance, in the Adrar in Algeria, many families have some sort of family connection to northern Mali, something social anthropologist Judith Scheele discusses at length in her excellent recent book. So in this case, if someone lives in Algeria, has an Algerian passport, but either has family in northern Mali or can directly trace their lineage to northern Mali, would that make them a “foreign” fighter, or not? This is partially why I find the recent reported influx of non-Sahelian fighters to be so interesting, because as Nasser very rightly stated in a message to me and in the comment, there are people who more naturally “belong” in the Sahel, than others, and it is important to differentiate when talking about these fighters.

Additionally, 7our and Nasser both raise important methodological issues in evaluating these reports, namely the issue of how local witnesses know about and identify these foreign fighters. Is it by accent? By how the fighters look or dress? By how they identify themselves? And if they do identify themselves, is it by region, by group, by country of origin, and so on and so on. Keep their insightful comments in mind while reading this post, and when looking at further reporting about this issue.

Photo Credit: Reuters

Trying to Understand MUJWA

Since it first burst onto the scene in December 2011, the Movement for Tawhid and Jihad in West Africa (generally MUJWA in English, or MUJAO in French) has been a difficult group to pin down. The group, originally characterized as a “dissident” faction of al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM), its actions have raised a number of possible contradictions and open questions (laid out admirably along with excellent background here, here, and here by Kal over at The Moor Next Door). Recently, some local and international actors have taken in particular to questioning MUJWA’s actions, and speculating that MUJWA, believed to be heavily funded by the cocaine and now the kidnapping business, may in essence be using jihadist activities as a sort of front for its criminal behavior.

This post is an attempt to explore and analyze some of the possible explanations for MUJWA’s behavior, with a focus on its activities, composition, and role in the city of Gao. Ultimately, I will question some of the assumptions local and international observers have made about MUJWA’s motivations, in particular attempts to frame MUJWA as a “criminal” rather than a “terrorist” or “insurgent” organization, when available evidence paints a far more complicated picture of overlapping motivations and multiple sub-groupings within the same organization.

Tell me, who are you?

Confusion surrounding MUJWA’s personnel, actions, funding streams, and general relationship to other jihadist groups in the area (namely AQIM and Ansar Al-Din) as well as to local populations, have led to some recently to dig into MUJWA’s “true” identity. For instance, a recent article from Radio France Internationale (RFI), which generally provides detailed and well-informed coverage of northern Mali, gave voice to some longstanding theories that MUJWA’s attacks abroad and efforts to impose shari’ah in Gao and surrounding villages were little more than cover for what are believed to be the very lucrative criminal activities of the group’s core Arab leadership. The author (RFI often does not identify the authors of its stories) cites a purportedly connected local source on the subject (my translation):

For this person, very knowledgeable about the region, MUJWA’s men are above all else traffickers. ‘Shari’ah is a cover’ he says. MUJWA is looking to reorganize an already-existant [cocaine] trade that prospered during the years of [deposed Malian president Amadou Toumani Touré, or ATT]. Working with MUJWA is thus a guarantee of being able to pursue business, our interlocutor explains. According to him, under the auspices of association with local civil society, a number of the city’s notables are complicit with this mafia system.

This conception of MUJWA as a largely criminally-oriented organization is one that also appears frequently in Malian descriptions of the group, as well as in conversations with Malian and other specialists and residents of the north. It is also strikingly similar to the way some analysts wrote about AQIM in the Sahel (and in particular AQIM commander Mokhtar Belmokhtar), especially in 2010 and 2011, as violence in northern Algeria waned but hostage taking and other activities expanded in the Sahel. Many writers assumed that AQIM was becoming more of a “criminal” organization than a “jihadist” organization, a dichotomy that I do not think necessarily has to exist in practice.

However, this characterization still merits exploration, especially in light of the circumstantial evidence linking known or widely suspected traffickers from the region (people like Cherif Ould Tahar and Sultan Ould Bady, not to mention a number of other well-known Gao Arabs) to MUJWA. For instance, the Mauritanian journalist and specialist Mohammed Mahmoud Abu al-Ma’ali, in his lengthy explanation of the complicated relationship between AQIM, MUJWA, and Ansar Al-Din, states that the original tension between Sultan Ould Bady and AQIM’s Sahelian leadership arose when Ould Bady, a half-Tuareg half-Arab from the Gao region, was purportedly denied permission to form an AQIM unit composed primarily of Malian Arabs. Ould Bady is from the al-Amhar (sometimes written Lamhar) tribe, one of several from the Tilemsi Valley region north of Gao that are believed to largely control the cocaine trade in northern Mali, in addition to other legitimate and illegitimate businesses. Social Anthropologist Judith Scheele, for instance, has explored the increasing Tilemsi Arab control with regard to these traffics, and the major implications the growth of these trades have had on local tribal relationships and the interplay between previously “dominant” Kounta and the Tilemsi Arabs.

Before exploring this further, however, some caveats need to be added. While much ink has been spilled about the spread of the drug trade in the Sahel, precious little direct evidence has been publicly provided with regards to the actual size and profitability of this trade. This is due largely to the incredible difficulty of researching the trade, as well as efforts by traders to launder or otherwise hide money behind businesses in multiple regional countries, though I suspect part of it is also lazy writing and analysis. Within this lack of data is another frustrating problem, that of identifying accurately those involved in the trade. This creates the paradoxical problem in which anyone looking into this trade can quickly “know” the key players, but the evidence linking them to the trade (and groups like AQIM or MUJWA) is, again, largely circumstantial or speculative, and heavily dependent on vague reports and local rumor. This speculation has led one key figure in the Gao region, former Bourem deputy Mohamed Ould Mataly, to publicly deny membership in MUJWA.

Additionally, relatively little news is available on other “key leaders” either in the drug trade or in MUJWA, making it incredibly difficult to discern the complex interplay of factions and motivations that may be at work. To try to explore what MUJWA is and what they may or may not want, then, we need to look carefully at what MUJWA has actually done in the Gao region, and try to interpret these actions within the broader local and regional context.

MUJWA in Gao

Since first seizing Gao at the end of March alongside troops belonging to the Tuareg rebel group the National Movement for the Liberation of the Azawad (MNLA), MUJWA’s behavior in the city has been marked by an interesting combination of flexibility and intransigence on certain key issues. After initial attempts to ban football and television sparked violent protests in mid-May, MUJWA relaxed some of their policies, aggressively courting and recruiting locals (in particular ethnic Songhai, which make up the majority in Gao). While the MNLA was busy forming a “government” and developing a reputation – merited or not – for theft, rape, and other abuses, MUJWA invested in cleaning the city’s gutters, providing aid (especially foodstuffs), and attracting the support of at least some of the city’s “notables”. The group also appointed a Gao local, Aliou Mahamane Touré, to head the city’s “Islamic Police”, also largely believed to be comprised primarily of natives of Gao and the Gao region.

These efforts, as well as clear attempts to associate themselves with local (particularly Songhai) history and symbols, combined with MUJWA’s attempts to portray themselves as protectors of Gao’s populations against the MNLA, allowed MUJWA – reportedly supported or even led by AQIM forces under the command of Mokhtar Belmokhtar – to boot the MNLA from the city after brief but intense fighting at the end of June. Until very recently, reports indicate that MUJWA continued to pursue a somewhat restrained attitude toward shari’ah and infringements on local practice, while also reportedly making efforts to restrain more zealous members of the organization (including the Islamic Police commissioner Aliou Touré) and continuing heavy investment into projects in the city, including providing money to buy fuel to power Gao’s electrical plant.

Of late, however, the organization has hardened its attitudes, refusing to bend to popular will as it had before. On the night of August 4, MUJWA reportedly announced on local radio that the next day, it would amputate the hand of a young MUJWA member alleged to have stolen arms from the group in order to later re-sell them. The next day, Gao youth flooded the streets, occupying the place de l’indépendence, where the amputation was supposed to take place and causing MUJWA to delay the amputation. That night, after a group of four fighters led by the Islamic Police Commissioner Aliou Touré mercilessly beat a popular local journalist, Malick Maiga, young Gao residents again flooded the streets in protest, causing MUJWA to back off. Yet only days later, another contingent of MUJWA fighters successfully amputated the hand of another alleged thief in Ansongo, around 100 km south of Gao. A MUJWA commander interviewed after the incident threatened to continue the harsh punishments, adding that the only reason the organization had delayed the amputation in Gao was due to pressure from local notables, rather than the protests.

Just a day after the amputation in Ansongo, MUJWA commander Abdul Hakim convened imams and notables at Gao’s Kuwait Mosque under the premise of a debate about shari’ah. However, according to local reports and press accounts the meeting was far from a debate, and instead a meeting to announce that shari’ah would be applied in Gao following the end of the holy month of Ramadan this weekend. Earlier this week, five local residents were whipped for allegedly selling drugs, and on Wednesday MUJWA banned local radio stations from playing Western music.

Explaining MUJWA’s Complexity

How, then, does a fairly common perception of MUJWA’s attitude, held by informed observers, fit with MUJWA’s actions on the ground? On the one hand, there is no reason that the interpretation presented above would be inconsistent with MUJWA’s actions; after all, the above take on their activities is premised on the implementation of shari’ah in order to “cover” other illicit activities. And even if those executing harsh judgment on locals (and the group’s own members) are sincere in their desire to apply shari’ah, this does not indicate per se that other powerful backers and members of the group are not primarily associated with MUJWA for financial gain, especially if a more powerful and feared MUJWA means more solid control of the trafficking routes that run through the Gao region. Terrorist groups of any size are hardly ever uniform, and MUJWA has clearly drawn, at least recently, on a large number of of recruits from many different countries across the region.

Indeed, it seems likely based on available evidence that even Gao’s local recruits are not all alike in their motivations. While some appear to have been drawn by lack of other opportunities and MUJWA’s seemingly abundant cash, others like Touré appear to have been drawn in by conviction. Gao’s mayor Sadou Haroune Diallo said as much in a recent interview, stating that MUJWA’s recruits from Gao are more hardline than other members of the group. And local reports suggest that many of the “local” MUJWA recruits have been recruited from small villages known for more strict Islamic practices (for more on the origins and early spread of Islamic reform movements in Gao and local “Wahhabi” villages, see this dissertation and shorter article from RW Niezen).

Even these explanations may not explain the actions of MUJWA or individual MUJWA factions. Following the amputation at Ansongo, a local organization of Bella, or “black Tuareg” from Tin Hamma, the victim’s village, said the amputation was primarily about settling scores between Peul and Bella over pastureland. And the attempted amputation of the MUJWA member’s hand in Gao could have been an attempt to instill fear in the local population – or MUJWA units themselves – by showing that they would readily punish one of their own.

Yet while definitive answers may be hard to find, this reading of MUJWA’s activities is not fully satisfying. For one thing, the organization has put extensive effort into showing itself protecting Gao and ensuring the quality of life for its residents, backing up rhetoric with both action and money. Why, then, would MUJWA continue to push for shari’ah even in the face of repeated and predictable public reaction? This is an especially important question given that a number of other actors – the West African body ECOWAS, the Malian government, and militias like the sectarian Ganda Izo and Ganda Koy – are practically itching to push into the north. Antagonizing local populations is bad for business in the best of circumstances, and potentially very dangerous when someone moves in to push out an oppressive “occupier”. For an example of the dangers of unduly angering locals, one need only look to how the city reacted to MUJWA after it defeated the MNLA.

Moreover, this seems to be an odd time to impose increasingly harsh punishments on Gao’s populations, given how close MUJWA was to achieving a sort of acceptance in Mali and the broader region. In the past two months, a range of actors including the pre-defeat MNLA, Malian politicians, and the powerful and influential head of Mali’s High Islamic Council, Mahmoud Dicko, had taken to treating MUJWA as a local actor, implying that they were somehow different from the “foreign” AQIM and signaling a possible place for MUJWA in political negotiations in the north. MUJWA representatives or figures close to the group may have even met with Burkinabé Foreign Minister Djibril Bassolé during his recent trip to the north, though people close to Bassolé deny these reports. However, a very public and very violent application of shari’ah punishments endangers this acceptance, as shown by Dicko’s aggressive reaction to what happened in Ansongo. And even if the Gao notables who purportedly traveled to Bamako on MUJWA’s behalf meet with success, any negotiations with MUJWA at this point run the risk of provoking a harsh reaction among average Malians, given the widespread disgust at abuses it and its allies have committed in the north.

This discontinuity is all the more striking given that, if the rumors about MUJWA’s key funders and leaders being tied to the cocaine trade and other traffics are true, many of these same men prospered in part due to corruption and state complicity under the previous Malian government. Why go through all of this trouble, including physically seizing and then attempting to administer an entire city/region, if the only ultimate goal was to “reorganize” a trade that was by all indications progressing quite well under the old Malian government. Traffickers prosper in part when they can operate within weak but extant state structures, in part so that they don’t have to deal with the complicated and expensive mess that is governing and administering territory. Yet until this time MUJWA has made no attempt to publicly distance itself from the organizations or actions that would throw a wrench in negotiations with Bamako, and they certainly have made no overt moves to welcome the Malian state back into the north – though it is entirely possible that this is being discussed in private, and we simply do not know about it.

Again, it is possible that what we are seeing is simply evidence of a divided organization with multiple, sometimes competing factions. But I suspect that at least some of the commentary on MUJWA reflects a tendency among analysts to want to place jihadists and “criminals” in distinct categories, despite the fact that jihadists, from the GIA in Algeria to al-Qaeda in Iraq to the Taliban and related networks in Afghanistan and Pakistan (and many, many more) have made use of criminal means and criminals themselves to further their cause. This was certainly the case with AQIM, an organization long dismissed for its criminal activities that has, in my opinion, shown itself to be a far more complex organization.

This is not to say that MUJWA does not gain from criminal enterprise, or even that these links – especially in the Gao region – are not vital for its implantation and growth. As a Malian who lived for a number of years in Gao noted to me, “if MUJWA were a purely ideological organization, it could have established itself in Timbuktu, Tarkint, Almoustrat, or elsewhere, why specifically Gao? Because their interests and investments are in Gao, and in Gao they can count on having ‘collaborators and friends.’”

Based on the evidence presented here, I would argue that instead of being a purely “criminal” or purely “jihadist” organization, it is MUJWA’s criminal activities that allow its jihadist activities, and quite possibly the jihadist activities that also help protect the group’s criminal (and other) activities. And we should at least consider the possibility that militants, like anyone else, can have multiple and overlapping motivations, and that MUJWA’s suspected Arab funders can be both jihadists and traffickers at the same time.

Is Mali the ‘next Afghanistan’? No.

The title of this post includes a question I’m seeing more and more, and it reflects the growing concern in Washington, Paris, and African capitals that the security situation in northern Mali is spiraling out of control. In this kind of environment, bad news tends to echo loudly and quickly. The most recent example of this is the strong reaction in the international press to an interview Nigerien President Mahamadou Issoufou gave to France 24 this week, in which he said that Afghans and Pakistanis were in Mali training fighters, in addition to confirming that French hostages held for nearly a year and a half by AQIM were in “good health” and still alive. This news has garnered quite a bit of attention, especially in the Francophone media, though it should be noted that RFI reported the presence Pakistani trainers in Timbuktu and in Kidal a month ago, to considerably less attention. Still, this and other signs of the degradation in the security environment in northern Mali and the growth of AQIM have spurred speculation about whether or not northern Mali was becoming a “West African Afghanistan“, a new Somalia, or a jumping-off point for terrorist attacks elsewhere.

While I think some of this concern is warranted, I think some of this language and concern may be, for the moment, a bit overwrought, as I will explain in this piece. This post is my attempt to sort through some of the current popular attitudes about the security situation in northern Mali, the very real risks to regional and international security that may be looming in the north, and the equally real constraints on militant groups attempting to impose shari’ah in northern Mali or project force beyond Mali’s already porous (or nonexistent) borders.

First, the bad news

Long before the Tuareg rebellion and the birth of Ansar Al-Din, AQIM and its predecessor the Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat (GSPC) were using Malian territory to strike other countries. The period from 2005-2011, in addition to seeing a number of kidnappings of Westerners in the Sahel, saw attacks against military, government and foreign targets (including the murder of French and American citizens) in Mauritania, attacks against border guards and customs agents in Algeria, and similar attacks and confrontations in Niger. During this period, AQIM’s involvement in kidnapping for ransom (KFR) and various smuggling networks may have netted upwards of 200 million euro – though these numbers are very fuzzy, and do not take into account the money the group has had to spend to simply operate and survive in one of the harshest environments on earth.

More recently, the AQIM “splinter” group the Movement for Unity and Jihad in West Africa (MUJWA), based in Mali, has conducted a suicide bombing in the southern Algerian city of Tamanrasset and kidnapped seven Algerian diplomats in the city of Gao. Moreover, foreign fighters appear to have reinforced MUJWA, AQIM, and Ansar Al-Din. The latter group in particular has admitted to welcoming fighters from Somalia, Niger, Tunisia,  and elsewhere (though of course this information has not been confirmed independently). AQIM, according to unconfirmed reports, has been reinforced by “Maghrebin” jihadists and steered others, in particular Mauritanians, to Ansar Al-Din. And while reports of more than 100 Boko Haram fighters being present in Gao may be an exaggeration, there is enough circumstantial evidence of their presence in Mali (and the alleged presence of AQIM members in Nigeria) to conclude that the groups may be tightening their links.

So to sum up, we now have a situation where at least three-to-four jihadist or hardline Islamist groups are active and “in possession” of much of northern Mali, including the cities of Gao, Kidal, and Timbuktu. These groups appear to be operationally active and training new fighters for different regional militant organizations, and possibly securing areas of operation for future training or attacks in the region. This is not to mention the role that these groups, in particular AQIM, appear to be playing in enforcing a harsh interpretation of shari’ah law and supporting Ansar Al-Din, which seems to have quickly accumulated a suspiciously large amount of money, weapons and personnel, especially given the much smaller size and less diverse composition of the organization – an issue I previously discussed here – when it was created late last year. Regardless, AQIM and its key leadership in the Sahel are almost certainly active in northern Mali, and will likely stay there, whether they remain deeply involved with Ansar Al-Din or pull back to focus on jihadist activity while allowing Ansar Al-Din to worry about the implementation of shari’ah in Mali, per the recent instructions of the group’s Kabylia-based leader Abdelmalek Droukdel.

This is not the Afghanistan you are looking for

Setting aside for a moment the causes of concern in northern Mali, there are a number of structural and local particularities that may inhibit the emergence of northern Mali as a new “safe haven” for jihadist groups. For one thing, northern Mali is a rather isolated place, with large, relatively barren distances between population centers. This makes it difficult, though clearly not impossible, to bring fighters into the country, and could put groups of fighters at risk if they venture out of the cities, as happened in March when Mauritanian aircraft attacked a convoy they believed to include AQIM members, including Yahya Abu Al-Hammam, the head of one of AQIM’s sub-units, who is reportedly present in Timbuktu. While it is unclear if the aircraft actually found their target, Western aircraft may have more luck, if they end up getting involved in the fighting (NB: This is not an expression of support for the use of manned or unmanned aircraft in the Sahel, simply an observation).

This isolation also means that it is difficult to re-supply fighters, whether with fuel, food, or ammunition. While smuggling networks for these materials are present and well-established in the Sahel, Mali’s neighbors can damage militant groups by tightening their grips on these smuggling routes or by attacking jihadists who expose themselves while trying to obtain supplies. This happened last month, when a rapid Algerian helicopter strike reportedly decimated a column of MUJWA fighters who tried to steal two fuel trucks in Tinzawaten, on the Mali-Algeria border.

In this vein, it is worth keeping in mind that while Afghanistan in the 90′s was bordered by at least one state that tolerated or may have even supported the Taliban, who then gave shelter to al-Qaeda and the numerous jihadist groups who used the country as a training base, northern Mali is surrounded by countries that are not exactly disposed to welcoming a jihadist-controlled state next door. Mauritania has repeatedly attacked AQIM targets in Mali, Niger has been vocally pushing for an intervention to root out AQIM and its allies, and while Algeria has been reticent to commit military forces to a foreign intervention, the Tinzawaten incident demonstrates the latter’s willingness to use force – potentially across the border – if its interests are threatened. And behind all of this is the possibility of European (really French) or American involvement in providing logistical or intelligence support for an ECOWAS or African Union force or direct airstrikes. While such a foreign intervention may have a very negative impact on the overall security situation in northern Mali, something will eventually have to give. As former diplomat and Mali watcher Todd J. Moss told Reuters last week, “Western policymakers will absolutely not allow a jihadist safe haven” in Mali.

Moreover, I believe that Ansar Al-Din in particular and those supporting it remain limited on a local level. While residents of Kidal, Gao and Timbuktu appear to have grudgingly welcomed the security and harsh justice Ansar Al-Din brought in the wake of the departure of the Malian army from the north, that appears to be changing. Protests have broken out in all three cities in the wake of the implementation of shari’ah (most recently in Kidal), the banning of soccer and smoking in Gao, and the destruction of a sacred holy site and a national monument in Timbuktu. After suppressing these protests Ansar has pulled back, especially in Timbuktu and Kidal; in Timbuktu, where the group has already put a local face on its actions, Ansar has attempted to show their appreciation for and willingness to protect the city’s patrimony. And in Kidal, after receiving significant pushback for having assaulted female protesters,  Ansar reportedly chose not to intervene during the second days’ protests. While Ansar Al-Din has been able to keep a lid on such protests so far, it is likely that these will grow if the group continues to pursue the implementation of shari’ah in the public sphere. And if protests continue to break out, the group will be faced with a hard choice between allowing the protests or suppressing them, given that violence may provoke protesters further, or push local notables influential within the organization – such as Ifoghas “chief executive” Alghabass Ag Intallah in Kidal – to push Ansar to moderate its behavior.

These local tensions could become more acute in an environment where multiple armed groups could eventually form in opposition. To put a spin on the Weberian expression, for the moment Ansar Al-Din and AQIM, dominant in terms of armament and manpower, have a monopoly on the threat of force in northern Mali. They have used this threat that the two groups used to push the MNLA and then the primarily Arab FNLA out of Timbuktu, as well as to assert their authority in Gao.

However, Ansar Al-Din and AQIM have so far resisted using anything more than targeted force, showing a potential unwillingness to unleash full-scale civil war in northern Mali. And other challengers to their authority may lurk in the wings; the National Liberation Front of the Azawad (FNLA) has threatened to kick AQIM out of Timbuktu; former Malian army commander El Hajj Gamou has formed his own group, the Republican Movement for the Restoration of the Azawad (MRRA); and another group purportedly composed of Songhaï and “black Tuareg”, the Movement of Patriots for Resistance and the Liberation of Timbuktu (MPRLT), has also promised to retake Timuktu. And the first clashes between Ansar Al-Din and MNLA fighters may have taken place in Kidal this week, though a number of people have since denied that any fighting took place. And the Songhai militia Ganda Iso’s members remain in and around Gao, even if the group fell apart after its leader was killed in combat with the MNLA in March.

For the moment, all of the groups mentioned except the MNLA exist primarily on paper, and the MNLA, reportedly lacking in arms and ammunition, has mostly cooperated or at least avoided conflict with Ansar Al-Din, to the point of briefly merging and then splitting with Ansar at the end of May. Still, there is the possibility that one or more armed groups could emerge to challenge or at least provoke Ansar Al-Din and its jihadist allies, especially if armed opposition groups receive support from abroad or from regional entities. Such opposition would again leave Ansar Al-Din and its allies in a position where they might have to actually use force against local populations, which could drastically alter the delicate balance of power and push local populations into open opposition. This would dramatically complicate life for Ansar Al-Din, and could potentially make the “safe haven” in northern Mali a bit less so.

None of this is to undermine or downplay the severity of the threat posed by the security situation in northern Mali, as the presence of hardline militant groups could threaten regional and international security, not to mention the security of the local populations forced to live under their harsh rule. Rather, it is important to keep in mind when analyzing the situation in northern Mali the important limits on hardline militant groups’ freedom of operation. While these factors may not be definitive in the long run, they will be important in shaping how these groups react to endogenous and exogenous pressure in the weeks and months to come.

The Black Flag Flies in Mali

Less than two weeks after a group of Malian junior officers led a coup against the government of president Amadou Toumani Touré, Mali’s war in the north has fallen apart. In a three-day period that ended Monday, Tuareg rebels had seized the three major northern towns of Kidal, Gao, and Timbuktu, victories unparalleled in the past.

On Thursday, a spokesman for the Malian Tuareg rebel group the National Movement for the Liberation of the Azawad (known by its French acronym the MNLA) said that the group’s fighters had arrived “at the frontier of the Azawad” – a mostly scrub and desert territory the size of France that comprises a diverse ethnic population – and declared a halt to military operations. Later the same day, the group declared the unilateral independence of the region. In a dizzying flourish of events, the war that Tuareg rebels had fought since January 17, the fourth in a series of rebellions that began in 1963, appeared at first blush to be over. Instead, the real fight over the Azawad may have just begun.

The rush to capitalize on the dissolution of Mali’s army in the north has brought to the fore deep conflicts between the MNLA and the salafist-inspired Ansar Al-Din, and brought two terrorist groups who call northern Mali home – Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM) and its “splinter” group the Movement for Unity and Jihad in West Africa (MUJWA) out of the woodwork.

The scant reporting and witness statements emerging from the north paint a confusing and complex picture of events there, one complicated by conflicting agendas and a sheer lack of information, credible or not. But with some reports depicting scenes of destruction, looting, and even rape in Gao and Timbuktu, the imposition of harsh tenets of sharia law in Kidal and Timbuktu, and a possible struggle for control in all three cities, events in northern Mali appear more than ever to be shrouded, to appropriate a phrase used by Tuareg expert Baz Lecocq, in a “haze of dust.”

Known unknowns

As Lecocq astutely pointed out when writing this week about the situation in the north, much of what we see now is based heavily on slim reporting, nearly impossible to confirm witness statements, and assumptions. But with those caveats aside, it is possible to trace at least the broad outlines of how we have arrived at this conflicted point, and where things may go from here.

According to a pro-MNLA writer Andy Morgan, at a meeting in October 2011 in the desert oasis of Zakak, a group of Tuareg leaders met to decide their future course of action in Mali. Comprised of local notables, past rebels, and commanders and fighters recently returned from Libya, this group would soon be known publicly as the MNLA. But at the meeting, Iyad Ag Ghali – the leader of Tuareg rebellions in the 90’s, and later a Malian diplomat in Saudi Arabia and interlocutor in hostage negotiations with AQIM  – purportedly presented himself to be head of the MNLA.

Iyad lost that attempt, as Bilal Ag Cherif was appointed the Secretary General of the MNLA. He also reportedly lost a subsequent attempt to lead the Ifoghas tribe, towhich he belongs. Alghabass Ag Intallah, the middle son of the current amenokal, or leader, of the Ifoghas was appointed the tribe’s “chief executive.” It should be noted that Morgan appears to be the sole available source for these particular claims, and the full story is likely far more complicated.

Once known for his love of wine, women and song, Iyad, who grew more religious over the years, went into seclusion after these defeats. In December news leaked that Iyad had created a new Salafist Tuareg group – Ansar Al-Din. Yet little was known or heard from or of Iyad until after the violence broke out in January. Following a siege of the military base at Aguelhoc at the end of January, photos and reports out of the city spoke of “summary executions” of nearly 100 Malian soldiers at Aguelhoc, and France and the Malian government suggested that extremist elements ranging from Iyad’s group to AQIM may have been involved.

Although rumors abounded about the presence of Iyad’s fighters and even those belonging to his cousin, AQIM sub-commander Hamada Ag Hama (Abdelkrim el-Targui), there was little hard proof of Iyad’s role in the north throughout February and early March, even as the MNLA advanced rapidly, picking off border towns with Algeria and Mauritania and harassing towns south of Timbuktu. The MNLA acknowledged quietly that Ansar Al-Din had fought with them at Aguelhoc and elsewhere, but categorically denied links to AQIM, even suggesting that Iyad had helped bring a number of Tuareg AQIM fighters back into the fold and away from jihadist militancy.

It was not until the strategic town of Tessalit was seized March 11 that cracks began to show. Soon after the MNLA claimed victory at Tessalit, Ansar Al-Din made its media debut on YouTube. The group’s 12-minute video showed images of Iyad leading his men at prayer juxtaposed with images of fighting at Aguelhoc and a message from another historical rebel figure, Cheikh Ag Aoussa, calling for the implementation of sharia not in an independent Azawad, but throughout Mali. A week later the group is said to have released a statement to journalists calling for the implementation of sharia in Mali by “armed combat” if necessary – far from the MNLA’s message of a secular, democratic Azawad. The move prompted the MNLA to distance itself from and then denounce Ansar Al-Din. Tension mounted as the latter claimed responsibility for a series of key victories in the north, which the MNLA and pro-MNLA sources denied vigorously.

Yet it appears that this outward animosity did not stop elements or commanders from these groups from working together, at least in some capacity. As Mali’s army dissolved from within following the March 22 coup d’état, MNLA and Ansar Al-Din forces surrounded Kidal, reportedly pushing into the city from opposite sides after negotiations for its surrender failed. Just a day later the key southern city of Gao fell with hardly a fight, again with reports that a group of fighters entered and seized parts of the city – the MNLA, Ansar Al-Din, and even the AQIM dissident group MUJWA, which according to some reports seized one of Gao’s two military camps, as the MNLA seized the other.

Just a day later Timbuktu, the last military bastion in the north, fell without a fight. While the MNLA had negotiated a peaceful transition with the local Bérabiche (Arab) militia protecting the town, Iyad soon swooped in, reportedly pushing MNLA forces to Timbuktu’s airport, and announcing first to the city’s religious and political leaders – and then on Wednesday, its people – his intention to implement sharia and fight those who oppose it.

Worse still are the reports that Iyad was acoompanied by several very important AQIM commanders: Mokhtar Belmokhtar, Abou Zeid, Yahya Abou al-Hammam, and close Belmokhtar aide Oumar Ould Amaha (spelled Oumar Ould Hama in some reports).

While the MNLA has forcefully denied being expelled from Timbuktu, Iyad’s statements and a number of eyewitness reports appear to confirm his takeover of the city and efforts to enforce the veiling of women, shutter shops and hotels selling alcohol, and even exact harsh punishment on looters and “vandals”. He is also said to have lowered and burned the MNLA’s flag, replacing it with a black “Islamist” flag.

Emerging from the shadows

One of the more startling elements of the reports out of Timbuktu is the aggressive emergence of AQIM on the scene. While AQIM and its predecessor groups, the Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat (GSPC) and the Armed Islamic Group (GIA) have long operated in the Sahara, and have attacked regional armed forces and other targets in Mauritania, Mali, and Algeria, AQIM is known much more for smuggling (drugs, cigarettes, weapons, and more) and the kidnapping of Westerners across the region, operations that may have netted the group tens of millions of dollars.

If true, reports of AQIM leaders appearing so openly in public – let alone this many of them, together – would be unprecedented. Yet it is extremely difficult even to assess these claims. While various accounts cite Timbuktu residents and participants at the Monday meeting identifying the AQIM leaders by sight, eyewitness accounts are notoriously unreliable. Moreover, it would be an extraordinary circumstance for so many key leaders to be in the same place, even if only for a short time. This is especially true given the reputed rivalry between Abou Zeid and Belmokhtar, though I have cast doubt on the extent of their supposed divisions in the past.

Nonetheless, it seems apparent that there is at the moment a sizeable AQIM presence in the city, operating openly alongside Ansar Al-Din and possibly searching for Westerners. Additionally, it makes at least anecdotal sense that AQIM would be both present in the city and useful in supporting Ansar Al-Din.

As I previously mentioned, many analysts believe blood ties exist between Iyad and the AQIM subcommander Abdelkrim el-Targui, who analysts believe is close to Abou Zeid and organized the kidnapping of two French men in the Malian town of Hombori last November. And the two groups share a broad worldview about the implementation of sharia and pursuit of jihad, though significantly less is known about Ansar Al-Din’s core ideology, having only given a small number of public statements.

More apparent, though, is the clear benefit AQIM brings Ansar Al-Din. On the one hand, AQIM can provide dedicated, hardened fighters, a significant factor if estimates that Ansar recently only possessed a few hundred men are correct. More importantly, AQIM may offer Ansar a bridge allowing the group to operate in Timbuktu; both Belmokhtar and al-Hammam have operated for several years in and around Timbuktu, and in particular to the north of the city. Just last month, Mauritanian aircraft struck a convoy they thought included al-Hammam less than 100 km north of the city. And Belmokhtar has, according to most accounts, married a Berabiche woman from a prominent family in or near Timbuktu. Given that Berabiche Arabs are predominant in the city, these longstanding transactional and personal ties – not to mention fear of the organization – could help the primarily Tuareg Ansar Al-Din avoid conflict and exert its influence in the city. It is too early to tell, however, if the tenuous calm in Timbuktu will hold for long.

Less easy to decipher are the gains to be reaped by AQIM or MUJWA from this arrangement. Reporting on the group since the Tuareg uprising has been scarce, though various unconfirmed reports placed Belmokhtar in Libya while others were believed to have fled into southern Algeria, perhaps to pursue business opportunities or simply wait until the instability settled and a clear winner emerged in the north.

The return of AQIM to the battlefield would indicate that they believe that a winner has emerged – though it is difficult to say if AQIM seeks a greater safe haven in which to operate, tighter control over smuggling routes in northern Mali, or simply the chance to spread its own version of Islamic practice. Still, this kind of active and open AQIM presence marks a serious break with past practice, and could herald a shift in AQIM’s behavior, goals, and operations.

This leaves us with MUJWA. The group announced that it had splintered from AQIM in December 2011, criticizing its predecessor organization’s lack of dedication to jihad and promising to spread its operations into West Africa. Interestingly, though, its only known leadership are from Mauritania and Mali, and the group’s only two operations before last week were in Algeria (the October 20 kidnapping of three aid workers from the Polisario-run Rabouni camp) and against an Algerian target (the suicide bombing of the gendarmerie headquarters in Tamanrasset).

The group’s self-proclaimed heavy involvement in the attack on Gao, like with AQIM in Timbuktu, represents a surprisingly overt involvement in the Mali conflict. Unlike AQIM, however, MUJWA has gone out of its way to show off its presence, even appearing before an Al Jazeera camera team in Gao.

We know significantly less about MUJWA, making it harder to discern their motives for playing such a purportedly important role in Gao. It is worth pointing out, however, that one of the group’s leaders, Sultan Ould Badi, is believed to be from north of Gao, which could again be a sign of MUJWA operating, like AQIM, where they have more local support or ties.

And we may get a better sense of MUJWA’s trajectory if allegations that the group was behind the ransacking of Algeria’s consulate in Gao, as well as the abduction of seven Algerian diplomats. Al Jazeera released a video Friday purporting to show MUJWA fighters taking the consul away, as well as shots of the group’s black flag flying over the consulate. This attack shows an unusual focus on Algeria for a group nominally committed to propagating jihad in West Africa, and might indicate that MUJWA remains close in important ways to AQIM.

Iyad and the MNLA

While the rapid expansion of Ansar Al-Din and other jihadist elements is a major concern to Western countries with a stake in the stability of the Sahel, they pose the most immediate threat to the MNLA’s efforts to secure an independent state in the Azawad.

Ansar’s growing public presence last month caused some to begin to doubt the control the organization said it possessed in the north, especially after a Red Cross convoy invited to Tessalit by the MNLA was turned back by armed men, widely believed to be Ansar Al-Din fighters. The MNLA’s failure to secure Kidal and Gao and the embarrassing loss of Timbuktu only reinforced for many this sense that the MNLA had perhaps exaggerated its fighting strength or leadership in the rebellion.

This fracturing of the Tuareg rebel movement has a few potential explanations. The first is simply that expert estimates of the size of the MNLA fighting force (perhaps as many as 3,000 men, according to Tuareg expert Pierre Boilley) were not accurate. The balance of forces also could have been impacted by the fact that Ansar Al-Din fighters have concentrated their forces on individual battles in Tessalit, Kidal, Gao, and now Timbuku, while MNLA fighters have ranged across northern Mali, from Ménaka in the east to Léré in the west, and from Tessalit in the north to Youwaru in the south.

Another possibility is that the MNLA, despite having a clear structure on paper and an impressive media organization centered primarily (but not exclusively) around Francophone Europe-based diaspora intellectuals, is not a truly coherent fighting organization on the ground. Unfortunately, there is not enough reporting to confirm or deny this theory, though it is telling that the MNLA has sought the help of Ansar Al-Din when engaging in most of its major battles or sieges since January. And in the face of clear affronts, the MNLA has thus far staunchly avoided any action that would lead to violence with Iyad.

In part, this is because taking on Iyad directly poses several potential problems for the MNLA. Setting aside questions about the relative strength of both groups (which we can’t answer at this time) attacking Iyad directly could further erode the MNLA’s cohesion. Despite having compromised with the Malian government after the 1990’s rebellions, Iyad remains an influential figure, owing both to his reputation as a former rebel leader and his position within the Ifoghas, the minority tribe that has nonetheless held sway in Kidal for several centuries (a fact aided by colonial France’s decision to maintain and entrench Ifoghas dominance). While the MNLA and its base of support is not just Ifoghas-based, an attack on such a prominent figure could undercut Ifoghas support.

However, I think the theses that privilege the MNLA’s apparent weaknesses ignore important mitigating factors that could help explain the group’s behavior.

For one thing, it is possible that the MNLA decided that it was better to finish its project of securing the borders of its new state, as it announced Thursday, before moving to solidify its internal position. While this is a risky proposition given the rapid and very public steps Iyad and his allies have taken, it may not be an entirely bad strategy; French Foreign Minister Alain Juppé on Thursday made a clear distinction between the MNLA and its erstwhile allies, calling for talks between Mali’s neighbors and Tuareg rebels combined with efforts to combat terrorism in Mali’s north. Reading between the lines, his remarks hold out the prospect of some sort of international recognition for the MNLA’s cause, especially when seen in the context of past vows by MNLA leaders to deal with AQIM if given an independent state.

Additionally, despite some very visible setbacks, the MNLA hasn’t actually left the field. Radio France Internationale reports, for instance, that the MNLA is quietly trying to restore order in Gao, and meeting with traditional and religious leaders in the city.  And despite being pushed out of central Timbuktu, the group still holds the airport, and is, according to some (admittedly pro-MNLA) reports, encircling the city. They have also entered Timbuktu since Ag Ghali’s takeover to spirit three Western expatriates to safety in Mauritania.

Time is running out

The situation in northern Mali remains fluid, and the MNLA may not have time for complicated machinations. Until today it had seemed increasingly possible that the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) would send a peacekeeping detachment to Mali, though the contours and rules around an eventual deployment were never clear. Reports indicate that ECOWAS and the Malian junta reached a deal for Captain Amadou Sanogo to step aside in favor of an interim transitional government to be led by parliamentary speaker Diouncounda Traore. In return, ECOWAS will remove travel and trade sanctions put in place following the coup.

Regardless of what’s going on in the south, though, the north will likely remain unstable, and the MNLA must move quickly to reassert its position in northern Mali. If not, it may find itself shut out of the major power centers in the newly “liberated” Azawad, left to contend with an increasingly assertive and entrenched “desert fox.”

Hammami’s Plight Amidst Al-Shabaab and Al-Qaeda’s Game of Thrones

For those of you who are interested in al-Shabaab (an issue I usually leave my co-blogger Christopher Anzalone), Clint Watts and I have an article out today with George Washington University’s Homeland Security Policy Institute on what the confused fate of American jihadist Omar Hammami might say about divisions within al-Shabaab and al-Qaeda:

American al-Shabaab commander Omar Hammami, known as Abu Mansur al-Amriki, on Friday sat alone in front of a flag commonly associated with al-Qaeda and said that the organization for which he’d fought for much of the last five years, al-Shabaab, might be trying to kill him. The video, the first public message from Hammami since last October, caught many counterterrorism analysts off guard.

The release is an unprecedented public admission of fear and weakness from a jihadist figure. But it has brought to the fore a game of thrones occurring in Somalia as rival al-Shabaab factions compete for power and eliminate their rivals, even as the organization has more tightly joined itself to al-Qaeda’s global jihad. Hammami’s video confirms not only a power struggle within al-Shabaab, but may also point to a larger battle for leadership supremacy in a post-Bin Laden al-Qaeda.

Counterterrorism analysts promoting Hammami as the clear successor to Anwar al-Awlaki were off the mark. Recent machinations should serve as reminders to analysts and commentators alike that jihadist groups–like other militant organizations–are rarely unified, and are often subject to a number of internal and external pressures.

You can check out the rest of the article here.

Big Happenings in a Big Desert – Updated

The last 24 hours have seen an unusual amount of activity by and involving terrorist groups in the Sahel. This morning a suicide bomber detonated a Toyota truck filled with explosives at the gates of the Gendarmerie in the southern Algerian city of Tamanrasset, an attack swiftly claimed in a phone call to the AFP in Bamako by the AQIM “splinter group” MUJWA – the Movement for Unity and Jihad in West Africa. The attack came just hours after AQIM freed a Mauritanian gendarme kidnapped in a cross-border raid in December, Ely Ould Elmoctar. And reports circulated today that MUJWA had also freed an Italian humanitarian worker kidnapped in the Polisario-run camps at Tindouf in October, Rossella Urru. Oddly enough, a source close to the negotiations for Urru and two Spaniards taken from Tindouf told the AFP today that MUJWA wanted $30 million for the hostages, including Urru.

This flurry of activity will doubtless lead to questions about the lingering effect of instability in the Sahel and the spreading reach of AQIM and linked groups in the region. But more importantly, the events of the past 24 hours, taken in conjunction with other incidents that have recently taken place lead me to believe not only that AQIM is gearing up for further actions in the area, but that we now have enough evidence to conclude that the creation of MUJWA last fall marked not a splintering of AQIM, but rather a reorganization of men and resources.

An attack most unusual

First, let’s deal with today’s suicide bombing in Tamanrasset. The attack, which the Algerian daily El Watan said was almost certainly conducted by a “subsaharan,” wounded 23 people and caused major damage to the Gendarmerie. The Mauritanian news site Agence Nuakchott d’Information (ANI), which has published AQIM statements in the past and has good contacts with the group, has tentatively identified two men they say conducted the attack, Abou Anass al-Sahraoui (denoting either that he is from the Western Sahara or has links to Sahraouis) and Abou Jendel al-Azawadi (signifying he is likely from northern Mali).

A number of things are unique about this attack. While AQIM has in the past conducted suicide attacks in northern Algeria and Mauritania, this is the first major attack by a jihadist group that I can recall taking place in Tamanrasset in the past few years, and certainly the first suicide attack. Despite the growing instability in the Sahel, southern Algeria is generally considered a safe zone, and Tamanrasset in particular boasts a large security presence, given the city’s important role as a desert waypoint for travel and trade, both licit and illicit.

This attack demonstrates the continued availability of suicide bombers in the region, as well as the presence of high explosives, a likely consequence of the massive flow of weapons and explosives into southern Algeria and the Sahel as a result of the instability in Libya. And AQIM in particular has been increasingly active in southern Algeria, and not just in smuggling – Algerian forces engaged AQIM members in a firefight near the Malian/Algerian border town of Tin Zaouatine last month, and other AQIM members were reportedly the target of an airstrike in the country’s south days later.

Yet the fact that the attack was claimed by MUJWA – and not AQIM – should raise eyebrows. After all, when MUJWA came onto the scene in December, its members stated that MUJWA’s goal was to spread jihad and shariah to West Africa, citing as inspiration historical militant leaders in the region, including Usman Dan Fodio and El Hajj Omar Tell. Yet as Algerian blogger “7our” pointed out on Twitter this morning (my translation), “The only 2 actions of MUJWA, who want to ‘spread jihad in West Africa,’ have targeted Algeria.” Even as a “dissident” group, MUJWA still seems to be fighting AQIM’s jihad.

I have never been comfortable with the reports that MUJWA had truly “broken off” from AQIM. For one thing, as noted above, it is odd that despite having ostensibly split from AQIM, MUJWA has still chosen to target Algeria in such a serious fashion. And even before the Tamanrasset attack, MUJWA has behaved and spoken much as AQIM does, with the group’s leader Kheirou even declaring war on France – a favorite AQIM propaganda target -  with attack in a video released in December. We also should not forget that Kheirou spent several years under the command of key AQIM figure Mokhtar Belmokhtar (also known as Khaled Abou al-Abass).

Moreover, the very reason for supposedly founding the group was for Mauritanians and others to break away from AQIM’s Algerian-dominated leadership. Yet this is odd, given that despite AQIM’s many failures as a jihadist organization, it has arguably been more successful than any other al-Qaeda affiliate in recruiting a diverse group of people, including Malians, Mauritanians, Tuareg, Senegalese, Guineans, and more. Indeed, Kheirou himself appeared in a 2010 video produced by the group explicitly for the purpose of showing its diversity.

This diversity does not mean, of course, that some members of AQIM were not unhappy with the group’s leadership. Yet Kheirou’s long involvement with AQIM at a high level, combined with the persistent similarities between AQIM and MUJWA, leave open the possibility that the “split” between the two was not as definitive as some analysts believe. The circumstances surrounding the liberation of Ely Elmoctar and Rossella Urru lend some credence to this theory.

And the truth (or a deal) shall set you free

On the surface, the liberation of Ely Ould Elmoctar and Rossella Urru appear to be separate events. Elmoctar’s kidnapping was claimed by AQIM, and appears to have been the work of Mauritanian AQIM commander Khaled es-Chinguitty. AQIM demanded the liberation of two prisoners held by Mauritania in return for Elmoctar, whose disappearance prompted protests in Mauritania and solicited the attention of opponents of President Ould Abdel Aziz. Elmoctar’s liberation came on the day AQIM promised to kill him if the group did not get what they wanted; it is reported that the Malian Abderrahmane Ould Medou, involved in the kidnapping of two Italians in 2009 in Mauritania and arrested by Mauritanian authorities, was freed as part of the deal for Elmoctar’s freedom.

Urru, whose kidnapping was claimed by MUJWA last December, was almost certainly freed in exchange for a ransom payment. We don’t know yet why the unnamed negotiator publicized the price for Urru and the two other victims on the day Urru was freed. However, it is possible that a) he was one of multiple negotiators competing to win the hostages’ freedom (as well as a cut of the ransom payment), as has happened in other cases, or b) that the announcement was simply a means of indicating to the Spanish government the price for their two citizens who remain captive. I do not think the timing is accidental, given the arrival in Bamako today of Spanish Foreign Minister José Manuel Garcia-Margallo to “inquire about the fate of the three Europeans” taken from Tindouf.

That said, there are other aspects to the two stories that seem too convenient to be mere coincidence. Looking simply at the facts of the case, we have two kidnappings by two ostensibly separate (but related) terrorist organizations, with hostages from each case freed on the same day and both sent back simultaneously to Bamako. The simultaneous liberation and return to Bamako of the hostages implies either coordination between the groups that kidnapped Elmoctar and Urru, or that the same negotiator worked out both arrangements.

A shared negotiator linked to the Mauritanian government seems likely, given the conveniently-timed meeting last week between Ould Abdel Aziz and an Italian envoy, Margueritta Bonivar. However, it defies credulity to think that the release of the hostages held by two separate groups could be conducted simultaneously without a certain level of cooperation and coordination between MUJWA and AQIM. It is thus not illogical to suspect that the two were released as part of the same deal.

Things aren’t always what they seem

It is dangerous to draw sweeping conclusions from incomplete and circumstantial evidence, especially given the opaqueness of AQIM’s structure and operations and the relative lack of reporting on the group and the region in which it operates. And there is much that we do not know and may never learn about today’s bombing and hostage releases.

However, the events of the last 24 hours provide some indications of coordination between AQIM and MUJWA. Additionally, the fact that both groups appear to be increasingly active in Algeria and in targeting the Algerian security forces show the remarkable similarities between them, especially given MUJWA’s stated mission of moving the jihad south, not north.

The question is, given the sudden uptick in movement by both groups, what does this all mean?

As I previously noted, any conclusions drawn on such thin information are likely to be incomplete. But this morning’s attack, as well as the increased attempts by AQIM members to infiltrate southern Algeria from the group’s safe haven in northern Mali, could indicate a concerted effort by both MUJWA and AQIM to increase the pace of operations in Algeria proper.

This move north could be a reaction to the increasingly tenuous situation in northern Mali, given the ongoing Tuareg rebellion there and increased Malian military presence near key parts of the Adrar des Ifoghas, where AQIM commander Abou Zeid is known to operate. But it could also mark the start of a new and more deliberate campaign against Algerian forces. And if, as I believe, MUJWA is less a breakaway faction of AQIM and more of a partner or sub-unit, then it would appear the jihad in West Africa will be on hold for sometime to come.

UPDATE: It appears I wrote too soon. ANI, which initially reported not only that both Elmoctar and Urru had been freed but that both were expected to arrive in Bamako, reported today that in fact Elmoctar was still being held by AQIM. It seems like the negotiations were very close to being concluded, but then for reasons as yet unknown were suspended. This could explain the premature reports of their release.

The ANI article is still interesting for what it reveals – while it says two separate negotiation channels were at work for the release of the two separate hostages held by two separate groups, the ANI report suggests that both AQIM and MUJWA agreed to seek the release of Abderrahmane Ould Meidou. According to the same report, AQIM leader Yahya Abou Alhamam (who has been reported dead several times in the past) in particular sought Ould Meidou’s release, as did MUJWA leader Sultan Ould Badi, who along with other MUJWA members has “social relations” with Ould Meidou.

The fact that Elmoctar and Urru may not have been released yet takes away some of the support for the argument I laid out in the post above. Due to the evidence available and other things that I have heard or suspect, I still stand by my analysis. That said, I think that if the above story valid – though we must be careful about all reports where we can’t ascertain for ourselves the sourcing – we can still see the close personal and social links that likely exist between MUJWA and AQIM. Though this should be of no surprise whether MUJWA is a “splinter” group or simply a reorganized part of AQIM, the report would indicate that the groups are in contact and willing to work with each other in some capacity. Either way, there’s much more to this story, and we will hopefully have better information in the days to come.