WHY DOES ANOCRACY put a country in such danger of civil war?

WHY DOES ANOCRACY put a country in such danger of civil war? A closer look at the governments and citizens weathering this middle zone offers some insight. Anocracies tend to share characteristics that can work together to exacerbate the potential for conflict. A democratizing government is weaker than the regime before—politically, institutionally, and militarily. Unlike autocrats, leaders in an anocracy are often not powerful enough or ruthless enough to quell dissent and ensure loyalty. The government is also frequently disorganized and riddled with internal divisions, struggling to deliver basic services or security. Opposition leaders, or even those within a president’s party, may challenge or resist the pace of reform. In contrast, new leaders must quickly earn the trust of citizens, fellow politicians, or army generals. In the chaos of transition, these leaders often fail. When I asked Noor about the transition in Iraq, she recalled the unease many Iraqis felt about their new government. “Maliki got into power, and what did he do?” she said. “Nothing. Everybody started complaining about him. People were unemployed and didn’t have the money or the food to feed their families. What were they going to do?” These weaknesses set the stage for civil war because impatient citizens, disgruntled military officers, or anyone with political ambitions could find both a reason and an opportunity to organize a rebellion against the new government. Former rebel leaders in Uganda, for example, admitted that they were much more eager to organize violence after they discovered that their government’s intelligence services were ineffective; they could rebel knowing that their plan was unlikely to be discovered. This also happened in Georgia when it held its first democratic elections as an independent country in 1991 after the Soviet Union dissolved. Though a reformist named Zviad Gamsakhurdia won the presidency, he faced challenges almost immediately, both from opponents, who accused him of being too authoritarian, and from ethnic minorities—the Ossetians and the Abkhazians—who were unhappy about their representation in government. The following year, armed supporters of the opposition staged a coup, overthrowing Gamsakhurdia; within six months, violent conflict had broken out between ethnic Georgians and Abkhazians. By 1993, the young country was engulfed in civil war. A primary reason for revolt is that democratic transitions create new winners and losers: In the shift away from autocracy, formerly disenfranchised citizens come into new power, while those who once held privileges find themselves losing influence. Because the new government in an anocracy is often fragile, and the rule of law is still developing, the losers—former elites, opposition leaders, and citizens who once enjoyed advantages—are not sure the administration will be fair or that they will be protected. This can create genuine anxieties about the future: The losers may not be convinced of a leader’s commitment to democracy; they may feel their needs and rights are at stake. This is the situation the Sunnis found themselves in when the United States transferred power to Maliki. They rightly understood that they were powerless to force the majority Shia to do anything. From their perspective, they were better off fighting while they were still relatively strong rather than waiting for their rivals to consolidate power. And because the government is weak, events can easily spiral out of control. This happened in Indonesia after President Suharto, an authoritarian, was forced to step down after the 1997 Asian financial crisis. Within weeks of entering office, Suharto’s successor, Vice President B. J. Habibie enacted rapid reforms: He allowed political parties to organize, removed press censorship, freed political prisoners, and made plans to hold free and fair elections for both the parliament and the presidency. He also finally announced on January 27, 1999, a willingness to give the small island of East Timor independence, dramatically reversing the government’s previous refusal. But this opening started a chain reaction, as other disgruntled groups in Indonesia seized the opportunity to claim power for themselves, too. Shortly after that, the Christian Ambonese, an ethnic group in the province of Maluku who were displeased with the increasing Islamization of Indonesia, declared an independent republic. West Papuans, who had long chafed under Indonesian rule, voiced their desire for independence. Meanwhile, in the province of Aceh, activists argued that if East Timor had been granted freedom, “then there is no reason Aceh should not be next.” Habibie’s government could not keep up. Struggling to maintain control, he shut down independence negotiations in some provinces and allowed government crackdowns in others. Soon, Indonesia was caught up in civil war on multiple fronts: among Muslims and Christians in Maluku, among Timorese and Indonesian paramilitary groups, and Aceh separatists and the Indonesian government. A painful reality of democratization is that the faster and bolder the reform efforts, the greater the chance of civil war. Rapid regime change—a six-point or more fluctuation in a country’s polity index score—almost always precedes instability, and civil wars are more likely to break out in the first two years after reform is attempted. Ethiopia’s recent political violence and escalating civil war, for example, is a consequence of its attempts to democratize quickly. In 2018, the Oromos—Ethiopia’s largest ethnic group—got their long-awaited wish when, after two years of protests, the country’s prime minister, Hailemariam Desalegn, agreed to transfer power to Abiy Ahmed Ali, an ethnic Oromo. Abiy seemed to be a Democrat’s dream. He promised free and fair elections, instituted a more legitimate and inclusive political system, and invited long-exiled Oromos to return home. His reforms were, according to an American foreign service officer in Addis Ababa, “beyond our wildest dreams.” But returning Oromo leaders constituted a new elite ready to exact revenge. A weaker military made it easier for former soldiers to begin to agitate. By redistributing power to Ethiopia’s administrative regions, Abiy created strong incentives for rival ethnic groups to compete for regional influence. A mere five months later, violence broke out. Mobs of roaming Oromo youth celebrating the exiles’ return sparked ethnic violence that eventually led to dozens of deaths and thousands fleeing to Kenya. Many observers found the conflict particularly astonishing because there was, in the words of one Ethiopian analyst, “such a remarkable level of democratic opening in the country.” The opening had happened too fast. Today, a full-scale civil war has broken out in the Tigray region of Ethiopia, where former government officials—purged by Abiy—have rebelled, vowing to regain their recently lost power and influence. But democratization is possible. Though the path to democracy is treacherous, the risk of civil war fades when a country takes its time, evolving its political system gradually.