Until the violent election-related protests erupted in Tanzania from the end of last month, shocking the world and shattering the East African country’s aura of political maturity and tranquillity, Madagascar was the latest African country in the spotlight as discontented citizens expressed displeasure at their leadership.
From Kenya to Madagascar, Cameroon to Nigeria, and even beyond the shores of Africa to far-off countries, including Nepal, Sri Lanka, and Bangladesh, the protests over the past few months followed a familiar script: ordinary citizens led by the younger generations, fed up with the sorry state of the old order that has relegated them to poverty and oppression, standing up to fight for their rights, for reform, for justice.
In Madagascar, mass protests broke out in September, prompted by frequent water and power shortages, as well as corruption. The youths demanded that the government listen to them, open an inclusive national dialogue, address structural governance failings, and respond to their socioeconomic grievances. The protests intensified across Madagascar’s urban centres and reports indicated that the demonstrations resulted in several deaths and widespread destruction of property.
President Andry Rajoelina responded in the old-fashioned way by trying to appease the protesters without making any serious effort to meet their demands: he ordered a cabinet reshuffle and dismissed Prime Minister Christian Ntsay, but the measures failed to stop the protests.
And so it was that on October 12, 2025, Antananarivo found itself at a crossroads. A unit of the elite military formation Corps d’Administration des Personnels et des Services Administratifs et Techniques (CAPSAT – Army Corps of Personnel and Administrative and Technical Services), mutinied and crossed over to join the protesters, asking the president and his administration to resign. The CAPSAT forces declared they would no longer obey orders to repress demonstrators and urged the rest of the armed forces to support popular demands. The unit took control of strategic points in the capital, the Senate president was removed, General Demosthène Pikulas, a CAPSAT nominee, was installed as chief of the armed forces, and the National Gendarmerie also defected.
The CAPSAT defection precipitated the collapse of President Rajoelina’s administration. Within hours, he fled the country and started issuing statements from abroad condemning the takeover. Parliament defied his attempt to make it to dissolve itself and proceeded to impeach him. The military declared the takeover, dissolved major state institutions (except the National Assembly), and announced that Colonel Michael Randrianirina, a CAPSAT commander, would head a transitional government for 18-24 months pending new elections. The High Constitutional Court ratified the military officer as interim head of state to lead the newly formed Council of the Presidency for the Re-Foundation of the Republic.
The African Union (AU) reacted predictably to the crisis in Madagascar: its Peace and Security Council (PSC) promptly suspended the country for unconstitutional change of government and banned it from participating in all activities of the union until constitutional order was restored.
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It said it “strongly condemns the seizure of power by the military … totally rejects the unconstitutional change of government … in blatant violation of AU principles and normative instruments, particularly the African Charter on Governance, Elections and Democracy and the 2000 Lomé Declaration.”
Bad coup or a providential reset?
However, with this new wave of frustration and awareness sweeping across many parts of the world and often finding expression in mass protests and violence, one could feel justified in asking several questions. Is this a classic rupture of constitutional order with perilous implications, or could it, under certain conditions, be regarded as a providential reset of deeply failing governance? Is it a repetition of the “Arab Spring uprisings” that led to military takeovers in Tunisia and Egypt? How does it differ from other recent African coups? What lessons should the AU and African states draw from the latest coup in Madagascar, especially in light of the normative constraints in the AU’s Constitutive Act?
To judge this transition, we must weigh the twin strands of promise and peril. As part of the promise, the coup is a response to determined mass mobilisation against governance collapse. In societies where institutional checks are weak, the elites are discredited, and state capacity has eroded, a sudden rupture – if managed under strict constraints – can open up the space for reform. According to this view, the coup is “providential” insofar as it interrupts ossified, corrupt systems that were failing the citizens. Some citizens of Madagascar celebrated soldiers marching with protesters, a rare moment when the military appeared to listen rather than repress.
Yet the peril looms large. Coups inherently violate constitutional order, upend civilian control of the military, and risk consolidating power in opaque and unaccountable institutions. The speed with which Madagascar’s High Constitutional Court ratified the transition and parliament’s impeachment of Rajoelina, raise concerns that the new regime is trying to manufacture legitimacy rather than cultivate it. International bodies like the United Nations (UN) and the AU have condemned the change as unconstitutional and called for a return to constitutional order. “The rule of law must take precedence over the rule of force,” said AU Commission Chairman Mahamoud Ali Youssouf.
In this case, the test will be whether the transitional authority transparently consults civil society organisations, sets firm timelines for return to civilian rule, and guarantees human rights – as opposed to drifting into repressive entrenchment. Until concrete results become visible, any judgment remains purely provisional. Only time will tell.
Egypt and Tunisia
Madagascar would do well to learn from other African countries that have survived their own revolutions.
On July 3, 2013, the Egyptian military removed President Mohamed Morsi, suspended the constitution and appointed Adli Mansour as interim president. Predictably, the AU Peace and Security Council affirmed that this fell under the definition of an “unconstitutional change of government” and decided to suspend Egypt from AU participation until constitutional order was restored. While the coup was driven by mass protests and military intervention against a democratically elected but embattled government, the subsequent transition was dominated by military and security elites, with limited popular oversight.
In June 2014, the AU PSC lifted the suspension, purportedly because of the progress Egypt had made in the formal restoration of constitutional order and the creation of conditions conductive to the holding of “transparent, credible and inclusive parliamentary elections”. The perpetrators of the coup were allowed to participate in the elections. This precedent was followed in Gabon.
In Tunisia, President Kais Saied invoked the constitution to dismiss the prime minister on July 25 2021, suspend parliament, and assume both executive and legislative powers, citing political deadlock and worsening economic conditions. Many observers described this as a “self-coup”, as it effectively allowed Saied to centralise power under the pretext of a constitutional emergency. Although the AU PSC did not formally label the event an unconstitutional change of government, the move drew widespread concern from the EU, the US, and other international partners, who urged a swift return to democratic governance.
Saied initiated a constitutional overhaul, culminating in a 2022 referendum that replaced Tunisia’s semi-presidential system with a highly centralised model, granting the president broad powers and diminishing institutional checks. Supporters claimed this would restore order and accountability, while critics viewed it as a slide back into authoritarianism, reversing many of the democratic gains achieved since the 2011 Arab Spring.
The Tunisia case highlights a growing challenge for the African Union as it exposes the limitations of existing frameworks that focus on military coups but struggle to address democratic erosion through constitutional manipulation.
Comparative dimensions
In both Madagascar and Tunisia, ordinary citizens – especially young people – took to the streets in large numbers to protest against difficult living conditions and economic hardship. These movements reflected deep frustration with poor governance and became the spark for political change.
In Egypt, too, large crowds gathered in protest, but unlike Madagascar and Tunisia, it was the military’s rapid and decisive intervention that ultimately shaped the outcome once the demonstrations gained momentum.
The role of the military was central but varied across the three countries. In Madagascar, the CAPSAT military unit took the side of the protesters and eventually took control, leading to a full political takeover. In Egypt, the army overthrew a democratically elected government, framing its actions as necessary to restore order. Tunisia’s case was somewhat different: the power shift occurred more through executive consolidation and the use of institutional mechanisms rather than a classic military coup.
The AU reaction also varied from case to case. In Egypt, the AU was clear and firm – it declared it an unconstitutional change of government and suspended the country from its activities. Similarly, the AU’s PSC condemned the power grab in Madagascar and suspended it. So, one might ask the PSC, what triggered the coup d’état: the will of the people or that of the military? However, Tunisia’s case was more ambiguous. It was not always officially treated as a coup and the AU’s position was less visible in public statements, at least based on information available in open sources.
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Each transition carried its own narrative of legitimacy. In Madagascar, the coup leaders claimed they were responding to a breakdown in governance and a need for reform, which they called a process of “refoundation”. In Egypt, the military and opposition forces justified their intervention as an effort to bring back stability, but many with an opposition view saw it as a serious setback for democracy. Tunisia’s leadership used emergency powers and an anti-corruption agenda to defend its actions, although critics increasingly viewed these steps as part of a return to authoritarian rule.
Democratic experiment
The transitional paths that followed were also distinct. Madagascar’s roadmap outlined an 18-24-month interim period leading to new elections. Egypt’s transition was tightly controlled by the military, ending with elections conducted under strong security oversight. Tunisia, meanwhile, has moved into a new constitutional arrangement that grants sweeping powers to the president, a significant departure from the country’s earlier democratic experiment.
In all three cases, the balance between risk and opportunity remains delicate. Madagascar’s transition could succeed if it remains inclusive and focused on genuine reform. Yet, as in Egypt and Tunisia, there is a continuing danger of power becoming entrenched, dissent being repressed, and democratic aspirations giving way to renewed authoritarianism.
First, the Madagascar scenario underscores the pivotal role of social grievance and service-delivery failures in destabilising regimes. States that neglect infrastructure, accountability, and administrative responsiveness risk crossing the threshold to crisis.
Second, the dynamics show that militaries can increasingly position themselves as responsive actors by popular demand. CAPSAT’s decision to switch allegiances suggests that the risk of a coup is not only an elite manoeuvre but also relational: the loyalty of security forces hinges on legitimacy in the eyes of both the regime and the populace.
Third, the AU and regional bodies must refine other tools beyond the suspension of the offending state. Suspension alone is blunt, with enforcement remaining symbolic unless paired with concrete transition benchmarks.
Fourth, any transitional process must embed participation. Even if a coup is rooted in popular protest, it must still institutionalise hearings, inclusive dialogue, technocratic interim governments, and guarantee elections under impartial monitoring. In the absence of these requirements, the regime risks transforming itself into a military version of the old elite.
Lessons for the AU and Africa
Finally, the AU must guard against normative inconsistency. Its normative regime is only credible if applied evenly and impartially. Selective application or double standards erode legitimacy. The AU’s varied responses to the situations in Egypt, Tunisia, and Madagascar highlight a strain in enforcement. The AU must do everything to erase the impression that its suspensions are “à la tête du client” (at the discretion of the customer).
In conclusion, the Madagascar coup is not easily categorised as wholly bad or wholly good. It carries the dual face of both promise and peril. On one hand, it reflects a moment when popular frustration reached a tipping point and a segment of the military responded, offering a potential reset in a system that had become increasingly dysfunctional. Although the AU recognises the right of the people to rise peacefully against oppressive systems, it must acknowledge that constitutional rupture is inherently dangerous because the new regime can drift into opacity, repression, and entrenchment.
The suspension of Madagascar, though legally justified under the AU’s norm regime, now faces a deeper test of whether the continental organisation can enforce not just verdicts but also transitions. The difference between this coup and those of Egypt and Tunisia lies in its embedded protest roots and the sophistication of its narrative. The world will judge the coup not by its beginning, but by how the transition is managed. If the new regime transparently narrows the gap to inclusive governance and returns power on schedule, this coup may be remembered as an inflexion point. However, if it drifts into authoritarian entrenchment, it will join Africa’s litany of broken promises.
Madagascar may thus become a bellwether for the next generation of constitutional ruptures: coups that claim to be responsive, that wear civilian masks, but whose legitimacy depends entirely on what happens next – and whether the continent’s institutions are capable of conditioning transitions rather than merely condemning them.
This article was written by Ibrahim Sanda Barrie. He is a researcher and policy analyst specializing in peace and security in Africa. With a background in Peace and Conflict Studies and an MA in degree in Global and European Studies, his work focuses on conflict prevention, transitional justice, and the role of regional and international actors. He has published on peacekeeping, justice mechanisms, the African Union’s security architecture, and the political history of educated elites in colonial Sierra Leone. Barrie is also establishing the Bintumani Centre for Dialogue and Reform, a think tank advancing governance, regional cooperation, and policy innovation in Sierra Leone, Guinea, and Liberia. Across his work, he pairs clear analysis with a commitment to strengthening institutions that support peace, accountability, and democratic resilience in West Africa.
