Issue No. 117

Paramilitary Power in the Horn

The Rapid Support Forces (RSF) in Sudan, the Puntland Maritime Police Force in Somalia, or the Liyu Police in Ethiopia are far from isolated curiosities or aberrations of the modern security state in the Horn of Africa. Quite the opposite; each example of these 'paramilitary groups' are part of a longer tale, a reflection of the persistent outsourcing and politicisation of violence in the region. With no state historically able to exercise a monopoly of force, paramilitaries and parallel security structures have routinely sprung from the elite to mediate their authority, 'coup-proof' their regimes, and to deliberately fragment coercive power. But historical variation within and between the litany of paramilitary forces in the Horn is vast, spanning a wide breadth of political aims and ambitions, territories, armaments, and compositions. And yet, the results are often decidedly mixed, as perhaps best evidenced by the destruction of Sudan's ongoing war.

There is a long historical precedent of auxiliary and parallel forces in the Horn of Africa, with occupying colonial powers of Britain, Italy and France routinely relying heavily on them for a variety of roles, including policing and counter-insurgency. Italian colonial militias in southern Somalia in the 1920s were known as the 'Dubats' for their white turbans, for instance, establishing a reputation as an effective fighting force. But for decades, hybrid security structures have pervaded the region, with recognised paramilitaries and militias routinely acting alongside, below or even above the state. In Somalia, the porousness of the distinctions between paramilitaries —often with formal linkages to the state —and militias —locally organised units — is particularly acute. A Somali National Army (SNA) soldier may well double up as a ma'awiisley clan fighter or a militiaman for a particular politician, straddling different roles for the context in which they are deployed.

The origins of Sudan are a particularly informative example here, emerging two centuries ago as a fundamentally predatory, extractive state built on a mercenary-driven style of frontier capitalist governance. During both Egyptian and British occupations, Khartoum remained the centre of this violent extraction into the peripheries of Darfur and modern-day South Sudan, with an array of militias serving as the tendrils. It was this model upon which the Janjaweed-- the genocidal Sahelian militias that razed Darfur in the 2000s was based, who were handed carte blanche by Khartoum to enrich themselves at the expense of the indigenous Darfurians-- a dynamic that has brutally repeated itself two decades later.

But across the Horn, recurrent conflict and insurgencies during the 20th century have similarly normalised and accentuated the militarisation of governance, with the army or paramilitary forces often the only 'presence' of a government in far-flung peripheries. At the same time, unstable administrations with limited budgets and legitimacy have routinely turned to paramilitary or non-state militias as a means to suppress a rebellion or project their influence as a cheaper-- and loyal-- alternative to a potentially more independent military. Suspicion of an autonomous military endures, as evidenced by Juba, Khartoum, Addis, and Mogadishu's persistent attempts to forge parallel units loyal to their individual leaders rather than the 'state.' Rather than seeking to monopolise power and violence via formal security structures, such regimes have instead sought to manage it by duplicating and personalising force to prevent any single armed actor from becoming powerful enough to threaten them. While such a strategy of 'coup-proofing' can offer short-term regime insurance, it almost invariably erodes institutional coherence over time.

In turn, such parallel paramilitary forces have also played historically coercive roles, such as the Derg regime's Red Terror units deployed to maintain authoritarian control in the 1980s. More recently, in the Somali Regional State, while the Liyu Police helped manage the threat of Al-Shabaab from the Ethiopian heartlands, Abdi Iley —president of the region —similarly wielded these forces to crush his opposition, driving considerable grievances. And one might argue as well that the unbridled politicisation and arming of the National Intelligence and Security Agency (NISA) in recent years has transformed it into a quasi-political paramilitary force. Currently led by Mahad Salad, NISA has repeatedly spearheaded the destabilisation of Jubaland's Gedo region, rather than focusing on targeting Al-Shabaab in Mogadishu.

But there are costs to such dynamics —and when the patronage that funds these loyalist groups dries up, it can open a Pandora's Box. Again, the calamitous war in Sudan is instructive here, emerging in large part from the ballooning political and financial interests of the RSF as part of former dictator Omar al-Bashir's failed attempts to 'coup-proof' his regime. The elevation of RSF leader Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo — ironically nicknamed "the protector" — was an attempt by al-Bashir to stave off threats to his increasingly fragile coalition after South Sudan's 2011 secession stripped Khartoum of its oil wealth. 

Ballooning and duplicating the security services was a deliberate strategy to coup-proof the regime, but such duplication also hollowed out the state, and, eventually, Hemedti's own ambitions and the scale of the RSF could not be constrained, spilling over into the destructive war that endures today. Crucially, the RSF and others have been able to develop their own revenue streams, be it through gold, checkpoints, livestock, taxation or external sponsorship, transforming them from instruments of the state into competitors within it. And once armed groups acquire both coercive capacity and economic autonomy, they cease to be merely parallel structures and instead become alternative centres of sovereignty.

But the RSF are far from the only paramilitary or militia force active in Sudan. A host of armed groups are allied on either side, with the Sudanese army dependent on an unwieldy alliance of eastern Sudanese forces, former Darfuri rebel groups, and Islamist militias, most infamously the Al-Bara' ibn Malik Battalion. The Popular Defence Forces (PDF) of the 1990s, another Islamist paramilitary force, has similarly been reconstituted; another group created by al-Bashir to diversify his interests and power away from the military. Looking ahead, such a splintered dynamic will inevitably make a future peace accord —though none are in the offing —fiendishly more complex, with a glut of weapons and vying political interests that extend far beyond Khartoum.

One need only look to Ethiopia for another example of a government-paramilitary alliance souring the aftermath of a conflict. In 2020, on the onset of the Tigray war, PM Abiy Ahmed's regime weaponised Amhara grievances via the assorted Fano paramilitary forces and Amhara Special Forces, which were responsible for the mass ethnic cleansing of Western Tigray. Their presence-- backed by the Eritrean military-- was key in severing the Tigrayan forces from the Sudanese border, a potentially pivotal supply line, and the fertile Western Tigray. And yet, the assorted demands of Fano metamorphosed, including Amhara nationalist sentiments, with their exclusion from the Pretoria deal in 2022 eventually spiralling into the raging insurgency today. A paramilitary friend can easily be a foe tomorrow, with arms, ammunition and their own set of political demands.

Still, not all paramilitaries are created equal, with their roles, capacities, and relationships with government varying widely across contexts, ranging from the quasi-state-like RSF in Sudan to the much-waned Sufi movement Ahlu Sunna Waljama'a (ASWJ) in central Somalia. ASWJ is a pertinent example of how a mismanaged disarmament and integration programme led by Mogadishu and Doha eviscerated one of the most effective anti-Al-Shabaab fighting forces. Furthermore, ASWJ is an example of how paramilitary forces are not solely predatory groups, but can emerge as a necessary force to defend particular ethnicities or religious movements. 

But the most prominent paramilitary forces in the region today are eagerly embracing the rapid development and deployment of the latest technologies to the battlefield, particularly drone warfare. Sophisticated drones have played a significant role on the Sudanese battlefield for some time, allowing the paramilitaries to strike as far west as Port Sudan. Emirati-supplied, Chinese-built laser-guided FH-95 drones carrying 200-250kg payloads are a far cry from the 'devils on horseback'-- the translation of Janjaweed. While the technology may have changed, the brutal logic that has underpinned these forces for over two decades persists.

While paramilitaries are far from a new phenomenon in the region, the continued hollowing out of the formal state architecture may well accentuate their role in the years to come. And furthering this dynamic is, once again, the stream of weapons and patronage from the Gulf into such highly personalised elite networks, only heightening the risks of spiralling parallel security structures. From Sudan to Ethiopia to Somalia, the consequences of such a dynamic are all too clear to see-- a splintered security architecture, loyalties tied more to leaders than to institutions, and violence remaining embedded into the very fabric of governance.

​The Horn Edition Team