Last summer’s string of attacks by al-Qaida–linked militants across Mali and neighbouring Burkina Faso drew comparisons to Syria’s insurgents, who months earlier had toppled parts of the Assad state. The Mali fighters, sometimes called the “Ghost Army” after a series of successful raids, captured territory, disrupted supply lines and exposed major weaknesses in the junta’s control. Yet until recently many observers judged it unlikely they could outright defeat the military government and the several-hundred to thousand Russian mercenaries protecting it.
That assessment has shifted. The regime of Colonel Assimi Goïta, who seized power in 2021, is now widely seen as seriously imperilled. Most analysts still think jihadist groups and their separatist allies are more likely to try to bend the state to their will through pressure and bargains than to govern the country themselves, but the recent escalation has made the balance far more precarious.
The Sahel has long been a volatile mix of coups, insurgencies, humanitarian crises and chronic underdevelopment. International counterinsurgency and peacekeeping efforts across the region between 2012 and 2022 failed to restore stability, and foreign powers have become reluctant to re-engage. Within that context, last weekend’s coordinated offensive by Jama’at Nusrat ul-Islam wa al-Muslimin (JNIM) and Tuareg separatists was striking in its planning and intensity. Fighters used ambushes, suicide car bombs, drones and conventional attacks to strike government troops and their Russian backers, inflicting heavy losses.
Among the highest-profile casualties was Defence Minister Sadio Camara, killed in a suicide attack at his residence in the garrison town of Kati, and the head of military intelligence was also reported dead. Attacks struck the international airport in Bamako, and JNIM fighters together with Tuareg forces seized control of Kidal after soldiers withdrew and a contingent of Russian mercenaries surrendered — undoing a symbolic victory the junta had won three years earlier.
Analysts described the operation as a new stage in the campaign by armed groups to target Mali’s urban centres. Beyond the immediate battlefield dynamics, deeper structural drivers explain the surge in violence: extreme poverty, weak or absent state services, long histories of ethnic grievances, and widespread availability of weapons. Last year, nearly 70% of terrorism-related deaths occurred in five countries, three of them in the Sahel.
Counterinsurgency in the region has often been brutal, with security forces and foreign mercenaries accused of abuses that further alienate communities. Militants exploit that vacuum by offering protection, rudimentary services and enforcing strict rules, while coercing populations. Territorial control lets them recruit fighters, co-opt religious institutions and tax or exploit trade routes for smuggling.
Observers say JNIM’s current strategy appears aimed at carving out an enclave where it can build parallel governance — a gradual, long-term project similar in intent to some Syrian insurgent efforts — rather than instant conquest. Its tactical alliance with Tuareg separatists follows an al-Qaida-style playbook of forging local ties, though many analysts doubt such partnerships would hold after any victory.
JNIM is testing the resilience of state institutions across the Sahel. It may lack the capacity to hold major cities permanently, but by demonstrating its reach and willingness to inflict pain it can force governments into negotiations and concessions. For now, its most potent weapon may be patience: waiting as state authority decays further, then consolidating gains when opportunity allows.