Customary justice: challenges of equality, transparency and fragmentation

As has become clear by now, justice in Mali is best characterised as ‘legal pluralism’, meaning that several legal systems exist in parallel that deal with both civil and criminal cases.[92] The state justice system is only one piece of a colourful mosaic and it is by no means the most relevant. For example, it is estimated that over 80% of family and land disputes in poor and rural communities in Mali are handled by customary justice systems.[93]

Mali’s customary systems are popular because they are easily accessible to the average citizen in the broadest possible sense.[94] Specifically, they are convenient, with all of the parties usually located near to each other; cheaper, as no court fees or travel costs are incurred; and familiar, as the mediators involved in dispute settlements are usually known by the community, speak their language, and share the same culture and religion. Customary systems are more active in areas where the state is not present, and in these areas the chief of the village tends to be the only real authority. In places such as these, cases are not taken to the formal justice system because there is a sense that it does not exist.[95]

Despite their popularity, Mali’s customary judicial systems face challenges that are common to many such systems.[96] To start with, some aspects of customary law and its enforcement are incompatible with the rights conferred on each Malian under the Constitution. This is in part because they mostly reflect rural, patriarchal value systems that are more conservative than Mali’s relatively progressive Constitution and, for the most part, positive laws. For example, marriage customs in the Buwa community amount to the man abducting the girl/woman he wants to marry.[97] Also, the generally lower status of women in the Malian family and community affects their ability to negotiate on an equal footing with their adversaries in law, especially their husbands. Notably in rural areas, women and children often have no recognised status at all, and therefore are vulnerable in customary justice processes.[98] In addition, customary justice also suffers from the same corruption and politicisation that diminishes the legitimacy and authority of state courts, albeit to a lesser extent.[99] Moreover, customary justice proceedings are generally only carried out orally, and there is no accountability or codification, so customary ‘judges’ can ignore precedents and create new ones if they wish.[100] Finally, the enforcement of customary ‘judgments’ depends, in large part, on the willingness of the parties to carry them out. However, because the main actors in the informal systems have such a high level of authority within the community, there is a certain moral pressure on the parties to respect agreements sanctioned by informal institutions. If a party reneges, he or she is considered as ‘recalcitrant’ and ‘looked down on’ by society.[101] Nevertheless, agreements are not always respected, and past disputes frequently resurface. In this context, it is important to note that respect for informal authorities is declining as Malian society modernises, something that is especially true in urban areas where “concepts of family and cultural relationships have less and less value”.[102] In consequence, the use of customary justice mechanisms, as well as implementation rates of the judgments they render, may see a relative decline in the future while remaining prominent overall.

As noted, a challenge of a different nature lies in the fact that there are many different types of customary justice mechanisms and providers in Mali, including family or community heads, religious leaders, and specific caste members (see box 4). There is significant variation by region, ethnicity and religion that seems to be poorly researched and understood.[103] As these actors do not necessarily use a common customary or legal basis for their judgments, the situation is one of true legal pluralism. This means that legal outcomes in similar cases can vary considerably and precedence and jurisprudence may not be obvious, although such flexibility can also be viewed as an advantage because it enables decision-making to be more context-specific.[104] People in a dispute may also come from different customary traditions, and in that case they may need to choose a third customary tradition to resolve their dispute in order to place both of them on neutral ground.[105]

Despite the challenges they face, it is clear that the relevance of customary justice providers points to a need to help such providers improve the way in which they render justice, and not to marginalise them in favour of the state judiciary. One way in which improvements can occur is to connect customary providers of justice with state providers of justice, to stimulate mutual learning and practical collaboration. However, this is likely to meet with at least two obstacles. The first is a general lack of recognition by administrative authorities of the decisions taken by religious and customary authorities. Formally, their judgments have little or no legal basis (the recent peace agreement offers a nudge in the direction of addressing this situation).[106] The second is that that administrative authorities do not have great regard for customary and religious rules.[107] Predictably, there are two dominant schools of thought among representatives of the state justice system concerning the value and role of customary justice providers. Those who are more legally conservative point to the texts of Mali’s state laws to support their case that there is little or no role for customary justice providers in the process of justice, especially the penal process, whereas those who favour legal realism pragmatically acknowledge the gap between the reality of legal practice and the text of the law.[108] This suggests that creating greater regard for customary justice providers among state judicial personnel, and greater trust among customary providers of state judicial personnel, needs to be an integral part of efforts to improve their connectivity.

State justice: corruption and resource challenges

Mali’s modern state justice system was revamped at the introduction of a multi-party democratic government in 1992, but remains closely modelled on a former version of the French legal system (see box 5 below). While acknowledging that a number of judicial officials try to do a good job and to stimulate reform from within, and that courageous efforts at change have been attempted, it is nevertheless fair to say that the Malian state justice system is rife with corruption and suffers from massive competence and capacity shortages.‍[109] These problems have the effect of further reducing the quality of the limited amount of state justice that is supplied to Malians. They are examined in further detail below.

Chronic corruption

Many Malians view the state judiciary as one of the most corrupt government institutions.[110] This observation was echoed by a leaked report from the United States’ Embassy in Bamako in 2009 which stated that “the judicial system is highly corrupt, with under-the-table payoffs an accepted manner of influencing the outcome of a case”.[111] Illustrating this analysis, a Malian lawyer recently remarked: “Justice in Mali is independent except for the influence of dirty money.”[112] However, corruption is common among Malian officialdom and not limited to the judiciary. There are strong indications that corruption is in fact so widespread that it has become an ingrained element of daily life, has severely corroded the morality and integrity of public service and has ceased to generate much public indignation when exposed.[113] One interviewer provided the powerful example of driving around with his eight-year-old son when it occurred to him he did not have his driving licence with him, upon which his son commented: “Don’t worry dad, just give the police 100 francs when they stop you and you will be fine.”[114]

For analytical and operational purposes it is useful to differentiate between two types of corruption in the judiciary, namely the corrupt practices that a number of legal professionals engage in on an individual basis, and the more systemic corruption that results from collusion between, for example, elements of the executive, former politicians and officials and elements of the judiciary. Having made this distinction, an important research finding is that the understanding of more systemic corruption in Mali seems to be fairly shallow. It has not been well researched. Interviews gave a strong impression – and some evidence – of systemic corruption by and through Mali’s state justice system, but it was not possible to properly map these dynamics as part of this research.

Individual corruption largely takes the form of having to make significant payments on the side in order to achieve a favourable outcome in Mali’s state courts. Every level of the judiciary is considered to be corrupt, with decisions available for sale.[115] For example, one interviewee described a case where the examining judge issued a court order not to prosecute someone in exchange for CFA 1 million, without even having jurisdiction over the case.[116] Since the average Malian cannot afford such payments, which come on top of regular filing fees and transport costs to reach the state judiciary, they further reduce access to state-provided justice.

Such individual corruption is generally attributed to two factors. The first is the comparatively low salaries of judges compared with those of private attorneys.[117] For example, when the state justice system was still present in the north, lawyers used to ask for a ‘judge fee’ as part of their payment, in effect an illegal supplement to a judge’s salary. In consequence, for a judge to remain uncorrupted, it is thought that he or she will need to make a personal choice to also remain poor.[118] It is easy for Malians to identify which actors are corrupt, especially if they are living a lifestyle that they would not be able to afford within their official salaries. The second factor is the social pressure on actors in the justice system to grant favours to their family or people in their communities. It is normal for them to constantly be approached for these purposes at events such as weddings and neighbourhood gatherings.[119] Although many anti-corruption measures have been put in place, they have not had a significant effect because of a lack of top-level support for their implementation and because they are not backed up with sufficient resources.[120] Positions in monitoring institutions that have been created for the justice sector are not considered prestigious; but rather, being given a job in one of these institutions is considered a sign of disfavour.[121]

Systemic corruption occurs when the judicial system becomes a vehicle through which larger-scale corruption is organised. For example, one interviewee narrated how Malitel initiated proceedings in a commercial dispute with Orange (90% of its shares are state-owned), claiming damages in the order of CFA 5 billion. He reported that the lawyer who represented Malitel used to be a minister and still had good political connections at the time of the litigation. In the view of the interviewee, the lawyer ‘worked the system’ to ensure damages were awarded, appropriating a substantial part of them by way of commission. Orange subsequently simply wrote off the damages, adding them to the general debt of the Malian state. The interviewee asserted that a number of state officials tacitly supported the scheme, as in the end the state incurred the debt while the associated kickbacks and patronage ensured individual benefits for all involved.[122] Additional, albeit more modest, examples of systemic corruption include the widespread incidence of law degrees being purchased and of professional advancement in the justice sector being dependent on an individual´s financial resources and connections.[123]

To make matters worse, the state justice system largely fails to prevent and punish abuse of public office – within and outside of the judiciary. The obvious consequence is that it does not serve as an effective deterrent against corruption by high-level officials. Even when such cases are clearly identified, they largely go unpunished. For example, the Office of the Auditor General (OAG), an independent agency created in 2004 to monitor public spending, uncovered USD 100 million in embezzled funds in 2011 and presented its findings to the President, Prime Minister and the President of the National Assembly. The President subsequently referred 100 cases that were cited in government audits to the Ministry of Justice for prosecution. Of those 100 cases, it appears that only a small number of officials have been arrested and jailed, while the majority have seen no legal action taken.[124] In another example, the minister for infrastructure and equipment was said to have utilised CFA 11 million of state funds to purchase tea in 2011, presumably for resale. Despite this being well known, he was allowed to remain in his post until the 2012 crisis. Although limited restitution of embezzled funds occasionally occurs when large-scale corruption is discovered, it is not unusual for this to happen ‘under the table’ without transparency or prosecution.[125] This contributes to maintaining a culture of impunity in which public office is routinely used for private gain and in which this is in fact considered the norm.[126]

There are tentative indications, however, that the Ministry of Justice has been doing more to prosecute corrupt judges since the 2012 crisis. For example, in December 2013, six judges and officers were charged with forgery, fraud and extortion, and it was announced in the news that cases against other ‘unscrupulous’ judges were being investigated. President IBK, who was said to have launched this investigation, also made a statement around the same time that he had referred about 100 cases of corruption and financial crimes to the courts.[127] The research was unfortunately unable to establish where these investigations and referrals have led. However, the combination of being exposed to little or no peer and/or performance review, patronage politics and the near-absence of sanctions for inappropriate behaviour suggest that the enabling environment for corruption within the judiciary is unlikely to change much.[128]

Allocation, use and shortfalls of tangible and intangible resources

In terms of the resources that the state judiciary has at its disposal, it is tempting to focus on the undeniably significant qualitative and quantitative shortages of personnel, finances and facilities that it faces. This emphasis is understandable, especially since the problem extends well beyond the confines of the state-run part of the legal process to include the private and not-for-profit functions associated with the provision of justice, such as attorneys and paralegals. Such a focus is bound to generate a predictable litany of shortages.[129] While these shortages are relevant, concentrating on them means overlooking the question of how existing resources are allocated and utilised.

Only a brief look at this question reveals that the part of the budget that the Malian government allocates to justice is minimal in the extreme. More precisely, in 2014 it amounted to about EUR 12.5 million, which represented 0.44% of the government’s national budget. To put this in perspective, in 2008 the allocation of funds to the justice budget as a percentage of the national budget amounted to 0.61% and the average annual allocation over the period 2008–14 was 0.63%.[130] What this means in practice is clearly shown by, for example, the 2009 report of the Malian auditor-general who observed that the annual budget of one of the courts of first instance in Bamako (see box 5) amounted to about EUR 1,500. He also estimated that the court handled about 3,500 cases per year.[131] No analysis is needed to understand that such sums are inadequate for the fair and effective provision of justice. The more interesting question, however, is why the Malian government allocates so little funding to the state justice system. The report cannot provide an answer as it has not conducted a proper investigation into this matter, but it surmises that providing adequate justice to its citizens has so far not been a priority for the Malian government.

The resource puzzle becomes even more interesting when one notes that the limited resources allocated to justice do go a long way in some places where apparently judicial officials take their job seriously and execute it to the best of their abilities and often with significant ingenuity, while in other places representatives of the state judicial system argue that a lack of funds fatally impairs their performance.[132] In short, before the argument is accepted that the paucity of funds is one of the major obstacles to improvement of the state judiciary, and hence that greater donor funding is both desirable and effective, a fuller investigation is needed into how the limited available financial resources are utilised at the operational level, taking into account non-financial factors such as attitude and integrity.

Having expressed these reservations on the basis of the limited evidence available, the fact remains that the tangible and intangible resources required for making the state justice work as it was intended are significant, and outstrip the ability of the Malian state to provide them. Even a much greater government budget allocation paired with improvements in resource utilisation, work ethic and professional attitudes to performance would in all likelihood fall a long way short. Three ‘gap areas’ stand out in particular because simple increases in resources cannot solve them in the short run.

A first key resource gap is a shortage of competent professionals, in particular judges and lawyers. For example, in 2008 Mali had 630 judges for a population of about 13 million.[133] This equates to 4.8 judges per 100,000 inhabitants, which is well below both the North Africa average of 9.8 per 100,000 and the global average of 11.5 per 100,000.[134] It contributes to the slow progress of many cases. Also, those accused of a crime are likely to need the help of an attorney. However, they are in desperate supply. According to a 2014 report by the Ministry of Justice, there were 335 lawyers in Mali at that time, for a population of about 16 million.[135] This can be contrasted with a 2011 study done by the American Bar Association, which found that there were only 270 lawyers at that time for a population of then 15 million people, and most were located in Bamako. As of 2014, Mopti, which has a population of 2 million, had fewer than 10 lawyers.[136] Most rural areas have no lawyers at all, as there is very little monetary incentive to set up a legal practice in such places. One way of compensating for this lack of presence of any legal support is through the creation of legal assistance offices, but so far these have been set up only in the first instance courts of the Kayes region. This is despite the fact that Malian law already created an enabling regime in 2001 and that such offices are meant to be present at each court of appeal, trial court and with each justice of the peace.[137]

A second key resource gap is the absence of adequate legal professional education and training. This has numerous aspects, including the absence of good-quality legal studies, professional training opportunities, on-the-job refresher courses (for instance on legal developments and jurisprudence), a lack of access to legal reference works and inadequate access to the internet. As a consequence, many legal professionals – court registrars in particular – do not and cannot perform adequately as they lack sufficient knowledge of the law.[138]

A third resource gap is the absence of means and channels to raise the low level of awareness among Mali’s citizens of their rights and obligations under the country’s positive laws and of the state’s legal processes. Since language and illiteracy play an important role, raising legal awareness is not just a matter of transferring knowledge but requires advances on a broad front ranging from increasing literacy to improving (civic) education. To compensate for the general lack of legal awareness of most Malians (insofar as state law is concerned), a range of civil society groups have trained individuals in communities to serve as paralegals. As of 2015, there were 123 community-based paralegals working in seven out of eight regions in Mali.[139] While these services are popular for divorce or land disputes, and there is an indication that donors wish to intensify and extend this project, a recent justice survey by the Hague Institute for the Internationalization of Law (2014) revealed percentage numbers in the low single digits for how often paralegals were sought out to assist with justice problems.[140] The cause of this infrequent usage is unclear, but further investigation through, for example, focus groups, should be carried out before any programming is extended. An early assumption is that the low numbers of paralegals play a role.

On a final and perhaps superfluous note, although resource shortages such as those discussed above are significant, other parts of this report make clear that focusing only on these gaps is tantamount to pouring water into a leaking bucket. Nevertheless, this seems to be precisely what major justice improvement efforts have largely done so far. This matter is examined in greater detail after the next subsection on transitional justice.

Transitional justice: going beyond a blueprint solution?

A brief analysis of the transitional justice efforts that the Malian government has undertaken to address the atrocities committed during the 2012 crisis is useful because it offers another opportunity to test the central contention of this report, namely that greater mutual recognition and combined use of Mali’s customary and state judicial systems – as more or less equal parts of the country’s ‘justice ecology’ – is necessary to improve justice outcomes in the short-to-medium term.[141]

It is well established that during the 2012 crisis all sides committed serious human rights violations, against combatants, civilians and communities alike, including torture, summary executions, rape, collective punishments and plunder.[142] This unprecedented level of violence had a devastating impact on the lives of thousands, ruptured already fragile social fabric and further destabilised many communities.[143] In response, Malians have expressed a desire to see the truth of what happened established through a process of transitional justice, with strong elements of accountability.[144] The challenge of meeting this popular demand is at least twofold.

First, given the prevalence and strength of customary justice mechanisms in the north, one is inclined to think that they should play a key role in any transitional justice initiative from the perspective of community reconciliation and to restore confidence.[145] However, the limited scale and modest nature of the cases that customary justice systems are typically best equipped to handle means that they are unlikely to be able to deal with the complexity, scope and duration of the physical and psychological damage that has come to pass, in particular where agents of the state are implicated.[146] Hence, there is tension between the need and limitations of involving customary justice mechanisms in supporting transitional justice efforts.

Second, the Malian government has initiated an ambitious, state-dominated and institution-heavy transitional justice agenda that includes an International Criminal Court (ICC) investigation,[147] a Truth, Justice & Reconciliation Commission, an International Commission of Inquiry, government-sponsored listening stations, an anti-corruption commission, domestic prosecutions, a human rights commission, and a strategy of dropping some prosecutions, which is akin to providing amnesties.[148] However, while such an array of activities looks laudable and suggests commitment to addressing past injustices, several notes of caution are in order. To start with, rapid and wholesale re-introduction of the state judiciary to the north must proceed carefully and slowly. It is obvious that the discriminatory and corrupt practices from before the crisis should not be brought back, but also, trust among the local population will need to be slowly restored.[149] Additionally, for the foreseeable future the state is unlikely to have the ability to implement the decentralised justice system that exists on paper. Combined with the deteriorating security situation that suggests it may actually be too early for a transitional justice effort, as Mali alternates between being in-conflict and post-conflict, this will significantly limit how positively transitional justice efforts will be perceived, as well as how effective they can hope to be (for example, in terms of the ability to collect evidence from the conflict-affected north).[150]

The reality is that some of the government’s initiatives have already run into trouble. When the government created a Dialogue and Reconciliation Commission (DRC) in 2013, it was dissolved quite soon, owing to pressure from national and international groups who criticised it for not consulting adequately with civil society and victims’ groups, and for moving too slowly.[151] Moreover, its two-year mandate to identify stakeholders in the dialogue and reconciliation process, log cases of human rights violations committed between 2012 and the country’s stabilisation, and suggest how victims of traumatic experiences could overcome them was regarded as insufficiently broad in scope.[152] Further, as the DRC was created by the transitional government prior to the election of President IBK, it suffered from a lack of ownership and political backing afterwards.[153] In response, the government created the Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Commission (TJRC) in 2014 as a replacement. This institution, however, is not yet operational and, in contrast, has an overly broad mandate (crimes committed in the north between 1960 and 2013) as well as seven disparate thematic areas. Its hierarchical positioning, under the Ministry of Reconciliation, is problematic, as this keeps open the option of maintaining executive control over its findings.‍[154]

In reflection of these difficulties, a recent assessment recommended that the Malian government classify the crimes related to the 2012 crisis and then assign them to different transitional justice mechanisms depending on their gravity. For example, high-level crimes where actionable evidence has been collected could go to the state justice system, with others being assigned to customary or other processes.[155] This mirrors how some interviewees described delegation of domestic crimes generally, with heavy cases going to the state when possible, and lighter issues being dealt with through customary providers.[156] In short, a mixed and pragmatic approach on the basis of what is feasible, echoing the lessons articulated in box 6.

In sum, the deep distrust and continued insecurity in the north, and the lack of capacity in justice mechanisms across the country, suggest that the government’s institution-heavy and state-dominated approach is likely to flounder. This is not only a clear reason for concern, but also suggests that a more creative approach is needed that reflects realities across the various justice systems in the country in a more thoughtful manner.

Improving the state judiciary: the limitations of the ‘classic’ approach to reform

Reform efforts were initiated within the first decade of Mali’s turn to democracy in 1991 to address the strategic parameters and operational performance issues discussed above. The question as to whether these efforts had been effective grew more salient with the 2012 crisis, since it made the need for a functioning judiciary even more urgent. This section takes a brief look at such past efforts with the aim of extracting lessons as to why they did, or did not, succeed. Since this assessment has already largely been done elsewhere, the following is best read as a brief synthesis.

Two major reform efforts stand out for review. The first are two broad, consecutive judicial reform programmes that are known under the name Programme Décennial de Développement de la Justice (PRODEJ I and II). Together, they span the period 2000 to 2014. The second is the roadmap for judicial reorganisation (carte judiciaire) that was launched in 2011. Table 1 provides a brief summary of the key objectives of these reform efforts.

This table is based on various articles on the judicial roadmap on Justice Mali (accessed 21 July 2015); Ministère de la Justice et des Droits de l’Homme (2014), op. cit., Maliweb (accessed 20 July 2015)

PRODEJ I and II: 2000–14

Both PRODEJ I and II followed a classic approach to improving the performance of the Malian state judiciary through top-down, resource-focused operational interventions. Reviews and evaluations conducted at several points during 14 years of programmatic effort suggest, however, that it is doubtful whether either programme has yielded much by way of large-scale, meaningful improvement in the quality of justice as provided by the state judiciary. On the contrary, some observers have suggested that the programme was primarily used instead as a vehicle to attract donor funds, which were then diverted for private use. Both programmes have also been criticised for being slow, being non-impactful, featuring serious management problems and enjoying weak political support, leading international partners to abandon them once the difficulties of actually improving the justice system had accumulated and became more apparent.[157]

Moreover, a joint study carried out by the CILC and the NHC in 2013–14 found that at three different points of evaluation of the justice system, in 2001, 2007 and 2014, the nature of the problems and the conclusions drawn were consistently similar in nature.[158] These findings do not just suggest that the major problems plaguing the state judicial system persist, they also point to an entrenched resistance to change among Mali’s political and judicial elites and/or the inability of more change-oriented individuals to instigate reform from within.[159] Finally, they indicate that the problems in the state justice sector pre-date the 2012 crisis by a long stretch.[160]

The judicial roadmap: 2011

The judicial roadmap was a governmental initiative to reorganise the Malian state judiciary, which superseded a previous effort that was thwarted by Parliament in 2009.[161] One of its main objectives was to abolish the justices of the peace (Justices de Paix à Compétence Etendue – JCPE; see box 5) as they combine(d) investigative, prosecutorial and judgment functions in the hands of one person. While intended as an affordable method of bringing state justice to Mali’s more remote corners, this arrangement was criticised as resulting in ‘unjust’ judges who terrorised their litigants.[162] Another major change foreseen by the roadmap was a significant increase in the number of courts throughout the country to improve access to justice. It was projected that the roadmap’s realisation would cost CFA 6.5 billion (c. EUR 10 million).[163] However, with less than 1% of the national budget being allocated to the justice sector, the initiative was entirely dependent on donor support. Unsurprisingly, the transition towards the intended new structure of the state judiciary has advanced at a glacial pace and remains largely incomplete today. Progress is reportedly marginal in the north, but also in the south it seems to be only modest and gradual in nature.[164] The result is the co-existence of the old and new state justice systems, which further increases complexity and lowers performance.

It should come as no great surprise that both PRODEJ and the judicial roadmap have not (yet) created significant change in how state justice is provided in Mali. Both programmes largely seem to have assumed that the operational performance of the state judiciary can be improved by addressing tangible and intangible resource shortfalls. They have focused their efforts and funds correspondingly. However, this was done in a context in which the question of identity remains unsettled in Mali, its government (and judiciary) are strongly dominated by the same executive that was the main interlocutor – or even source – of both initiatives, and in which the state judiciary is structurally inaccessible to most of the population. Combined with what we know today about general challenges to effective reform in developmental settings, such as their sensitive political nature, the phenomenon of ‘isomorphic mimicry’ (superficial institutional adaptation to templates promoted by external actors) and obstacles to collective action, it becomes clear that the assumptions about how change happens that underpinned these initiatives were deeply flawed.[165]

The remaining question to address is whether the space for improving the Malian state judiciary has opened up since 2012. On the upside, the previous minister of justice has discarded the justice and prison administration reform plan for 2015–19 that his predecessor produced.[166] This plan, if continued, might have increased the independence of the Superior Council for the Magistracy and the Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Commission, but it also featured assumptions regarding change similar to those in PRODEJ I and II in terms of its top-down approach and resource-oriented nature.[167] Instead, the previous minister of justice conducted a series of workshops that aimed at enabling judges and judicial officials working in the ‘front offices’ of justice provision – that is, the courts – to suggest priorities for reform, and he intended to develop action plans and budgets on the basis of their proposals.[168] It is too early for any sort of review of this initiative – if it is continued under the present minister of justice - but the approach holds promise as it is more bottom-up in nature, while, nevertheless, remaining firmly within the confines of the state judiciary.

On the downside, the initial hope for change that accompanied the election of Ibrahim Boubacar Keïta as president seems to have largely dissipated two years into his term in office. Mali’s political elite, including the President, does not seem to be seized by a particular sense of urgency that change in how Mali is governed is necessary in the wake of the 2012 crisis. The security-first prism through which donors have chosen to identify their priorities in Mali contributes to this sentiment because it has led the international community to continue working with the Malian government as its key partner in the fight against terrorism and organised crime – in spite of the existential crisis of the Malian state that occurred only three years ago. In consequence, many of the dysfunctional and self-serving practices of the preceding period continue, popular discontent is rising and accusations of embezzlement and mismanagement of funds have been made against the President’s entourage.[169]

Despite this mixed picture, there are more donors involved in the justice sector in 2015 than there were prior to the crisis, and they recognise the need for a coordinated approach. This creates the possibility of stronger advocacy that may in turn enlarge the space for efforts to improve the performance of the state of justice in Mali, if a shared strategy can be developed that helps bring together currently fragmented international initiatives.[170]