Conclusion

Many of the causes of the most recent Ivorian conflict are clear: a decade of state-led discrimination against northerners and West African immigrants over the manipulated notion of citizenship; incitation to hatred against these groups; the proliferation of violent militia groups and their close collaboration with Gbagbo’s elite security forces; a failed judicial system; and, most directly, Gbagbo’s refusal to hand over power after losing the run-off. Gbagbo’s forces unleashed the violence in the election’s immediate aftermath and raised the scale and gruesomeness of their attacks at every subsequent stage of the crisis. By the end, their acts included war crimes and likely crimes against humanity, with responsibility up to the highest levels of military and civilian leadership.

But, while Gbagbo’s obsession with remaining in power may have provoked the latest armed conflict, by the fighting’s end in mid-May, Ouattara’s Republican Forces had committed atrocities that likewise fell within the gravest crimes identified under international criminal law. When speaking with or reading statements from government officials—and even diplomats from countries supportive of the Ouattara government—one gets the sense that while they recognize the Republican Forces committed bad acts, they consider them less egregious because “but for” Gbagbo’s refusal to step down, the violence may never have happened. While logical in apportioning political blame, the argument fails under norms of human rights and international humanitarian law. Civilians from pro-Gbagbo groups who watched Ouattara’s forces kill and rape loved ones or burn their villages to the ground were no more legitimate targets than the northern Ivorians and West African immigrants killed by Gbagbo’s forces. From the victims’ vantage point—many who did not particularly care if Gbagbo remained in power, even if they voted for him, but rather wanted to return to the country’s previous stability and prosperity—the collective punishment engaged in by the two forces looked highly similar and equally costly.

High-level commanders on both sides are implicated in war crimes and likely crimes against humanity. At times, the violence they engaged in and oversaw reached a shocking level of depravity. In some respects, the nature of the violence should come as little surprise. Both Gbagbo’s forces and the Republican Forces (when formerly the Forces Nouvelles) had a long history of targeting opponents for murder, rape, and pillaging. And no manner how many people were killed, no one on either side had been held responsible for their acts. This sidelining of justice was often abetted by key actors in the international community, who believed justice was incompatible with ongoing peace negotiations. Some continue to believe so, failing to learn from lessons past, when postponing justice meant persons implicated in grave crimes remained entrenched in positions of power. When tensions again mounted, they returned to inflicting violence against civilians, having learned that there was almost no cost to doing so.

While life has started to return to normal for large parts of the population, particularly in Abidjan, insecurity continues for many who are thought to have supported Gbagbo—especially young men perceived as militiamen based on their age and ethnicity. More than 150,000 refugees remain in either Liberia or Ghana, afraid to return home. Reconciliation still appears a long way off.

Since taking control of the country, Ouattara’s first steps to address impunity have been uneven, at best. Despite repeated promises that the government would hold accountable all who committed grave crimes during the conflict, the reality looks like victor’s justice—with not a single member of the Republican Forces charged at time of writing. At times, the Justice Minister, presidential spokespersons, and even Ouattara himself have flatly denied the possibility that violations reported by human rights organizations could have merit—despite that, in some cases, the findings have been made independently by an international commission of inquiry, the UNOCI Human Rights Division, Human Rights Watch, the International Federation for Human Rights, and Amnesty International. In a few instances, high-level government officials have gone so far as to malign these organizations, either directly or through newspapers supported openly by their political parties, in actions that look similar to the way Gbagbo ruled.

The country sits at a crucial moment, one in which it can make a break from its past and return to the rule of law or add a new level of grievances to what has fueled violence and insecurity for a decade. Côte d’Ivoire has tried impunity. It has tried political and ethnic favoritism. The most recent result was at least 3,000 civilians killed and more than 150 women raped. September 29 marked the six-month anniversary of the Duékoué massacre—perhaps the most egregious, but just one of many events involving grave crimes by the Republican Forces. The women who watched their husbands and sons pulled out of their houses and executed at point-blank range have received no justice; their neighborhoods and villages are still burned to the ground, and the residents who escaped death are mostly living elsewhere, often in humanitarian camps. The time for Ouattara to live up to his rhetoric on impartial justice is long overdue. So too is real pressure to ensure impartial justice from the French and US governments, the UN Security Council, and ECOWAS. All of them rightfully threw their weight behind Ouattara after Gbagbo refused to step down. But they have been largely silent, publicly, while selective justice takes root. Without the will at the domestic and international levels to ensure credible, impartial justice, Côte d’Ivoire is unlikely to break the cycles of violence, with dangerous implications for respect for rule of law and the country’s stability.