Coup After Coup

As former President Andry Rajoelina loses both power and citizenship, Madagascar’s turbulent waltz between democracy and military rule repeats itself with echoes of a lingering colonial past.

Few African nations embody political déjà vu quite like Madagascar. The Indian Ocean island, famed for its unique biodiversity, has long been equally fertile ground for political upheaval. Earlier this month, the military once again stepped into the presidential palace in what is its seventh intervention since independence from France in 1960. The ousted president, Andry Rajoelina, fled into exile. Now, the country’s new rulers have stripped him of his Malagasy citizenship, citing his possession of a French passport. For a leader who first rose to power through a coup 15 years ago, history has come full circle.

The decree, signed by Prime Minister Herintsalama Rajaonarivelo, invoked an old law prohibiting dual nationality for Malagasy citizens. In principle, it is a technicality. In practice, it is political theater. By rescinding Rajoelina’s citizenship, the junta signalled a break with the Western-leaning elite who have long dominated Madagascar’s politics while reminding the island’s 30 million people that power, not legality, dictates legitimacy. The French passport, a symbol of privilege for a postcolonial class, has become the instrument of disgrace.

Rajoelina’s fall was as sudden as his rise. In 2009, then a young disc jockey-turned-mayor of Antananarivo, he led street protests that forced President Marc Ravalomanana into exile and installed himself as head of a transitional authority. Back then, France and other foreign powers hesitated to call it a coup, preferring the fiction of an interim government. Elections returned him to power in 2018, and he won again in 2023, though not without controversy over his dual nationality. The revelation that he had quietly obtained French citizenship in 2014 led critics to question whether he had ever truly severed ties with the former colonial master.

The irony of being undone by the very legal technicality that once threatened his candidacy is not lost on Malagasy observers. Yet, as in the past, the drama of individual downfall masks the deeper tragedy of institutional fragility. Madagascar’s political story has been one of alternating strongmen and soldiers, punctuated by popular uprisings that promise democracy but deliver paralysis. Coups in 1972, 1975, 1991, 1996, 2002, 2009 and now 2025 have left the country trapped in a loop of fleeting reform and enduring stagnation.

Each cycle follows a familiar script. Economic hardship fuels street protests. The security forces, initially deployed to suppress unrest, eventually side with the protesters or seize power themselves. The deposed leader flees abroad. Foreign governments issue calls for calm and ‘inclusive dialogue.’ Within months, a caretaker administration promises elections. When they come, they often restore one faction of the old order. The result is not revolution but rotation.

Rajoelina’s ouster was no exception. His final months in office were marred by rolling blackouts, water shortages, and soaring prices that left the young particularly angry. Demonstrations swelled in Antananarivo and provincial cities. Twenty-two people were killed and more than a hundred injured as security forces cracked down. When elements of the army turned against him, Rajoelina declared he feared for his life and disappeared from public view. Within days, Colonel Michael Randrianirina appeared on state television, promising “a new dawn” and elections within two years.

Meanwhile, the arrest of Rajoelina’s close associate, Maminiaina Ravatomanga, in Mauritius on charges of laundering $163 million, underscores the murky entanglement of business and politics that has long plagued the island.

Underlying the turmoil is Madagascar’s unresolved relationship with France. Though independence came 65 years ago, French interests still shape its economy and elite politics. Dual citizens occupy key business and political positions; French firms dominate infrastructure and mining. Rajoelina’s possession of a French passport was not unusual among the upper class, but it exposed the enduring contradiction of Malagasy nationalism tethered to colonial privilege. In stripping him of citizenship, the junta seeks to present itself as a nationalist corrective. Yet its own survival, like that of previous regimes, will likely depend on aid and recognition from Paris.