How tyrants fall and how.., p.17
How Tyrants Fall: And How Nations Survive, page 17
The method commonly used is to assemble a force of elite fighters who can defend the dictator against the public at large and also against attacks from within the regime. The issue with this approach is that those elite fighters can easily become political actors in their own right, for example by supporting coup d’états against the leader. In ancient Rome, the Praetorian Guard ‒ supposed to protect rulers – regularly helped to overthrow them, the most notorious example being probably the Emperor Caligula, who was assassinated by his Guard during a festival in 41 ad.
The Praetorian Guard were eventually dismantled by one of Caligula’s successors. However, the possibility of a personal bodyguard turning traitor is a constant threat to modern rulers. Because of it, some leaders have resorted to recruiting foreigners. By virtue of their being foreign, such guards are seen as less of a coup risk because they have neither the same level of interest in domestic politics nor the legitimacy that is required to run a government.
Today, demand for this ‘service’ has allowed the Russian government to turn itself into an insurance salesman for autocrats, especially in Africa. In the Central African Republic, the Russian paramilitary group Wagner, which had close ties to the Kremlin, was used by the regime to protect itself against assassinations. During the country’s 2020 election campaign, for example, Russian paramilitaries could be seen protecting Faustin-Archange Touadéra, the country’s president. In return for protecting the ruler against threats from within, the mercenaries get mining concessions and lucrative business opportunities in the host country. The Russian government, in turn, gets a foothold in Africa that can be used not just to make money, but also to advance political objectives – for example, getting African countries to vote alongside the Kremlin’s interests at the United Nations.
To Central African President Touadéra and leaders like him, the deal is so attractive because the paramilitaries serve a triple function: not only do they protect him without posing as much of a coup risk, they also provide an active deterrent against others who might be plotting against him. What’s more, they can also be used against other domestic enemies such as rebels. That’s particularly attractive because these ‘bodyguards’ can make up for at least some of the battlefield effectiveness that a dictatorship loses when it coup-proofs its military. When a special advisor to President Touadéra was asked what he made of Wagner’s mutiny against Vladimir Putin’s government, he said: ‘Russia gave us Wagner, the rest isn’t our business . . . If it’s not Wagner anymore and they send Beethoven or Mozart, it doesn’t matter, we’ll take them.’24
But even though the regime is keen on Wagner (or any other ‘composer’), there is a price to pay: Touadéra isn’t just losing mining revenue, but also autonomy. For as foreign fighters become more entrenched in the regime’s security apparatus, they increase their influence in the country’s economy and politics. Wagner’s increase in control has been so vast in the Central African Republic that some analysts have started to refer to it as ‘state capture’.25 And since these fighters are ultimately loyal to Moscow (if even that) and not the regime they are protecting, they might not present a direct coup risk, but they aren’t exactly trustworthy either. If the Kremlin finds a leader who gives them better conditions than Touadéra, the Central African strongman won’t survive in power for long.
For that reason, many dictators prefer fighters who are seen as possessing a special loyalty to the leader. But, as we’ve seen already, all despots face the dictator’s dilemma: they don’t know who around them is genuinely loyal and who is just pretending. Given that structural constraint, banking on the loyalty of subjects is always a gamble.
When Laurent Kabila rebelled against Mobutu Sese Seko to take control of the Democratic Republic of Congo, he made extensive use of kadogo – child soldiers.26 He trusted them. Talking to a foreign businessman, he once said: ‘They will never do anything against me. They have been with me since the beginning.’ ‘They are my children,’ he went on to say. But then one day, when Kabila was discussing an upcoming summit with an advisor, one of his ‘children’ walked in, pulled out a revolver and shot him four times.27
Evidently, there’s no truly good option here. When dictators pick foreign fighters, they put themselves at the mercy of another government. When they pick compatriots, they become more vulnerable to coups because in dictatorships, nobody’s loyalty to the regime is assured.
Instead of putting bodyguards between the tyrant and others, there’s also the option of isolating the dictatorship using space, fences and guard towers. That can be effective because most assassination attempts occur during the leader’s public appearances at speeches, rallies or parades, or when he is travelling by car, helicopter or plane.28 If there are fewer public appearances and the tyrant spends most of his time in the remote fortress constructed specifically to guarantee his safety, he is less likely to be killed.
For democratic leaders, isolating themselves is extremely difficult. Because they need to win (fair) elections, they need to campaign and be seen among the people. It’s impossible not to be. Moreover, many of them genuinely enjoy meeting people and listening to their concerns. If they don’t, they are probably in the wrong profession. But what makes the work so enjoyable to them makes life hard for those tasked with protecting them.
Dictators have an advantage here because there’s no need for them to go out and meet real voters. They can be more isolated than democratic leaders and some have taken this to an extreme, isolating their entire country out of fear for themselves.
Landlocked and difficult to access due to mountains and deserts, Paraguay was always more isolated than Chile, Brazil or Uruguay.29 But when José Gaspar Rodríguez de Francia became the country’s ‘Perpetual Dictator’ in 1814, he took matters to extremes. Paranoid and fearing that colonial forces or large neighbouring states could undermine Paraguay’s independence, he turned his nation into a hermit kingdom. Trade with neighbouring states was reduced and foreigners were barely let into the country. If foreigners did enter de Francia’s Paraguay they could soon find themselves in danger. When the celebrated French botanist Aimé Bonpland settled near the Paraná River to cultivate the plant yerba mate, things initially seemed to be going well. Bonpland’s connections, and the labour and wisdom of local workers were a winning combination.30 Then one morning, Bonpland’s colony was attacked when hundreds of Paraguayan soldiers, who had crossed the river under cover of night, struck at daybreak. Nineteen men were killed, dozens taken prisoner.31 For Paraguay’s dictator, Bonpland was a problem twice over: first, his cultivation of yerba mate threatened El Supremo’s own position in the lucrative trade, and second, the French plant expert was an untrustworthy figure who might be working with foreign powers to undermine the regime.32 Perhaps the botanist might even try to kill him? To neutralise the threat, de Francia took Bonpland hostage.
Bonpland wasn’t the only foreigner treated in this way. Johann Rudolf Rengger, a Swiss doctor, was also taken hostage. Rengger describes what it was like to have an audience with the supremo himself: ‘When you meet the dictator, you are not allowed to come closer than six paces until he gives a signal to step forward,’ he wrote. Even then, he went on, ‘you have to stop at a distance of three paces.’ De Francia was so worried about being killed that those meeting him were required to let their arms hang loose with their hands open and facing towards him so he could make sure they didn’t carry a weapon. In fact, not even the dictator’s own officers or civil servants were allowed to approach him if they had a blade on them. And just in case, de Francia always made sure that he had his own weapons within reach wherever he went.33
Following in de Francia’s footsteps and turning an entire country into a hermit kingdom is difficult to do in the modern world, but the point persists: unlike democratic leaders, dictators can afford to isolate themselves. If they can’t do it with their entire country, they can at least isolate themselves from the people they rule.
In the winter of 2022, Russia’s president, Vladimir Putin, was not just isolated but also disconnected from the lived reality of the Russian people. The regime’s future was in question. With Ukrainians bravely resisting Russia’s war of aggression, the Russian armed forces were slowly running out of soldiers. Since there weren’t nearly enough voluntary recruits, young Russian men were forced into the fight. Conditions for these soldiers were horrendous. For tens of thousands of families, the war that they had previously seen on slickly produced propaganda shows had now become reality as sons, fathers and husbands were sent to get killed in Ukraine’s cold, unforgiving mud. Some of the conscripted soldiers were so poorly equipped that their families had to buy them medical kits. And if they ever dared to retreat, away from the enemy’s artillery shells or anti-tank missiles, they might have to face so-called ‘barrier troops’, deployed by Moscow (or Grozny) to shoot soldiers who simply wanted to escape from the carnage.34
The aunt of one young Russian man from the western region of Lipetsk said her nephew was sent to the frontlines in Ukraine eight days after being mobilised. There weren’t even any commanders there. ‘They were hit by mortar fire,’ she said. ‘Why, after one week of training, were they thrown into the woods and left there to die?’ she wanted to know.35
On 25 November 2022, Putin was sitting in a cream-coloured chair in front of television cameras at his luxurious estate west of Moscow. He spoke to seventeen mothers with sons fighting in Ukraine. ‘I want you to know that me [sic] personally and the country’s leadership share this pain,’ Putin said. ‘We understand that nothing can replace the loss of a son, a child,’ he added.36 It finally looked as if Putin had been brave enough to meet popular dissatisfaction head on. But instead, the whole thing was staged. All the mothers were handpicked by the regime: one was a former government official; another the mother of a senior military official from Chechnya; several of them were active in pro-war NGOs financed by the state.37
To add insult to injury, Putin didn’t just fake the meeting to make it seem as if the war had more public support than it did. He told the women (and more importantly viewers at home) that they shouldn’t trust anything he hadn’t faked. ‘It is clear that life is more complicated and diverse than what is shown on TV screens or even on the internet – you can’t trust anything there at all, there are a lot of all sorts of fakes, deception, lies,’ Putin said.38 Obviously, the chance of one of those handpicked women getting up and stabbing Putin was extremely low. But if he hadn’t faked the meeting and had met with real mothers instead, could one of them have attempted to kill the man who had sent her beloved child to his death in Bakhmut? Maybe, but Putin will never have to find out because, unlike democratic leaders, he can avoid meeting real people.
Another avenue despots can pursue is an intense cult of personality coupled with extreme repression. This can create an atmosphere ‘in which the assassination of a leader is not even contemplated, let alone planned or executed’.39 There are tyrants in history who have made their people believe that they can literally read minds, that they are a deity. And if the man on the poster in the classroom, on the billboard and in the little book everyone has to carry around with them is no man but a God, challenging him would be madness.
A deity would know about it even before it happened. Even if he were to get fired at, he’d undoubtedly survive. Sitting where we do, this might seem rather strange, but from the perspective of the people in those countries, it makes at least some sense. These are people who have witnessed dictators put up giant golden statues of themselves that rotate to follow the sun, or who have created entire cities in the middle of nowhere, seemingly out of thin air. In schools, on television shows and on the radio they are told that the supreme leader sees all and hears all. Why shouldn’t they believe that it’s true?
If ordinary Haitians had met their president during the 1960s, they would probably have seen a man wearing a black top hat, thick black glasses and black suit. With his hands rarely visible, he talked slowly and in a high-pitched voice. He almost looked as though he was from another world, and that was no coincidence. François Duvalier, known as ‘Papa Doc’, due to his background in medicine, deliberately modelled his image on Baron Samedi, a voodoo spirit of the dead.
Knowing that millions of Haitians had strong connections to voodoo, he used it to his advantage. At one point he allegedly ordered his men to cut off a rival’s head and bring it to him because he wanted to talk to his ‘spirit’.40 Duvalier cast himself as a seemingly omnipotent being out of the reach of mere mortals. ‘My enemies cannot get me,’ he used to say. ‘I am already an immaterial being.’41
And to drive home the point of his God-like status, he relentlessly bombarded the population with images of his omnipotence. He even went so far as to introduce a Papa Doc version of the Lord’s Prayer: ‘Our Doc, who art in the National Palace for life, Hallowed be Thy name by present and future generations. Thy will be done at Port-au-Prince and in the provinces.’42
If that wasn’t enough to achieve compliance, Papa Doc still had his bogeymen. The Tontons Macoute would often wear dark uniforms and sunglasses while they killed and tortured Haitians who stepped out of line. As was intended, some of Duvalier’s opponents came to believe that Duvalier knew where they were and what they did.43 He stayed in power for more than thirteen years until he died a natural death.44
But even if tyrants manage to keep their own people from killing them, that’s not the only actor they have to worry about.
In September 1990, United States Air Force chief of staff Michael J. Dugan gave an interview to a Washington Post reporter named Rick Atkinson. This was a time of high tension, as Iraq, under the control of Saddam Hussein, had just invaded and occupied neighbouring Kuwait. The Gulf War was about to begin. In the interview, Dugan suggested the United States would target Saddam Hussein and those close to him, including his personal guard and his mistress. Since Saddam Hussein was ‘a one-man show’, Dugan said, ‘if and when we choose violence he ought to be at the focus of our efforts.’ A little later in the interview the general went on to say that he didn’t expect to be concerned with political constraints.45 As it turned out, Dugan was wrong. Shortly after his comments, he was fired by Vice-President Dick Cheney.
His firing was related to a 1976 executive order which stated: ‘No person employed by or acting on behalf of the United States Government shall engage in, or conspire to engage in, assassination.’46 It was issued by President Gerald Ford, after American intelligence agencies were found to be implicated in several plots to assassinate foreign leaders. Most notable of these was the supplying of weapons to dissidents trying to kill Rafael Trujillo in the Dominican Republic, and also the attempts to kill Fidel Castro, which went on for years. Less well-known is the case of CIA operatives tasked with assassinating the Congolese nationalist Patrice Lumumba in Zaire.47
The commission reporting on the matter had argued that assassination was ‘incompatible with American principles, international order and morality’.48 But it also left a loophole by saying that this only applied outside war – meaning that the assassination of foreign leaders could be acceptable if their nation was at war with the United States.
The United States isn’t the only country that allows for the assassination of foreign heads of state. The Democratic People’s Republic of North Korea, one of the countries against which the United States might attempt targeted killing in the future, has a history of assassinations.
In early 1968, twenty-seven-year-old Kim Shin-jo was in the mountains. It was January when, in the mountains of Korea, it is desperately cold. Sent by Pyongyang, he and his comrades were on their way to Seoul to kill South Korea’s President. Whether by mistake or pure chance, Shin-jo was spotted by some villagers. He knew what he had to do: kill them and bury them. He had a mission and if he didn’t kill them now, the whole plan could be imperilled. But the ground was frozen. If he had to bury them here, he would be at it forever.
After some deliberation, he told them not to tell anyone who they had encountered. As Shin-jo left them, they immediately contacted the police, which informed the military. South Korean soldiers were now on the lookout for Shin-jo and the other infiltrators. Against all odds, they continued advancing towards South Korea’s presidential palace, where they were to assassinate President Park Chung-hee. In the end, they made it to within 100 metres of the Blue House. And although the attack itself failed, it took more than a week and hundreds of soldiers to find and deal with the North Korean death squad. Even then, one of the commandos somehow managed to make it back across the border to North Korea alive. Only discovered by chance, the killers had come very close to achieving their object, which was a major embarrassment to the South Korean regime.49
Three months later, the South Korean government’s answer was being prepared on an islet named Silmido in the Yellow Sea. Thirty-one men, the ‘type that often got into street fights’, were being trained by South Korean security forces.50 The most important lesson they were being taught, as one of their trainers put it, was that you must kill to live.51 The men’s mission was to go up to North Korea, across the demilitarised zone, to kill Kim Il-sung. It was time for payback for the Blue House raid and they were about to slit Kim Il-sung’s throat.52
On the islet of Silmido, life was hard. Isolated, Unit 684 had to battle not just their training routines and the sea, but also their superiors. After a few months on the island, they simply stopped getting paid. The food they were getting was poor. On top of all that, contact with the outside world was strictly prohibited. When two of them tried to escape in June 1968, they were beaten to death. Another recruit died during sea-survival training.53
