Category: Africa

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Tony Roberts, Digital Research Fellow, Institute of Development Studies

Across Africa, governments are introducing digital systems that use individuals’ unique physical measurements to identify them. These systems collect citizens’ biometric and personal data and use it to give people access to essential public services like voting, healthcare, education and social protection. Biometric digital identification systems are often promoted as tools to improve efficiency, inclusion and service delivery.

But a new report by the African Digital Rights Network, published by the Institute of Development Studies, highlights serious concerns about exclusion, rights violations, data protection and accountability. Drawing on evidence from ten African countries, the report shows how millions of people are struggling to enrol in or safely use these systems, or are choosing not to participate due to fear and mistrust.

The report draws on the expertise of researchers based in each of the ten countries studied. Tony Roberts, co-editor of the report, takes us through what they found.

What are biometric digital IDs and why are they both useful and problematic?

Digital-ID is a form of identification that can hold large amounts of sensitive personal data. This includes biographic data like name, date of birth and address, as well as biometric data such as fingerprints and facial recognition. What makes digital-ID distinct from paper-based IDs is that it is machine readable. And, when it’s connected to the internet, millions of people can be identified and verified, instantly and remotely.

Biometric digital-ID includes facial recognition, fingerprints, iris scans and voice patterns that are unique to individuals. It can verify that an individual is who they claim to be.

Increasingly, biometric digital-ID systems are being imposed across Africa and used to determine who gets services or entitlements. For example, fingerprint or iris scans are used during elections to confirm that a person is entitled to vote. In Botswana and in Malawi there are examples of ID chaos threatening voter registration.

But these systems are leaving millions of citizens in Africa unable to obtain essential services. Some people struggle to register for biometric digital-ID due to disability or illiteracy. There are costs to use online systems, including phone access, mobile data, or electric power for phone charging. This is deepening existing inequalities.

How is uptake happening in Africa?

Our report includes ten country studies. The research was coordinated by the African Digital Rights Network, bringing together 75 digital rights researchers from 30 African countries, in collaboration with Paradigm Initiative, a non-profit organisation.

We found that pressure to adopt biometric systems often comes from foreign funders and creates dependencies on foreign technology providers.

The World Bank claims that the motivation for spending billions of dollars on digital-ID is to meet the Sustainable Development Goal of “identity for all”. But the role of private vendors, international funders and even state actors may also reflect interests in profit generation, data control, or surveillance of populations.

The introduction of biometric digital IDs varies between countries. Between 2017 and 2025, Ghana registered 19 million people (around 95% of the adult population) to a system called GhanaCard. In Ethiopia, 28 million people (around 35%) have enrolled in the Fayda-ID scheme. In the Democratic Republic of Congo there is still no digital-ID system despite repeated announcements and legislation introduced to enable it since 2011.

In Senegal, biometric digital-ID, with fingerprint data, was introduced in law in 2016. Citizens need it to obtain a phone number, bank account and public services, such as electricity and water. Based on 2025 data, it’s estimated that around 10 million citizens hold a biometric national ID card, just over 90% of the population aged 15 and over.

But this suggests that around 10% of the population over 15 – over 1 million people – lack ID and therefore lack access to essential services and entitlements.

What are the challenges of rolling them out?

One of the challenges is that universal human rights which should be unconditional become conditional on enrolment in a biometric digital-ID scheme. These include access to education, healthcare, social security and voting. Withholding access is a violation of fundamental human rights.

The report includes the case of Ethiopia, where registration in the Fayda digital-ID system is a condition of access to government services, banking and mobile telecoms.

Millions of citizens cannot enrol, particularly those with disabilities. For example, some people don’t have fingerprints due to amputation, diseases including leprosy, years of hard manual labour or old age. Some people cannot provide iris scans due to vision problems.

Millions of Africans are also denied legal ID because government officials dispute their citizenship. The project of digital-ID is sold as a solution. But research shows that it reproduces this form of discrimination and injustice.

For example, in Kenya, members of the Somali, Nubian and Pemba communities who have lived in the country for five or six generations and inter-married are discriminated against and rendered stateless. They are denied digital-ID and so cannot access education, healthcare, voting and social protection.

Some do not want to enrol for a biometric digital-ID because they have good reason not to trust their governments with their personal information. In countries like Sudan and Ethiopia the state is targeting people based on their ethnic group or on other identifiers such as surname, address or religion which are used as proxies for ethnicity.

Are there any dangers?

The use of biometric digital-ID introduces new challenges and risks. These include risks to privacy caused by data leakage or sharing and risks of exclusion due to poor data quality or mismatches.

There are also privacy risks involved because biometrics are permanent. People need to be aware and give informed consent. Data protection principles should be followed.

There is a lack of adequate legal frameworks and robust digital security to prevent unauthorised access to sensitive data. Countries also lack accountability mechanisms for when data entry errors, breaches or system failures occur.

The Universal Digital Public Infrastructure Safeguards Initiative has a framework of 18 core principles to ensure that digital-ID is secure, inclusive and rights-based.

Eight out of ten countries studied in the report have no law specifically governing digital-ID, and none include special protection. In some cases, where legal provisions exist, enforcement is weak or symbolic.

Independent oversight bodies are rare, as are judicial mechanisms to contain function creep – where ID systems expand beyond their original scope. Governments could secure consent by saying that digital-ID will only be used for a single purpose, such as voting. But then they could make it mandatory for accessing education, healthcare, employment and banking.

Without stronger legislation, clearer accountability and harmonised regional standards, digital-ID projects risk entrenching inequality and mistrust rather than delivering inclusion or security.

– Biometric IDs are being rolled out in Africa. Study reveals the risks and pitfalls
– https://theconversation.com/biometric-ids-are-being-rolled-out-in-africa-study-reveals-the-risks-and-pitfalls-273510

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Siyabulela Christopher Fobosi, Senior Researcher, UNESCO ‘Oliver Tambo’ Chair of Human Rights, University of Fort Hare, University of Fort Hare

South Africa’s minibus taxi industry is the backbone of the country’s public transport system. Every day, millions of commuters rely on it. In many low-income and peri-urban communities, there is no real alternative. They account for roughly 70% of daily public transport trips in the country.

Yet despite its scale and significance, the industry remains largely informal. It is governed less by formal contracts and clear regulatory systems than by relationships, trust and unwritten rules.

This makes the sector an important subject for industrial and economic sociology scholars like myself, who are concerned with how regulation, labour and economic life unfold in practice rather than merely on paper. Particularly in contexts marked by informality, inequality and contested regulatory environments.

In a recent study, my co-author and I explore how “social capital” – the networks, shared norms and trust that connect people – shapes the governance, labour relations and everyday functioning of the minibus taxi sector.

We conducted a structured search of academic databases and South African institutional repositories, and analysed 62 peer-reviewed articles, theses and policy reports to identify themes.

Our central finding is that social capital within South Africa’s minibus taxi industry operates as a double-edged sword. The same dense networks of trust, shared norms and reciprocal obligations that enable the industry to function also entrench inequality, exclusion and, at times, violence. Social capital is a source of both resilience and instability.

This matters because policy debates have too often treated the industry’s informality either as a problem to be eradicated or as a reality to be tolerated. Our research suggests that sustainable reform requires a hybrid approach: one that works with social capital rather than against it. Efforts to formalise or regulate the sector are unlikely to succeed if they ignore the networks and authority structures that already govern it.

It is therefore essential to engage with taxi associations, drivers and commuters, recognising their lived realities and institutional knowledge. It is possible to make the industry safer, fairer and more efficient without undermining the social foundations on which it depends.

An industry born of exclusion

The modern minibus taxi industry took shape during apartheid (1948-1990), when black South Africans were systematically excluded from formal urban planning and public transport provision. Commuters faced long journeys between racially segregated townships and economic centres, so entrepreneurs began operating minibuses to meet demand. The sector grew rapidly because it was responsive, decentralised and embedded in communities.

In the new democratic era after 1994, the industry continued to expand – but without being fully integrated into formal transport planning. Today, it comprises hundreds of thousands of vehicles organised into roughly 1,500 taxi associations nationwide. These associations regulate routes, manage disputes and coordinate operations. Alongside them are individual taxi owners, who own vehicles and lease them out, and drivers.

Part of the reason for this limited integration is that the state has lacked the institutional capacity and the political leverage to impose coherent oversight on the sector.

In the absence of consistent and effective state oversight, informal systems of governance have developed. These systems are rooted in social relationships.

Understanding social capital

The concept of social capital is often associated with political scientist Robert Putnam, who defined it as the networks and norms that enable collective action. According to this view, trust and civic engagement help communities solve shared problems.

But sociologist Pierre Bourdieu offered a more critical perspective. For him, social capital was not simply about cooperation. It was also a resource that groups could use to consolidate power and exclude others.

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Read more: Ghana’s informal settlements are not all the same – social networks make a difference in community development

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Drawing on these traditions, we distinguish between three forms of social capital in the taxi industry:

• bonding: tight-knit networks within taxi associations and owner groups

• bridging: connections across different associations or stakeholder groups

• linking: vertical ties between the industry and formal institutions such as government departments, banks and law enforcement agencies.

All three forms are present in the minibus taxi sector. But they operate unevenly, and their effects are not always positive.

The strengths of dense networks

Bonding social capital is particularly strong within taxi associations. These organisations function as powerful, if informal, regulatory bodies. They control routes, set fare guidelines and enforce industry norms. Membership provides access to shared resources and a measure of protection in a competitive market.

These dense networks allow for rapid coordination. If disputes arise, they can often be resolved internally without recourse to the courts. If demand shifts or new residential areas develop, associations can adjust routes quickly. In communities where formal institutions are perceived as distant or ineffective, such embedded systems can appear more responsive and legitimate.

Trust is also central to financial arrangements. Many taxi owners rely on rotating credit schemes and informal savings groups to finance vehicle purchases and maintenance. Formal financial institutions frequently regard the sector as high risk, making credit expensive or out of reach. Social networks therefore take the place of formal banking relationships.

The driver-owner relationship also depends heavily on trust. In many cases, drivers lease vehicles for a fixed daily fee, with no written contracts. Instead, expectations are governed by personal relationships and informal understandings.

In short, social capital fills gaps left by weak or uneven formal regulation enabling coordination, resilience and continuity.

When networks entrench power

However, the same bonding social capital that enables coordination can also reinforce hierarchy and exclusion.

Taxi associations control access to routes, which are the primary source of income. Because associations regulate who may operate on which routes, they wield considerable power. Dense networks of members can create barriers to entry for outsiders.

Disputes over routes are a feature of the industry. In some cases, they escalate into violence. Such conflicts arise in a system where economic survival depends on territorial control and where formal mediation mechanisms are weak.

Social capital here functions as a resource of dominance. Associations mobilise networks to maintain authority and legitimacy. Their links to communities can confer symbolic power, even in the absence of formal legal recognition.

Most drivers, by contrast, occupy a precarious position. Many are not members of associations in their own right. They lease vehicles from owners and have to meet fixed daily payment targets. To do so, they frequently work shifts exceeding 12 hours. If they fall short, they may absorb the loss themselves.

Without formal employment contracts, drivers typically lack access to medical benefits, unemployment insurance or retirement savings. Trust-based arrangements limit recourse in cases of exploitation or unfair treatment.

In this context, social capital benefits some actors more than others.

The missing links to formal institutions

While bonding social capital within associations is strong, linking social capital between the industry and formal institutions remains comparatively weak.

Government has attempted to formalise and regulate the sector, most notably through the Taxi Recapitalisation Programme. The aim was to replace older vehicles, improve safety and integrate the industry more fully into national transport policy. Yet implementation has been uneven, and many reforms have met resistance.

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Read more: Operational subsidies are key to reforming South Africa’s minibus taxi sector

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One reason is that policy interventions don’t “talk to” existing informal governance structures. Top-down regulation can be perceived as a threat to association autonomy. Where there is limited trust between the state and industry actors, compliance is likely to be partial.

Towards hybrid governance

The research suggests that industry reforms would have to recognise and work with social capital.

Formalisation should not simply impose external control. It should build on existing structures while introducing safeguards.

Legal recognition of taxi associations as cooperatives is one potential pathway. This could enhance access to subsidies, training and financial services. It could also clarify governance and accountability.

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Read more: Why the South African state should not subsidise minibus taxi owners

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Standardised employment contracts for drivers are another step. They could provide greater security, define working hours and clarify dispute resolution processes.

Digital technologies may also help. Mobile payment systems could reduce reliance on cash, improve transparency and minimise disputes over fares. Digital platforms for route management could support fairer allocation processes and clearer record-keeping.

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Read more: Cashless card payments for public transport: Lagos commuters don’t trust the technology

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Drivers and commuters would have to take part in creating these solutions.

A delicate balance

The future of South Africa’s minibus taxi industry depends on striking a careful balance. Reform must recognise that the sector’s social capital is both its foundation and its fault line.

Strengthening bridging and linking social capital – across associations and between the industry and the state – can reduce conflict and foster shared accountability.

The challenge is not to dismantle the social fabric of the minibus taxi industry, but to reshape it, so that trust, cooperation and collective action serve all who depend on it.

Although our study focuses on South Africa, its implications extend more broadly. Across the global south, informal transport systems play a central role in urban mobility. They are often more adaptable than formal systems but also more vulnerable to conflict and labour exploitation.

– South Africa’s minibus taxi industry runs on social bonds – reform must accept this
– https://theconversation.com/south-africas-minibus-taxi-industry-runs-on-social-bonds-reform-must-accept-this-276771

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Jan Pospisil, Researcher at the Austrian Institute for International Affairs

South Sudan has not held an election since it gained independence 15 years ago, and progress towards a new constitution has stalled. Election dates have been set and postponed at least three times. A new date has been set for December 2026 but it’s unclear the poll will take place. If it does, it will be the first electoral test for President Salva Kiir, who has been in power since 2011. It raises the question of what legal guardrails exist for a smooth transition to new leadership outside an election. Jan Pospisil, who has studied the country’s politics and power-sharing agreements, explains what’s in place.

What legal frameworks govern presidential succession in South Sudan?

Two legal frameworks operate side by side to regulate the succession question in South Sudan: the 2011 transitional constitution and the 2018 peace agreement, which has a quasi-constitutional quality.

Read together, the logic in the 2011 and 2018 frameworks is straightforward. Upon vacancy, the first vice-president acts as president, but only until the party in power nominates a successor. The president’s party then has 48 hours to nominate a replacement. If a nomination is made within that period, however, the nominee is sworn in and replaces the acting first vice-president.

The peace agreement overlays the constitutional acting mechanism with a time-limited party entitlement. But it does not replace the constitutional fallback.

A more granular breakdown looks like this.

The 2018 agreement is based on a power-sharing deal between five major political parties and blocs. It is the primary framework governing the country’s transitional period from conflict to democracy.

The peace agreement created a collective presidency composed of a president, one first vice-president and four vice-presidents. The four vice-presidents are considered equal in rank.

The key provision on succession is clause 1.6.5. It states that if the post of the president falls vacant during the transitional period, the replacement shall be nominated by the respective party as constituted at the signing of the agreement. The process of choosing a successor must also be done within 48 hours of the post falling vacant.

The clause establishes two principles.

First, the presidency remains allocated to the party that originally held the position under the power-sharing arrangement. In this case, it’s the mainstream SPLM, now called SPLM-IG, for “in government”. This is to differentiate it from the main opposition that formed in December 2013 in the course of civil war, SPLM-IO, for “in opposition”.

Second, the party’s right to nominate a successor is time-bound. The 48-hour window is designed to preserve the elite settlement and guarantee executive continuity with minimal friction.

What the agreement doesn’t do is spell out in detail what happens during those 48 hours. It does not foresee the creation of a separate interim authority for this short period.

Instead, continuity is ensured through the 2011 transitional constitution.

In the constitution, article 102 defines five ways the president’s office can become vacant. These are expiration of the term of office, resignation, impeachment, mental infirmity or physical incapacity and death. It lays out the respective succession rules.

If the presidency falls vacant, the vice-president assumes office temporarily,

pending the filling of this position, within fourteen days from the date of the occurrence of the vacancy, by a nominee of the political party on whose ticket he or she was elected.

Under the post-2018 structure, this provision applies to the first vice-president.

There has been precedent for such structured succession. In 2005, Salva Kiir assumed regional leadership following the death of John Garang under the constitutional framework that was then in force. At the time, South Sudan was a semi-autonomous region led by Garang, with Kiir as his deputy.

What happens if the 48-hour deadline is missed?

This raises difficulties. The 2018 agreement sets a time limit but does not contain a separate sanction clause.

If nomination occurs on hour 72 or 96 rather than hour 48, the text does not specify whether the party’s entitlement automatically lapses.

Different interpretations are possible. One reading treats the deadline as mandatory: once expired, the first vice-president’s acting role becomes substantive, and he or she becomes the president.

Another reading is that a delayed nomination could still be recognised if political actors agreed. This would be in line with the transitional constitution, which allows a 14-day window for nominations that need to be accepted by the vice-president acting as president.

In practice, such a scenario would likely be resolved through political bargaining rather than judicial enforcement.

What about the issue of someone being detained or being on trial?

This is a further complexity as the current first vice-president, Riek Machar, is in detention and on trial.

Detention or trial, however, do not automatically create a vacancy under either the 2011 constitution or the 2018 peace agreement. Unless the office holder resigns or is formally removed, the position remains legally intact.

If the presidency were to fall vacant while the first vice-president was detained but not removed, the legal text would still designate the latter as the acting authority.

The 2018 agreement does not rank the other vice-presidents for automatic succession. All are explicitly of equal rank.

Any attempt to bypass the first vice-president without formal removal would therefore be politically and legally contested.

Where are the biggest risks in the current system?

Behind these legal provisions lie political realities.

The 48-hour clause requires rapid consensus within the president’s party, the mainstream SPLM. The 2018 agreement does not specify which internal organ of the party must nominate the successor. Instead, this process is guided by internal party leadership structures, rules and regulations. In practice, this is likely to be handled by the SPLM Political Bureau.

However, the decision-making would be shaped by more than formal party ranks. Other factors, especially the support of the security sector, ethnopolitical balances and existing patronage networks, would come into play.

The presidency has historically been embedded in military and security structures, which gives succession an importance that extends beyond procedural law.

The 48-hour provision is clear on paper, but its operation depends entirely on political cohesion. If consensus fails, the text alone cannot prevent contestation.

How would elections help?

The picture could change once elections become a realistic possibility and a nomination process is held. South Sudan has postponed elections previously due to delayed preparations, political resistance and lack of funding. Polls are now slated for December 2026.

A post-transition order would revert to a presidency-vice presidency model as per the transition reflected in the country’s National Election Act, with a vice-president elected on a ticket as running mate, and thus positioned as the undisputed successor. Elections would force parties to clarify leadership hierarchies in advance.

In this sense, an electoral framework does not merely choose a president – it simplifies succession.

– South Sudan has never had an election to hand over presidential power: so what are the rules of succession?
– https://theconversation.com/south-sudan-has-never-had-an-election-to-hand-over-presidential-power-so-what-are-the-rules-of-succession-276640