Mali: What Were the Reasons and the Consequences of the 25 April Attacks?

The coordinated offensive launched in late April 2026 by the jihadi group Jama’at Nusrat al-Islam wal-Muslimin (JNIM) and the Tuareg dominated separatist Front de Libération de l’Azawad (FLA) marked a decisive turning point in the conflict dynamics of Mali and the broader Sahel. The operation – including simultaneous attacks across several regions, the recapture of Kidal, the historic Tuareg rebellion “capital” captured by Malian forces and Wagner on November 2023, and a deadly vehicle-borne suicide bombing that killed Mali’s defence minister – demonstrated not only the growing military sophistication of insurgent actors but also the emergence of a new political and strategic alignment in northern Mali. More than battlefield success, the offensive revealed the consolidation of a military alliance between jihadist and separatist forces that had previously been divided by ideology, competing objectives, and periods of violent confrontation. On the scale of the country, although the attacks triggered political reactions from several opposition figures to the ruling junta, nevertheless the political momentum for a regime change does not seem reached yet. 

The Emergence of the JNIM–FLA Alliance

The open alliance between JNIM and the FLA had been under negotiation for more than a year before the attacks took place. Discussions began in early 2025 and were facilitated by key Tuareg figures, particularly al-Ghabass Ag Intalla, an influential personality within the FLA and a close associate of Bilal Ag al-Charif, the leader of the FLA. Ag Intalla’s role was to establish direct communication with Iyad Ag Ghali, the Tuareg leader of JNIM and one of the most influential jihadist figures in the Sahel. These personal and tribal relationships were critical because they allowed former rivals to negotiate and build a strategic partnership. 

The most significant outcome of this agreement was ideological. The FLA, whose roots lie partly in the secular nationalist tradition of the Azawad National Liberation Movement (MNLA), accepted the implementation of Sharia law, albeit in moderate form, in territories jointly controlled with JNIM. This concession was essential for JNIM to join any formal alliance. However, this pragmatic agreement was made possible by JNIM’s less brutal version of Sharia, compared with other jihadist groups in northern Mali. Distancing itself from governance associated with public executions, amputations, or mass coercion practiced by al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb in northern Mali in 2012, or with harsh punishment practiced by the Islamic State Sahel Province (ISSP), JNIM promoted what they described as a “customary” version of Sharia already implemented in many rural areas since the organisation’s formation in 2017. This model relies heavily on local Islamic judges and traditional authorities rather than on direct rule by jihadist judges and administrators. In many parts of rural Mali, the collapse or absence of state institutions had already pushed populations toward local Islamic courts to resolve disputes, with JNIM proving de facto the only force capable of enforcing those decisions. This distinction explains why many local populations have come to tolerate or even support JNIM’s presence by fear of, or in opposition to, more radical groups like ISSP.

The strategic logic behind the alliance was equally important. JNIM convinced the FLA that outright independence for Azawad was unrealistic because neither governments in the region nor the international community would support the partition of Mali. However, JNIM argued that autonomy under a shared Islamic governance was more achievable than formal independence, and could be tolerated or accepted internationally following recent similar experiences in Afghanistan or Syria. 

The movement also stressed that defeating the Bamako junta and expelling Russian forces would require broader ethnic and military mobilisation, beyond the northern provinces. This point was particularly important for fighters from the nomadic or sedentary rural Fulani tribes, who form a large part of JNIM’s rank and file. It is the Fulani recruits who gave JNIM its outreach further south of Mali, and its trans-ethnic outlook, which explains the choice of Amadou Kouffa – a Fulani preacher – as co-founder of JNIM. While Fulani militants would not fight for a secular Tuareg nationalist project, they mobilised under the banner of Sharia and Islamic governance. This was JNIM’s offer to the FLA: if the Tuareg separatists accepted Islamic governance and abandoned maximalist independence goals, JNIM would further coordinate and commit its Fulani networks and military infrastructure to the fight against Bamako and its Russian allies. 

One of the most notable provisions of the alliance concerned the administration of urban areas. JNIM and the FLA agreed that cities recaptured from the Malian state would be governed jointly, with the FLA holding the dominant administrative role. To prevent disputes from escalating into violence, the groups also established deconfliction mechanisms based on Sharia arbitration courts recognised by both sides. This represented a major departure from the failed alliances of 2012, when Tuareg separatists and jihadist factions quickly turned on one another after seizing northern Mali. 

The partnership also involves exchanges of military assets and expertise. The FLA had begun using improvised explosive devices and explosive first person view drones more effectively against Russian convoys and Malian military targets. Although the insurgents’ weaponry remained relatively conventional—small arms, RPGs, technical vehicles, motorcycles, and commercially available drones—their tactical coordination has improved dramatically. Insurgent groups now use Starlink terminals, GPS mapping, drone reconnaissance, and live battlefield communications to coordinate attacks with remarkable precision. The attacks on Kati and Bamako are examples of this evolution. Fighters mapped military facilities using Google Earth before operations, identified weak points, and coordinated diversions to allow suicide bombers and assault teams to penetrate heavily defended areas. 

The Limits of Russian Military Support

The Malian junta itself helped create the conditions for the acknowledged alliance between JNIM and FLA, by labelling all opposition groups as terrorists, suppressing media and civil society, imprisoning opponents, and alienating neighbouring countries such as Algeria, Mauritania, and Côte d’Ivoire. These policies pushed disparate actors—including secular politicians, exiled opposition leaders, Tuareg separatists, and jihadist groups—toward pragmatic mutual acceptance and even cooperation against Bamako.

This trend is visible in the growing willingness of non-Islamist figures to engage with JNIM. Notably, the case of Oumar Mariko, a Marxist politician and longtime opponent of the junta, who entered JNIM-controlled territory to negotiate the release of detained Malian soldiers abandoned by the government. The opposition movement Coalition of Forces for the Republic (CFR) linked to Imam Mahmoud Dicko, an influential religious figure in exile, also illustrates the growing number of political forces willing to speak with JNIM, as a necessary interlocutor rather than simply a terrorist organisation.

The April 2026 offensive demonstrated the strategic mistake of the junta, and the resulting effectiveness of the new alliance. JNIM and FLA fighters attacked simultaneously across multiple fronts, stretching Malian and Russian forces beyond their capacity. In the north, insurgents from both groups fought side by side in Gao and Kidal rather than operating independently. Russian Africa Corps units (formerly known as Wagner Group) attempted to defend strategic positions, including Kidal and Bamako airport, but they lacked sufficient assets to hold all fronts simultaneously. Faced with the prospect of another disastrous defeat similar to the Tinzaouaten massacre in 2024, when more than 50 Wagner fighters were killed, Russian forces negotiated withdrawals from several northern towns, including Kidal, Tessalit, and Tessit.

Nevertheless, these developments should not be interpreted as the collapse of the relationship between Russia and Mali’s junta. On the contrary, the partnership would likely deepen because Moscow’s main objective in the Sahel is not necessarily defeating jihadist groups, but rather preserving allied military regimes and maintaining geopolitical influence across the region. Russia’s investment in Mali remains relatively low-cost compared to the strategic leverage it gains, and the junta has few alternative partners to turn to, after alienating France, the United States, most neighbouring countries and regional organisations.

The Limits of the Syrian Comparison

Many observers have compared JNIM’s trajectory to that of Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) in Syria, particularly regarding its gradual movement away from global jihadist rhetoric toward localised governance and political pragmatism. JNIM’s communiqués after the April 2026 offensive emphasised negotiation, coexistence, and political dialogue rather than global jihad. The group called on Russian forces to abandon support for the junta in exchange for “future good relations,” encouraged Malian soldiers to surrender and return home, and appealed for a united political front to prevent chaos in Mali. 

However, the comparison with Syria has limits. Unlike the Syria-focused HTS, which formally broke with al-Qaeda after years of internal restructuring, JNIM remains deeply embedded in the social and ethnic dynamics beyond Mali. Shifting too drastically towards a localised vision, and breaking with al-Qaeda too quickly could fracture the movement and drive fighters—particularly among Fulani communities—toward the ranks of the Islamic State. Indeed, JNIM’s primary strategic concern since 2019 has increasingly been its rivalry with ISSP.

The Intensifying Rivalry Between JNIM and ISSP

This rivalry is especially intense in regions like Ménaka, where JNIM attempted unsuccessfully to contain ISSP expansion. JNIM invested substantial manpower and resources into fighting the Islamic State there, but ultimately failed. As a result, the Islamic State now controls large rural areas around Ménaka and continues to hold Western hostages abducted in neighbouring Niger.

The competition between JNIM and ISSP is not only military but also political and ideological. Fulani fighters have suffered heavy casualties in the conflict between the two organisations. If Fulani fighters, and therefore communities, do not receive meaningful political concessions through negotiations or governance reforms, many could drift toward the Islamic State. While Tuareg groups in the north have already secured visible political gains through the alliance with JNIM, Fulani fighters in central Mali may eventually demand their own form of recognition. A “phase two” of the current conflict is therefore likely, with growing competition between JNIM and ISSP.  

This competition between jihadi groups could partly explain some of the on-going human rights abuses, collective punishments on local populations, and extrajudicial executions conducted by JNIM, in spite of its agreement with FLA mentioned above, such as the killing of Abdoul Salam Maïga in Tonka on 21 May, a preacher accused of spreading “wrong teachings”. The same town witnessed the assassination of the female pro junta blogger Mariam Cissé. However, it is hard to assess if such decisions come from the top leadership or are initiatives taken by local commanders. 

Counterinsurgency versus Counter-Terrorism

Ultimately, the events of April 2026 revealed that the conflict in Mali is not as simply portrayed as “a struggle between a state and isolated extremist groups”. It is a complex contest involving separatist movements, jihadist organisations, ethnic militias, foreign powers, and political opposition forces, all operating within the vacuum created by collapsing state institutions. The alliance between JNIM and the FLA demonstrated that pragmatic coalitions once thought impossible are now emerging in response shifting regional realities and facilitated by common enemies.

Whether this alliance will lead to a stabilisation or deeper fragmentation of the Malian political landscape remains uncertain. What is clear, however, is that the old framework of viewing the conflict purely through the lens of counter-terrorism is becoming increasingly inadequate. Just like in several other theatres, such as Syria or Afghanistan, I insurgents are increasingly seeking territorial control, governance legitimacy, and negotiated influence over the future of Mali. Refusing all dialogue with insurgent groups, including JNIM, only prolongs conflict and strengthens more radical actors like the Islamic State. African countries like Mauritania or Ivory Coast, could potentially play an important mediating role. Religious figures such as Abu Hafs al-Mauritani, or Imam Mahmoud Dicko, possess credibility across different ideological camps and could facilitate negotiations if empowered by regional and international actors. A political mandate that can only be possible through strong out of the box thinking and bold political decisions. 

Two decades of counter-terrorism focused primarily on military force have failed to produce positive outcomes. Instead, a return to broader counterinsurgency approaches combining military pressure, intelligence operations, political negotiations, and local mediation, appears necessary. Several historical examples (such as the IRA, ETA, and the PLO, or HTS more recently) prove that terrorist groups can end their military campaigns through combined security pressure and negotiated settlements. 

This article represents the views of the author(s) solely. ICCT is an independent foundation, and takes no institutional positions on matters of policy unless clearly stated otherwise.

Photo credit: Kagou Dicko/Unsplash