A place to stand: the problems and potential of the Commonwealth ministerial action group

Introduction

“Give me a place to stand”, Archimedes is reputed to have said, “and I will move the earth.” In 1995 the Commonwealth decided to make its stand on the principles it had set out in 1991 at Harare, seeking to evolve into a progressive organization defined by the democratic credentials of its membership. Creating criteria for membership based on good governance was an unprecedented step. But even more startling (especially for an organization as conservative and consensus‐oriented as the Commonwealth) was the establishment of a committee of Foreign Ministers—the Commonwealth Ministerial Action Group (CMAG)—with authority to negotiate with, punish and perhaps even expel those who flagrantly breached the necessary democratic standards. This was an international innovation without parallel, pointing the way towards an international society with far stricter membership requirements.

This paper seeks to determine whether, eight years later, this bold experiment has been a success. Those who have made such a judgement thus far (both privately and publicly) tend to evaluate the Group not by its actions but by how far it symbolizes the kind of organization they want the Commonwealth to be. Commonwealth NGOs (such as the Commonwealth Human Rights Initiative) argue that, although CMAG was an excellent first step, its limited scope (an exclusive concern with military regimes as opposed to human rights issues in general) has prevented it from doing genuinely good work. Another view is that the Group's focus on the political and governance elements of the Harare Declaration has distracted attention from the other, equally vital, parts of the Harare ‘Tripod’—social justice and economic development. The contrary opinion, expressed by some in diplomatic circles, has been that CMAG's public condemnations are counterproductive, as its ‘victims’ are alienated from the Commonwealth and become far less susceptible to the kinds of informal persuasion the Commonwealth should restrict itself to—the perfect example being Zimbabwe's recent decision to leave the Commonwealth rather than be chastised further.

The real story of CMAG, though, is that, having taken a stance worthy of Archimedes, the Group has prodded at the continents not with a sturdy lever but with a flimsy bamboo pole. Although effective in dealing with crises in small states, the Group has been systematically denied the tools it needs to do an effective job in larger states, or where there has not been a military coup. Examples of this can be found throughout CMAG's work, but this study has chosen to concentrate especially on Nigeria and The Gambia among the military regimes the Group has dealt with, before considering the jurisdictional problems which crippled its efforts in Zimbabwe.

The Origins of CMAG

The most important thing to remember when considering CMAG's creation is that the Group came about largely by accident—it was an aberration from the Commonwealth spirit as much as an expression of it. That there would be some form of “monitoring mechanism” for the Harare principles was “almost inevitable”, lest the Commonwealth subside into uncomfortable irrelevance (CitationSrinivasan, 1997). Certainly, Secretary‐General Emeka Anyaoku was determined that the Commonwealth's rôle in the New World Order would be strongly tied to democratization. But to provoke the Commonwealth into endorsing an organization with CMAG's high‐level membership and sweeping mandate (to investigate and remedy any and all “serious or persistent” violations of the Harare Principles) took not just a human rights crisis in Nigeria but an act of spectacularly counterproductive stupidity by the Nigerian junta—the judicial execution of Ken Saro Wiwa and the ‘Ogoni Nine’. CMAG was created in anger, and its rôle would diminish as tempers cooled.

The Harare Declaration was bold, but toothless. Stirring commitments were made to creating democracies “reflecting national circumstances”, but there was nothing to say what would happen if these failed to materialize (CitationHarare Declaration, 1991). Developments in West Africa were of particular concern—military coups in Sierra Leone in 1992, The Gambia in 1994 and (most worryingly) in Nigeria a mere month after the 1993 Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting (CHOGM). A mechanism was needed to deal with such cases—Chief Anyaoku announced that “the Commonwealth must be given the tools to achieve more practical results in the crucial areas of the Declaration” (CitationAnyaoku, 1997). But all the signs pointed to a body concerned with monitoring rather than enforcing Commonwealth standards—the traditional Commonwealth approach of the maximum progress compatible with minimum offence to member states. Anyaoku emphasized that “we in the Secretariat are not in the business of publicly demonising governments”, while Jean Chrétien of Canada proposed a sub‐ministerial watchdog committee (CitationAnyaoku, 1992; CitationPotter, 1997). Admittedly some progress had been made—Chief Anyaoku insists that in the run‐up to the 1995 Auckland CHOGM the key states had agreed to support a draft substantively the same as the Millbrook Commonwealth Action Plan (which created CMAG) (Interview with Chief Anyaoku, 2003). But there was little sign that member states would allow this body any power. As Stuart Mole, head of Anyaoku's political office, says, states “jealous of their own sovereign independence” were unwilling to submit to a “democratic health check” (Interview with Stuart Mole, 2003).

What changed matters was the outrage among governments (and the public) at the executions in Nigeria. The leaders' disgust united them as never before (and never again). But this was personal anger as much as state policy—leaders such as John Major and Nelson Mandela believed that their intercessions had persuaded Sani Abacha's regime to at least postpone the executions. When the shocking news arrived, Mandela fumed that “General Abacha is sitting on a volcano and I am going to explode it under him” (CitationForeign Office, 1998, p. 310), while Major denounced a “murder, callous and brutal” (CitationIngram, 1998, p. 153). Until then, informal approaches had been the preferred avenue for dealing with the regime, a route closed by Nigeria itself. The presence at Auckland of Jammeh of The Gambia and Strasser of Sierra Leone showed that compliant military regimes could (at that time) still be tolerated.

Anyaoku's draft Declaration was therefore transformed from a general Action Plan on Harare (emphasizing equally the ‘Tripod’ of politics, social equality and development) into a specific vehicle for punishing states such as Nigeria. At its heart was the creation of CMAG:

Vengeance would be channelled by bureaucracy—specific demands were made of Nigeria, with expulsion threatened should “no demonstrable progress” be made by the 1997 Edinburgh CHOGM (CitationAuckland Communiqué, 1995). Whether the Declaration was substantively the same as Anyaoku's earlier proposals (as he maintains) or “rather hastily stitched together”, as The Round Table claimed, the end result was the establishment of a unique political body—the Commonwealth Ministerial Action Group (CitationThe Round Table, 1996, p. vi). But to find a purpose, the Group would have to consider more than simply Nigeria—Anyaoku warned that his homeland's suspension “was not a one‐off affair” (CitationAnyaoku, 1997).

The Task Ahead

To deal with “serious or persistent violations” of the Harare values was a sweeping commitment, and almost entirely rhetorical. Informally, it was made clear that CMAG would initially limit itself to military coups to maintain consensus. Even then, the involvement of most member states was passive—giving their blessing to CMAG's activities but remaining uninvolved. Critics pointed out the lack of South Asian representation on CMAG, but such states were reluctant to become involved (leaving the Edinburgh CHOGM in 1997 with some haste, to avoid being asked to serve). In fact, the exact scope of the Group's remit was the focus of the Commonwealth's major institutional struggles over the next decade, as attempts to extend CMAG's activities—and by extension the Commonwealth's influence—into other aspects of its members' political or social shortcomings were strenuously resisted.

Less contentious, but similarly vague, was the Group's structure. It was to have eight members, who would be ‘reconstituted’ after every CHOGM, but little else was specified. Chief Anyaoku seems to have had complete autonomy in selecting the membership—“a case of taps on the shoulder from the Secretary‐General—you're in, you're out” (Ford and Katwala, Citation1999a). Its methods were focused on dialogue and ‘good offices’—the specific measures for use against offenders were mainly concerned with excluding them from Commonwealth activities (most vitally trade). This limited repertoire of punishment was the Group's major weakness—if sanctions failed, it could only have influence if the states concerned actually valued their connection to the Commonwealth or their international reputation.

The Group's predominant weapon was therefore persuasion. CMAG had no staff, no budget, and no way of enforcing its decisions without the consent—ideally, the active support—of member states. The Commonwealth is an international pauper; despite its post‐Harare mission to promote democracy, it only has the resources to conduct two‐and‐a‐half election observations per year, and more forceful intervention is outside its capabilities or inclinations (Interview with R. Bourne, 2003). This was demonstrated in Sierra Leone, where symbolic gestures such as welcoming deposed President Tejan Kabbah to Edinburgh as his nation's ‘emblematic representative’ could not mask the Commonwealth's impotence in the face of the suffering and chaos of a failed state (CitationMcIntyre, 2001). In February 1999, for example, Chief Anyaoku announced that “Sierra Leone faces a tragedy … horrendous even by the standards of a world increasingly inured to the brutalities of war” (Commonwealth press release, 2/2/1999). Yet he could not act, and was reduced to giving out his phone number on the BBC World Service in an effort to reach rebel leaders (CitationIngram, 1995, p. 264).

The problems in Sierra Leone almost immediately raised the question of CMAG's rôle—whether it should be a democracy watchdog or a Commonwealth crisis centre. The latter approach was advocated by Bangladesh's Farooq Sobhan (the rival candidate to New Zealand's Don McKinnon to succeed Chief Anyaoku as Commonwealth Secretary‐General). He proposed that CMAG should become involved in “any economic or environmental crisis confronting a member state or states” (CitationSobhan, 1999). But the limits placed on CMAG by suspicious member states would not allow such a development—its rôle, despite its grand mandate, should be limited to good governance. The prime instance of this came in 1996, when Sierra Leone was effectively removed from the CMAG watch list after Kabbah's restoration (as the political violations had come to an end), despite the degenerating humanitarian situation.

That CMAG was not a crisis centre for the Commonwealth was also made abundantly clear by its schedule. Gathering eight Foreign Ministers is tricky at best, especially given the Commonwealth's limited prestige and relevance. In dealing with Zimbabwe, for example, Australian leader John Howard was far from happy about being dragged across the world for a ‘Troika’ summit, especially when Robert Mugabe failed to turn up. This has been reflected in CMAG's increasingly sporadic gatherings: although in 1996 and 1997 it met four times, it has since met no more than three times a year, and only once in 2000. As Srinivasan comments, this is “hardly adequate and somewhat lethargic for a so‐called ‘action group’ ” (CitationSrinivasan, 2003). It was several years before British Foreign Secretary Robin Cook, host of almost all CMAG's meetings, attended one himself—with larger states failing to take CMAG seriously, its effectiveness has been dramatically undermined.

The Gambia: A Job Half Done?

Of the seven states which have come under CMAG's formal supervision—Fiji, The Gambia, Nigeria, Pakistan, Sierra Leone, Solomon Islands and Zimbabwe—only Fiji and Solomon Islands (unkindly described as “the periphery of the periphery”) seemed better suited to CMAG's intervention than The Gambia (CitationRoss, 2001). Small, economically vulnerable and with a leader willing to democratize, The Gambia offered CMAG a tempting combination of leverage—in 1994 80% of The Gambia's national development budget was paid for by the West—and a military leader willing to negotiate (CitationSanie, 2000). The model was that of nearby Ghana, where Commonwealth engagement with Jerry Rawlings had resulted in a gradual transition to democratic rule, with Rawlings becoming a civilian president. Ghana was even a founder member of CMAG, pour encourager les autres. Yet although it seemed a perfect showcase, CMAG's record in The Gambia was far from spectacular. The CMAG programme was successful, but slow—The Gambia remained on the watch list for six years—and only partially effective. Many critics believe that the current government is an example of ‘big‐man democracy’, in which President Yahya Jammeh is effectively the absolute ruler (CitationMay, 2000).

Partly, Jammeh's success in resisting external pressure was the result of what Abdoulaye Sanie calls a “remarkably innovative and effective” diplomatic effort to find international backing—and funding—to replace that lost in tourism, aid and trade thanks to sanctions (CitationSanie, 2000). He acted as a concerned international citizen, offering refuge to tribal refugees from nearby civil wars. More importantly, alternative aid donors were found such as Libya ($15 million), China ($23 million), Morocco and Nigeria (CitationSanie, 2000). This, Sanie judges, “succeeded partly in circumventing growing international isolation and the negative impact of Western‐imposed economic sanctions” and gave Jammeh room to manoeuvre (CitationSanie, 2000). The price, however, was unsustainable debt—long‐term survival meant that The Gambia did eventually have to come to an accommodation with the West, and therefore with CMAG.

Although Jammeh seemed willing to become a democratic leader, there was a sticking point in his constitutional arrangements—the infamous Decree 89. Passed before the presidential elections in September 1999, it banned any credible opposition from standing for election, leading CMAG to express “serious doubts on the credibility of the poll”. But it was not until November 2000 that a CMAG mission gained a clear commitment from Jammeh to repeal the Decree before new elections, and it was only after these (in July 2001) that “The Gambia left CMAG's watch list. This was no capitulation on Jammeh's part—he remained securely in control of an only semi‐democratic state. Arnold Hughes had concluded in November 2000 that there was “a considerable way to go before most of the requirements for a minimal democratic order are in place”, but seven months later “The Gambia was off the CMAG agenda, having never lost its place in the Commonwealth (CitationHughes, 2000).

The work done by CMAG to bring The Gambia back into the Commonwealth fold was laudable. But it was also symptomatic of a structural problem with the organization. There is a breach of the Harare principles, after which a violator is placed on the watch list or suspended outright. CMAG then tries to redress this, making the regime jump through specific hoops to regain its ‘natural’ position as a Commonwealth member in good standing. But this entirely understandable desire to restore the unity of the Commonwealth and redeem the sinner can obscure continuing problems within the states concerned. This was not just an issue in The Gambia. In Sierra Leone the Commonwealth's legitimation of the 1996 elections “was clearly a political statement made to facilitate the implementation of an elected government and not a view rooted in the reality of the vote itself” (CitationEllelit and Reynolds, 2002). In post‐Abacha Nigeria the election of President Obasanjo was “flawed by serious electoral malpractices” and facilitated by “a prudent willingness to overlook all‐round rigging” (CitationMayall, 1998; Citation2000).

Fiji's new government, too, was readmitted to the Commonwealth despite not meeting constitutional criteria for Indian representation. Also, once an election has been validated, it makes any subsequent condemnation far harder—little action was taken about discrimination by Zambia's Chiluba administration, perhaps out of embarrassment that a Commonwealth Observer Group had approved the 1991 elections (CitationJenkins, 1997).

Nigeria: The Power of the Autocrat

If The Gambia could gain such leeway with CMAG, there seemed little hope that the Group could dictate to larger states. The case of Pakistan is a good example of this, where General‐turned‐President Pervez Musharraf has been able to sideline the Commonwealth's protests over his transition process. But CMAG's most difficult case was its first—Sani Abacha's Nigeria. Oil revenue made sanctions from the USA and Europe (and hence the UK) impossible, meaning that the Group could not threaten the one thing that could hurt the regime. With economic and political leverage lacking, all that remained was honour and shame—the extent to which being a respected member of the international community mattered. The vital factor was not CMAG's actions, but Abacha's attitude.

The omens for CMAG's success were grim from the start. An angry Don McKinnon (then CMAG's Vice‐Chairman) complained in 1996 that “the Nigerian regime has no interest in the Commonwealth, or membership of the Commonwealth, or the ability to have dialogue with the Commonwealth. That makes their future position in the Commonwealth very difficult” (Ingram, Citation1996a). But punishment was impossible. Of CMAG's own members only two—Britain and Canada—fully enforced the measures agreed on. From as early as June 1996 Canada imposed sanctions unilaterally, and was soon isolated as “the only country maintaining a consistently hard‐line, principled policy” as others moved towards compromise (CitationAkinrinade, 1998). Even dialogue with the regime resembled more a ‘battle of wits’ than constructive negotiation (Ingram, Citation1996b). A hostile report noted that the regime “is prepared to agree to anything or to put forward a range of misleading arguments or disinformation in order to forestall international pressure and isolation” (CitationCommonwealth Trade Union Council, 1999). For example, the Nigerians promised the release of several political prisoners in June 1996. They were never freed. When Group members visited Nigeria in November that year (Abacha had initially refused CMAG entry) they were not allowed to leave Abuja, or to speak to the most important prisoners.

Indeed, as the fervour of Auckland dissipated, even condemnation of Nigeria became patchy. Derek Ingram wrote that “skilful Nigerian lobbying and the strength of its [economic] position muffled many of its critics in the year following Millbrook” (Ingram, Citation1997a). At Auckland the heads of state had listed specific actions the regime had to take but, according to Sola Akinrinade, “at Edinburgh, it was clear the Nigerian government had failed on every count” and that “when it really matters no action is likely to be forthcoming” (CitationAkinrinade 1998, p. 320; 1997, p. 202). The Round Table chimed in to complain that CMAG had been riddled with “fudging and indecision” and its press releases could “only diaphanously disguise” the divisions between members. Indeed, powerful states not only softened towards the regime but seemed to defend it—Mandela referred to General Abacha as “my brother” and his Vice‐President, Thabo Mbeki, “assured the world that General Abacha was just a victim of the West” (CitationAkinrinade, 1998, p. 313). Before General Abacha's providential death, Mayall certainly judged that CMAG had “failed to resolve” the issue, and some insiders say the Group was going nowhere (CitationMayall, 1998).

But it was always unrealistic to expect CMAG to act as a dragon slayer. Lacking any serious leverage, CMAG adroitly exploited international opinion to ensure that Abacha was not accorded the legitimacy he desired. Most importantly, his planned transition process, involving creating official political parties (the “five fingers of a leprous hand”) would probably have failed to win acceptance (CitationAkinrinade, 1998). By July 1997 The Round Table had noted approvingly that “the general mood of the foreign ministers seemed to have stiffened” and Robin Cook declared that Nigeria “should stay outside the Commonwealth” until democracy was restored (Ingram, Citation1997b). Certainly all those within the Secretariat at the time (especially Chief Anyaoku) insist that Abacha's proposals were too flawed and undemocratic to have worked, and that the status quo of suspension and dialogue would have continued. Although CMAG could not ‘move the world’ to drive out the Nigerian regime, it could certainly give it a hefty nudge. By de‐legitimising Abacha internationally the Commonwealth was able to gain extremely limited bargaining power—after all, there were no further executions after Saro Wiwa's.

Zimbabwe: The Problems of Jurisdiction

CMAG and the Commonwealth had been criticized before—but this was nothing compared to the firestorm over Zimbabwe. Yet CMAG was helpless, hamstrung by rules which specifically blocked it from considering such a situation. The creation at the 2002 Coolum CHOGM of a ‘Troika’ of Australia, Nigeria and South Africa was not only an attempt to resolve the problem, but a clear restriction of CMAG's authority by the heads of state. The failed struggle to expand CMAG's jurisdiction beyond military coups and into the meat of the Harare Principles demonstrated that the very member states which established CMAG might well allow it to wither on the vine.

The Millbrook Declaration (Citation1995) had stated that “the composition, terms of reference and operation of the Group will be reviewed … every two years”. CMAG's methods were relatively non‐controversial. What was contentious was the breadth of its mandate. Srinivasan noted the potential problems in 1997:

Secretary‐General Anyaoku, too, recognized the dangers—he raised the issue informally at Edinburgh in 1997, but decided to delay until Durban to gather support (Interview with Chief Anyaoku, 2003). The Secretariat and CMAG duly produced an official proposal, specifically requesting a rôle “where there [was] a clear breakdown of democracy, sustained abuse of fundamental human rights”, or other serious political violations (CitationCMAG, 1999)

Others had their own opinions. The Round Table editorialized that “so far CMAG has had more of a rhetorical than a substantive life” and complained that it had been “focused almost entirely on errant military regimes in West Africa, rather than wrongdoing throughout the Commonwealth” (CitationThe Round Table, 1999, p. v). London's Foreign Policy Centre similarly claimed that “CMAG's early days have been marked by excessive caution” and called for the organization to “stop hiding its values for fear of offending undemocratic regimes” (Ford and Katwala, Citation1999b). These critics wanted a more active, engaged Commonwealth, with a wider range of concerns. Kashmir or the Sri Lankan civil war were mentioned as problems which had been ignored, but which CMAG and the Commonwealth had a moral duty to deal with.

Such an activist and intrusive CMAG would have alarmed many of the member states—which perhaps explains why CMAG's own, far milder, proposals were allowed to fall by the wayside. As with the Millbrook draft, Chief Anyaoku had diligently canvassed support but, in a highly unexpected intervention at the 1999 CHOGM, Owen Arthur, Prime Minister of Barbados (a former CMAG member), shocked everyone by blocking the proposals, which were now to be reconsidered by a High Level Review Group. Perhaps this episode shows that the small states (a majority of members) felt that the Commonwealth's increased concern with international wrongdoing threatened their special status. But it is just as likely that members were happy to let sleeping dogs lie. CMAG had initially been set up “with the tacit support of all but obviously without the active enthusiasm of all”, and many still believed that “to turn the Commonwealth into a vehicle for censoring its own members would almost certainly be counterproductive” (CitationArmstrong, 2001). This tied in to a perception “that CMAG represented too much stick and too little carrot”—it took states to task about their democratic failings rather than using more positive approaches like democracy promotion and development aid (CitationBourne, 2001). The members had spoken—they wanted a watchdog, not an inquisition.

Sure enough, the High Level Group ignored the renewed proposals—unsurprisingly, given the increasingly antagonistic relationship between Zimbabwe (a Review Group member) and the Western states. Rather than empower CMAG further the Group merely listed a bureaucratized checklist of actions for when violations were suspected, which reduced CMAG to the final stage of a long process of intercession and persuasion by the Secretary‐General and others. This not only dodged the issue—it was the direct antithesis of CMAG's own proposals. It also placed the Secretary‐General, Chief Anyaoku felt, in an extremely uncomfortable position: rather than being an impartial facilitator, he would be the judge of whether states should be referred to CMAG (Interview with Chief Anyaoku, 2003). With grim predictability, such a problematic situation arose in Zimbabwe. For the British Shadow Foreign Secretary, “Mugabe's vile regime is the antithesis of everything the Commonwealth is supposed to stand for” (CitationAncram, 2003). But, according to the rules, Stan Mugende's rebuttal that CMAG's supervision was an “unwarranted attempt to interfere in the internal affairs of a member state” was perfectly justified (CitationIngram, 2001). Despite the severity of the land reform crisis CMAG was technically unable to act).

Thus CMAG's involvement with Zimbabwe was brief and inglorious. It was not until March 2001 that the Group officially considered Zimbabwe, and even then only half‐heartedly. CMAG's usual formula was that it “had reviewed the situation in” a country, whereas now it “used the occasion of its Meeting to discuss the situation in Zimbabwe”, as though the Group had met by a fortunate coincidence (CMAG Citation2001a). In December 2001 the decision was made officially to add Zimbabwe to CMAG's agenda, when members finally “agreed that the situation in Zimbabwe constitutes a serious and persistent violation of the Commonwealth's fundamental political values and the rule of law” (CMAG, Citation2001b). But only a few months later the creation of the Troika took the issue firmly out of CMAG's hands. The extent of the deadlock over the issue was later seen at Abuja, with the creation of yet another committee—Australia, Canada, India, Jamaica, Mozambique and South Africa (only Canada and India were also on the latest version of CMAG)—to replace the Troika, before Mugabe rendered the entire issue moot. CMAG's initial, critical report on Zimbabwe had been rejected by the heads of state at Coolum—CMAG had again tried to exceed its boundaries, and had been firmly smacked down. Michael Ancram spoke for many when he said that “for some time it has been questionable as to how effective [CMAG] was. In the recent case of Zimbabwe we have bluntly to state that it was not” (CitationAncram, 2003).

Conclusion

CMAG, starved of the resources its pioneering mission deserves, has certainly failed to move the earth. Instead of being a policeman for the Harare values, it has ended up as a doorman to the Commonwealth club, apologetically ejecting rowdy members but politely welcoming them back once sobriety is restored. Certainly CMAG's theoretical innovations have been more marked than its practical successes. Its condemnation of Nigeria “caused a ricochet effect around the world as other bodies…became more aware of the pariah nature of the military rulers” (CitationBourne, 1996), perhaps justifying Anyoaku's claim that CMAG “has been extremely successful in setting the pace internationally” (Interview with Chief Anyaoku, 2003). However, Srinivasan is probably right to say that “its achievements, even with a limited mandate, are extremely modest” (CitationSrinivasan, 2003).

There is of course the problem that much of the Commonwealth's work takes place under the radar, such as helping consolidate democracy in Ghana or Tanzania, or informally warning Cameroon before it became an official subject of CMAG's discipline. But by the time a state attracts attention, and CMAG is called in, it has usually strayed too far from the Harare path for informal measures to work. The Group is therefore faced with intractable situations beyond its power to resolve, and is then accused of being weak‐willed for not acting sooner or more forcefully. CMAG can help those who have stumbled from the moral high road, but not those who have fallen—where it fails, most noticeably in the case of Zimbabwe, is when the sinner does not want salvation. As Malcolm Rifkind said:

There is now little chance of CMAG developing into a Commonwealth watchdog, still less a Commonwealth Security Council. But although it was not permitted to take charge of the situation in Zimbabwe, CMAG is still meeting, and next time there is a coup its rusty machinery will be restarted. Pakistan remains suspended from the Commonwealth after Abuja on CMAG's recommendation, and CMAG is the body which will (if negotiations between government and opposition over the Legal Framework Order are completed satisfactorily) rubber‐stamp the readmission of Musharraf's government. Despite the reluctance of Commonwealth members to sanction its expansion, CMAG's abolition would be an impossible admission of failure for the Commonwealth's new international rôle—it might fade away, but some element of collective oversight of wrongdoers will definitely remain. The Commonwealth, in short, will probably be able to enforce its unique position among international bodies that democracy (of some kind) is a prerequisite for membership.

The future for CMAG, therefore, looks stable rather than glorious or ignominious—if only because contentious issues will continue to be firmly avoided. But it is not CMAG's limitations, procedural and practical, that have been the real cause of its failures since 1995. It faces a Sisyphean task. CMAG, in enforcing Harare, is aiming to create good governance across the Commonwealth—a third of the globe's population. Such vaunting ambition has of course proved flawed. Yet it is to the Commonwealth's credit that the attempt has been made at all. Despite its failings, CMAG has never exacerbated a situation—it has always acted as a restraining influence on the regimes it has faced. Its critics claim, with some justification, that it has not done much good. But it is even truer that it has done far less harm—the world is indeed a better place for the Group's efforts. CMAG has certainly failed to move the world—but that does not mean that it should not continue to try.

Acknowledgement

Many thanks to all those who allowed themselves to be interviewed for the Masters thesis this study is based on. Thanks also to James Mayall for his expert guidance, and for first suggesting the extremely rewarding topic of the Commonwealth Ministerial Action Group.