While an increasingly devastating famine continues to drive Somalis from their homes, many families are citing another reason for leaving: the forced recruitment of child soldiers. A recent Amnesty International report revealed that al-Shabab has intensified its recruitment process in order to gain more control of Central and South Somalia.

Primary schools are raided for soon-to-be soldiers and children are abducted from local playgrounds. Some are bribed with money and phones. Those who run away are often shot in the back, deemed traitors.

A Somali woman who lost several young family members at the hands of the armed rebels told Amnesty International:

"Those recruited by al-Shabab do not come back."

Boys, sometimes as young as eight, are given guns and forced to fight alongside grown men. Girls are used as servants for al-Shabab members, and in some instances, even wives. One testimony of a 16-year-old boy described how young girls are charged with adultery if they refuse to comply with the marriages. Floggings are a common punishment, sometimes ending with the death of the child. Girls and women accused of being raped (yes, accused) have been beaten or stoned to death - even though refugees have told Amnesty International that al-Shabab was responsible for the rape themselves.

Interviews with youth in the region have produced evidence that the Islamist militant group may be using children as suicide bombers, although Amnesty International cannot verify this. A 15-year-old boy described al-Shabab's recruitment tactics:

"They have a methodology, they say you will fight a jihad and then go to paradise. One friend was recruited by them and then he came to the village asking us to join...He had an AK47 and he said he was given lots of money."

While al-Shabab has been criticized for using children as weapons of war, the Transitional Federal Government (TFG), which is internationally-backed and U.S.-funded, has been listed on the UN's annual list of parties that recruit children for armed conflict for seven years in a row —although they dispute the accusation. During a meeting in Geneva, Switzerland on May 4, 2011, TFG members cited a lack of birth certificates and international financial assistance as the main causes of child recruitment. Human Rights Watch, alongside Amnesty International and other humanitarian organizations, have expressed grave concern over TFG training camps that hold refugee children against their will in neighboring Kenya, which has also denied allegations of using child soldiers.

An ex-child soldier who fled to Kenya told Amnesty International:

"I am not feeling safe. I am stressed. I have flashbacks. I am scared that al-Shabab will come here too. I want a better future, better security, further education. I live in fear here."

While gay Americans have a lot to celebrate lately -- the repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell and New York becoming the sixth state to legalize gay marriage, among them -- 76 countries still consider being gay a crime. Homosexuality has long been a heated issue in Ghana, and now its LGBT community may face jail time. "All efforts are being made to get rid of these people in the society," said Paul Evans Aidoo, an MP from the western region. Ghana's Bureau of National Investigations has been directed to track down and arrest anyone suspected of being gay.

Aidoo is not the first high profile person to go on the attack publicly. Reverend Stephen Wengam, a prominent religious figure in Ghana, recently wrote an op-ed for the Ghana Broadcasting Company where he stated:

"If homosexuality is tolerated, very soon the human race will be extinct."

Aidoo's efforts could lead to a witch-hunt as he has asked landlords to keep an eye out for "people they suspect of being homosexuals". The police are to be informed of any suspicious activity.

Ghana News Agency, a media outlet based in Accra, is claiming that homosexuality can lead to HIV/AIDS and tuberculosis. While Ghana has recently cut its AIDS rate in half, the disease remains a constant fear of the small West African nation. The homosexual community has now fallen victim to the AIDS blame game.

Apart from South Africa, where gay marriage is formally recognized, homosexuality is shunned by most African leaders. Along with Yemen, Saudi Arabia and Iran, Africa is also home to several countries where being gay is quite literally, a death sentence. In Nigeria, those convicted face death by stoning. LGBT individuals in Ghana may soon join this disturbing trend. One member of parliament, David Tetteh Assuming, recently hinted that more permanent punishments will be instituted for those found guilty of homosexuality:

"I believe that they are treading on dangerous grounds and they could face lynching in future."

Could Muammar al-Qaddafi remain in Libya if he agrees to give up power? It may sound hard to imagine, but as the conflict drags on and the stalemate shows no sign of ending, the idea is gaining traction -- even among Qaddafi's staunch opponents. Today, France's Foreign Minister Alain Juppe suggested it was a possibility.

"One of the scenarios effectively envisaged is that he stays in Libya on one condition which I repeat - that he very clearly steps aside from Libyan political life," Juppe told France's LCI TV.

The solution would require some major legal maneuvering. The new Libyan government -- most likely made up of leaders of the Transitional National Council (TNC) -- would have to agree not to prosecute Qaddafi or his son for the deaths of thousands of people. Internationally, the move would certainly require some sort of Security Council agreement, since Qaddafi, after all, is wanted by the International Criminal Court (ICC) for war crimes (and since any agreement would likely require some international oversight).

The fact that France is suggesting this is significant. It was, after all, one of the first countries to recognize the TNC, and it pushed other nations into supporting the NATO air campaign against Qaddafi. Other governments have hinted at a similar solution in the past -- though mainly countries outside the coalition. Recently, Konstantin Kosachyov, the chairman of the international affairs committee in Russia's lower house of parliament, said: "Probably what can be discussed is some kind of guarantees of his personal security, the security of members of his family."

Last week, Turkey's Foreign Minister Ahmet Davutoglu told journalists that "an exit strategy for Qaddafi to leave power, but not necessarily the country, should be sought."

Officially, Britain and the United States want Qaddafi to be handed over to the ICC, but even their positions have softened recently. British officials say they don't regard that demand as a "red line" in negotiations with Qaddafi. And today, in response to Juppe's statement, the United States made it clear the key was getting Qaddafi to leave power, after that, all things could be considered.

"He needs to remove himself from power," White House spokesman Jay Carney said. "And then it's up to the Libyan people to decide."

Earlier this month, the head of the TNC even hinted that a solution that keeps Qaddafi in Libya was possible. Mustapha Abdul-Jalil told Reuters that the TNC had offered Qaddafi that very deal -- allowing him to stay in Libya if he resigned. (Abdul-Jalil quickly back-pedaled, however, saying the next day that while the TNC discussed that scenario internally, there was no "current or future possibility for Qaddafi to remain in Libya.")

So could a solution like this actually work? Qaddafi would need to be assured he would remain free and safe. Some reports have said he is pushing for a role for his son, Saif al-Islam, in a future government -- though it's highly unlikely the rebels would agree to that.

Another reported possibility is that the U.N. would protect him at his tribal home of Sabha in southwestern Libya. But that would require countries guaranteeing he wouldn't be handed over to the ICC at some point in the future. And that might be a step too far.

The death of 50 percent of Somalia's camels poses a grave question: If camels can't survive, what can? Eastern Africa's drought is proving to be a death sentence for an animal that can normally survive weeks without water. In some areas, over 80 percent of livestock have perished, forcing families to abandon their homes and relocate in overcrowded refugee camps. Ahmed Mohammad, a Somali camel herdsman, told BBC:

"It is a terrible sign when camels start dying because when they start to die, then what chance have sheep, goats and cattle?"

Around two-thirds of Somalia's population depend on their livestock for survival, especially in drought-stricken northern Kenya, Somalia and southern Ethiopia where the majority of people are pastoralists. Without camels, families not only lose milk and meat, but also purchasing power. Oxfam reports that the value of Somali camels has been slashed in half -- many nomadic herders are watching as their livelihood dies off, one by one.

Government buy-back programs have been deemed ineffective by many locals and critics. One program in nothern Kenya only offered compensation for goats and sheep, disregarding the herds of cattle that provide the majority of income for families. Save the Children's Kenya county director, Prasant Naik, noted the significance of the dying camels, saying:

"Pastoralists are used to coping with occasional droughts and dry seasons, but these successive droughts have pushed their resiliency to the limit."

As drought continues to ravage Eastern Africa, livestock have begun to migrate in search of water -- and with mass migration comes widespread crop and pasture destruction. For the first time in nearly twenty years, aid agencies are expected to make a formal declaration of famine. But for now, the Somali government is advising starving families to eat leaves in order to stay alive.

Paul Rusesabagina is credited with saving the lives of 1,268 people during the darkest moments of the Rwandan genocide. In April 1994, as an assistant hotel manager at the Sabena Hotel des Mille Collines in Kigali, he took in and sheltered desperate Tutsis on the hotel's grounds, as Hutu militias rampaged the city. An estimated 800,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus were killed in 100 days. Rusesabagina's story was eventually told in the Hollywood film "Hotel Rwanda." He was awarded the U.S. Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2005 and has become an international celebrity and human rights advocate.

Now, Rwandan authorities are accusing him of having ties to a Hutu rebel group, whose leaders took part in the genocide. Rusesabagina was questioned last week in Belgium -- where he lives -- at the request of Rwandan prosecutors. They accuse him of wiring money to the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda (FDLR), a group that operates out of the eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo -- where many fugitive Rwandans, as well as hundreds of thousands of refugees, fled after the genocide.

The prosecutors say he sent thousands of dollars to commanders of the group via Western Union late last year, evidence that was supposedly corroborated by former FDLR commanders who have since been arrested.

So why would the hero who risked his life 17 years ago to shelter likely victims of slaughter send money to a group tied to the perpetration of that genocide? Or is this simply a smear campaign by his enemies back home?

In October, when the charges were first leveled against him, Rusesabagina denied them and said they were political payback for his outspoken criticism of Rwandan President Paul Kagame, who has been in power since 2000. Rusesabagina has said Rwanda could be heading toward another genocide if Tutsi elites, like Kagame, continue to hoard power.

"[The prosecutors are] not only lying, but lying with bad logic.... The government has said that I sent money to people who I met many years ago but have not seen or spoken with since the genocide in 1994," Rusesabagina said back in October. "The last time I sent money to Rwanda was in 2002 or 2003 -- I think 2002 -- to my younger brother for a brain operation."

While celebrated overseas, in Rwanda he has become a controversial figure.

"Back home in Rwanda, Rusesabagina is seen by some as an imposter who took advantage of the information vacuum surrounding what really transpired in Rwanda to claim hero status and rake in millions of dollars," reported one Nigerian newspaper.

Some survivors of the genocide have disputed his version of events, while other critics accuse him of being a publicity hound, the Guardian has reported.

In a statement issued through his charity fund earlier this year, Rusesabagina said Kagame was trying to distract the world's attention from last year's "complete sham" election and his government's heavy-handed tactics in the Congo, where Kagame's government is accused of "war crimes, crimes against humanity, and possibly even genocide against Hutus in that country."

It's been a tough couple of weeks for al Qaeda. Since the successful Navy SEAL raid that killed Osama bin Laden, the terror network has suffered additional losses that analysts say are taking a heavy toll on the group.

Ilyas Kashmiri, al Qaeda's operational leader in Pakistan, was reportedly killed by a U.S. drone strike earlier this month (though al Qaeda hasn't confirmed his death, reports of which have been incorrect before). And last week, an al Qaeda leader in East Africa -- Fazul Abdullah Mohammed -- was killed by Somali forces in Mogadishu. Mohammed was the most wanted man in Africa.

Analysts and U.S. officials say the deaths have created a power vacuum.

"The organization is in a great deal of turmoil," a U.S. counterterrorism official told Foreign Policy. "It's trying to sort itself out with what's going on."

Bruce Hoffman, director of the Security Studies Program at Georgetown University, said Kashmiri and Mohammed were key operational figures, not easily replaced due to their long pedigrees of planning and executing attacks.

"They are especially important because they would have been looked on to plan and implement any acts of retribution [for bin Laden's death] from al Qaeda," he said. "Their killings knock them seriously off balance."

Of course, al Qaeda is well-known for its ability to replenish its ranks. Analysts like Hoffman and Evan Kohlmann, who has consulted with the U.S. government, see a few key names potentially emerging to fill the void.

1. Saif al-Adel

Born in Egypt in 1960 or 1963, according to the FBI. Currently believed to be hiding in Pakistan's tribal region.

Al-Adel was reportedly named the interim chief of Al Qaeda after bin Laden's death. After the 9/11 attacks, he fled to Iran, where he was eventually put under house arrest. In 2008, Iran swapped him for a diplomat taken captive by al Qaeda in Pakistan.

Signature attacks: Has played a hand in many al Qaeda attacks, allegedly dispatching Richard Reid, the shoe bomber, to meet Khalid Sheikh Mohammed; and aiding the 1998 attacks on the U.S. embassies in Africa.

Read on

When Alassane Ouattara finally took over the presidency in the Ivory Coast earlier this month, he did so with the help of a rag tag group of militiamen. There were the formal rebels from the country's brief civil war, known as the Forces Nouvelles. There were local men who picked up alongside the other regular fighters. And then there were the more pernicious militias, such as the so-called "Invisible Commandos" in Abidjan, who hitched their wagon to Ouattara's because -- for at least a moment -- their objectives aligned. What all these groups had in common was their desire to at last unseat an intrasigent outgoing President Laurent Gbagbo who had refused to step down for four months after a lost election. 

Today, Gbagbo is gone. He's being held in detention in the north of the country while he faces a criminal investigation. That's good news by most accounts; at last, Ivory Coast has just one president. But it also means that the glue holding together Ouattara-loyal forces has also lost its stick. 

The most alarming split that's arisen is between the Ouattara army, now calling itself the Republican Forces of the Ivory Coast (FRCI),  and the Invisible Commandos. For Ouattara, the commandos are a massive liability. During the worst of the election stand-off, they were accused of carrying out rather arbitrary night raids in pro-Gbagbo neighborhoods. Their commander, Ibrahim Coulibaly (who goes by the nickname IB), is something of a renegade. He also happens to be the old-time rival of Ouattara's Prime Minister Guillaume Soro, who led the Forces Nouvelles early last decade.

Ouattara ordered the Invisible Commandos back to their barracks after taking office; he also told them to disarm. Apparently the progress wasn't fast enough, and this morning in the Abidjan suburb of Abobo, gunshots rung out as government troops (mostly the former Forces Nouvelles, as well as defectors from Gbagbo's former army) tried to root out IB's militiamen.

All this raises three questions in my mind: First, can Ouattara gain control of the military that brought him to power -- and does he really want to? It was always a gamble to use the "nuclear option" and call on the rebel forces to bring Ouattara into office by force. Now that he's there, those troops are not going to just sit back and let their new civilian leader rule them. They're owed for their duty, and Ouattara may well be a captive to the whims of his army, lest he himself suffer their wrath.

Second, does this new relationship make Ouattara complicit in "his" military's crimes, such as a masscare in Duékoué in March? Probably, it does; it's impossible to argue that Ouattara didn't know who he was getting in bed with when he called on the former rebels and other militia groups to fall in line. After all, his prime minister, Guillame Soro, used to head the Forces Nouvelles. 

Which brings to perhaps the most important parlor game of post-crisis Ivory Coast: What does Soro want, and how will Ouattara have to placate him? The military operation against the Invisible Commandos may be at least in part Soro's doing, given that he and IB are old rivals. As the leader who can keep the new Ivorian army in their barracks -- or call them out again -- Soro might be the man to watch.  

The sound of heavy gunfire is thick in the air in Abidjan this morning; the situation is opaque. Correspondents on the ground for french radio RFI admit on air that they simply can't confirm much about what's going on amid the chaos. The streets are chillingly empty save for combattants. Rumors circulate about where the fighting is, where it's going, and who's in charge. 

But what's clear is that the end game between political rivals Laurent Gbagbo and Alassane Ouattara, both of whom claim to have won last November's presidential election (Ouattara actually did), is every bit as bloody and brutal as feared. After months of talking, this question is being answers with guns.

And to be clear: that's guns on all sides.

There's been a tendency -- an understandable one -- to single out  Gbagbo for the atrocities that his troops have committed. As the obsinate one in this political crisis, it's Gbagob who is under sanction by the West and who the African Union is calling upon to step down. It's Gbagbo whose forces fired upon and killed protestors, vividly captured on YouTube. It's Gbagbo's men who have refused to let the U.N. peacekeepers patrol Abidjan. It's Gbagbo who gave weapons to civilians in Abidjan and asked them to defend him. And so naturally, it's Gbagbo who most people expect to end up in the International Criminal Court, paying for his crimes. That's what Ouattara's troop are banking on; they have been ordered to guard his "physical integrity" should he be caught for precisely that reason. 

But it's important not to forget that Ouattara-loyal forces are also fighting. And on the battlefield, there's always a risk that atrocities could be committed. Reuters reports that Ouattara-loyal forces have remained disciplined so far, though they have executed some Gbagbo militiamen, according to Human Rights Watch. And yesterday, the United Nations called on Ouattara to "rein in" his forces as they take final control in Abidjan. When I was in Liberia earlier this months, officials in the peacekeeping mission there were adamant that refugees fleeing into that country were of all political persuasions -- meaning that Gbagbo supporting civilians feared for their lives under pro-Ouattara forces, just as the opposite was also true.

The fog of war clouds everything for the moment; it's impossible to tell who is responsible for what -- and against whom. But it's important to look at all sides of the fighting, because  when the dust settles, Cote d'Ivoire is going to be torn apart. Civilians of all political persuasions are going to have horror stories to tell. And if only half the perpetrators are selectively brought to justice, it will be no justice at all; a society divided cannot be stable for long. 

For the last six years, Ivory Coast's government-controlled south and rebel-controlled north have held together thanks to a fragile cease-fire. Everyone's greatest fear since the cease-fire was signed was that it would break -- that the tiniest escalation could bring the country back into the brutal civil war it endured between the two sides throughout the first half of the decade.

Early Thursday morning, the cease-fire broke in Ivory Coast's interior. The government forces and the rebel forces -- known as the Forces Nouvelles -- started shooting. And they haven't really stopped since then. This morning, the Forces Nouvelles seized a government- controlled town.

The fighting in the countryside is a manifestation of escalating political conflict in the Abidjan. Outgoing President Laurent Gbagbo (backed by government troops) remains staunchly unwilling to step down to the internationally recognized election winner, Alassane Ouattara (backed by the Forces Nouvelles). On the streets and in the neighborhoods of Abidjan, things are also getting ugly -- or rather uglier. After weeks of rumors and reports that pro-Gbagbo militias were hunting down opposition supporters, now there are signs that the violence cuts both ways. Pro-Ouattara militias -- known to locals as "invisible commandos" -- have risen up in resistance. "Hundreds" of residents were seen streaming out of the neighborhood after overnight clashes.

Not so long ago, the West African community, ECOWAS, was talking about possible military intervention if Gbagbo refused to step down. But these days, there's only talk about a possible unity government between the two rivals -- a terrible idea, if you ask me -- and continued economic sanctions. The international community has done a pretty good job of trying to starve Gbagbo of cash. And in theory it's a good strategy, since much of his support comes from his uncanny ability to keep salaries flowing even in the trickiest times. But Gbagbo is not too easily caged, and is now considering printing his own currency. At the very least, he'll switch all the government accounts from sanctioned banks into hard cash.

As I've written before, this is the trouble with trying to wait out a strongman: You risk the very real chance that he can wait longer than his people can. While Gbagbo is busy finding ways to pay his military, regular Ivorians are getting tired. Shortages of food and cooking oil are now common; a whopping nine out of every 10 bank accounts is now inaccessible due to sanctions and freezes. Some 45,000 people have now fled the country as refugees, and another 39,000 are internally displaced -- 9,000 of whom are all based at a single Catholic mission near the border with Liberia, according to a briefing from the U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees this morning.

Active fighting, refugees, economic crisis -- what other indicators are we waiting for? This is becoming a civil war again, and fast.

As revolutions across the Arab World are sending autocrats fleeing for exile, at least one ousted president -- far away from Cairo and Tunis -- claims he will soon return home: to Madagascar. Marc Ravalomanana, who was booted from office in a 2009 coup, vowed today that he would return on Feb. 19, leaving his exile in South Africa.

It's not clear what exactly Ravalomanana (shown sporting his plane tickets above) is hoping to achieve by showing up. Not least because he's likely to be arrested as soon as his plane lands; the current regime, headed by coup-instigator Andry Rajoelina, lobbed massive charges against him for corruption and convicted him in absentia. (To jog your memory: Ravalomanana's unseating was a particularly ugly one; the army surrounded the presidential palace and sent him fleeing. After weeks of stand off, he finally resigned, handing power over to the fiery ex-disc jockey who remains president to this day.)

That Ravalomanana wants to return is a potent reminder that this crisis was never actually solved. The African Union suspended Madagascar's membership in protest of the coup. But then once it looked like an irreversible development, everyone started to look the other way. There was a sigh of collective resignation. Time to just to put up with Rajoelina, and then expect elections to be held eventually. 

But now, elections are supposed to be held -- later this year. And African Union mediators have had trouble convincing the current regime to get on board with any transition plan. Having lost the momentum at the beginning of the crisis, outsiders are finding themselves helpless to try and pull strings toward democracy now. 

Maybe all this would be a shruggable matter -- if it weren't for the example it sets at a time when African countries need some better ones when it comes to democratic transition. A record number of African countries will hold presidential elections this year -- including Uganda tomorrow, then Chad, Nigeria, Djibouti, and Niger, to name just a few. None of those countries' leaders is apt to step down without a fuss (and several will make sure that election outcomes are sufficiently fixed before hand.) Turning the other way on little Madagascar makes that all the more likely.

If Southern Sudan successfully secedes, will other African pseudo-states follow suit? Guest-blogging at the Christian Science Monitor, Alex Thurston takes a look at Somaliland:

There is one other region in Africa that appears within reach of independent nationhood: Somaliland, which has claimed independence since 1991. Somaliland has its own government and enjoys a greater degree of stability than other regions of Somalia. Recently Somaliland successfully transferred power from one democratically elected leader to another, reinforcing democratic credentials that outshine those of many independent African nations. As crisis continues in southern and central Somalia, moreover, the US and other Western powers are showing greater willingness to consider recognizing Somaliland or at least treating it, de facto, as its own nation.

He also links to an Economist interview with Somaliland's foreign minister, Ahmed Mohamed Silanyo, discussing the referendum (my emphasis): 

If the international community accepts South Sudan’s independence, that opens the door for us as well. It would mean that the principle that African borders should remain where they were at the time of independence would change. It means that if Southern Sudan can go their way, that should open the door for Somaliland’s independence as well and that the international position that Somaliland not be recognised separate from Somalia has changed.

I'm skeptical that the international community's support for Southern Sudanese independence sets much of a precedent outside Sudan. There was similar talk of nationalist movements being emboldened immediately after Kosovo declared independence in 2008, including talk about Somaliland. 

The fact is, new states tend to be recognized by the international community on a case by case basis, and the laws and norms governing who gets to be a country are remarkably arbitrary. Precedents are far less important than they appear. Kosovo and Southern Sudan both had the advantage of having recently been at war with regimes accused of crimes against humanity. The Kremlin may have claimed that Kosovo's independence was a precedent for its recognition of Abkhazia and South Ossetia several months later, but it actually had a lot more to do with things coming to a head between Russia and Georgia. 

So I don't think Southern Sudan's positive reception indicates an urge to redraw more African borders, no matter how problematic those borders are. (See Bill Easterly's new paper on the artificial states problem.) Somaliland may have a good case for independence, but it will have to get there on its own. 

George Clooney's "anti-genocide paparazzi" seems to be dominating nearly every transmission coming out of south Sudan this week. Clooney, along with the Enough Project, Harvard researchers, and some of his wealthier Hollywood friends, have hired satellites to monitor troop movements along the north-south border, particularly the oil-rich region of Abyei. Clooney, active for years in the Save Darfur movement, has also become something of a celebrity spokesperson for the independence referendum. Naturally, the international humanitarian blogosphere's snark brigade is out in force.

Laurenist: "If you're anything like George Clooney, you lounge around on your yacht off the coast of Italy thinking up ways to save Africa."

Texas in Africa: "While John Prendergast, George Clooney, and other advocates who don't speak a word of Arabic have been raising fears about violence for months … the likelihood that a genocide or war will break out immediately seems to me to be slim to none."

Wronging Rights: "Clooney has described it as 'the best use of his celebrity.' Kinda just seems like he's trying to recruit a mercenary for Ocean's Fourteen."

Troubling as this morning's border violence is, there seems to be good reason for skepticism about the satellite project. The imagery the satellites provide isn't all that clear, showing about 8 square miles inches [Corrected.] per computer-screen pixel, making it difficult to figure out just what's going on on the ground. That level of imprecision can be dangerous when trying to assign guilt or innocence in crimes against humanity. There's also the question of how much of a deterrent this type of monitoring really is. Laurenist again:

In 2007, Amnesty International and the American Association for the Advancement of Science launched “Eyes on Darfur,” a satellite project that monitored developments on the ground in Darfur. As you’ll recall, mere months later, Darfur was saved after millions of people updated their Facebook statuses with a link to blurry photos of sand.

But what about Clooney's presence itself? The actor's use of the paparazzi and basketball as analogies for horrific human rights violations might be grating to those who study these issues seriously, but isn't it worthwhile to bring attention to an often overlooked conflict? Here's UN Dispatch's Mark Leon Goldberg:

I know some people (cough, cough, Bill Easterly, cough, cough) have hangups about celebrity activism.  But does anyone really think that Sudan’s upcoming referendum would be covered on a National Sunday morning broadcast without George Clooney’s handsome face to greet viewers?

(Interestingly, Bono-basher-in-chief William Easterly doesn't appear to have weighed in yet.) 

Clooney has his own words for the haters:

“I’m sick of it,” he said. “If your cynicism means you stand on the sidelines and throw stones, I’m fine, I can take it. I could give a damn what you think. We’re trying to save some lives. If you’re cynical enough not to understand that, then get off your ass and do something. If you’re angry at me, go do it yourself. Find another cause – I don’t care. We’re working, and we’re going forward.” 

This kind of "at least I'm doing something" rhetoric drives development scholars absolutely bonkers and for good reason. But for now at least, it's hard to see how Clooney's presence as a cheerleader is really hurting. Once the referendum is over however, I hope he heads back to Lake Como. In international negotiations, a certain degree of obscurity can often be just as helpful as the media spotlight. Making a new country is a messy business anywhere, and in Southern Sudan, it's going to involve some very ugly compromises. (I wonder, for instance, what Clooney thinks about the Southern Sudanese government expelling Darfuri rebels in what seemed to be a conciliatory gesture to Khartoum.)

In the difficult weeks and months ahead, Southern Sudan will certainly need international help, but it should come from people with a slightly more extensive background in the situation. Most of all, it's probably not helpful for celebrities and the media to promote a narrative of the Juba government as the "good Sudan." Even in the best-case scenario, it's bound to be shattered pretty quickly.  

In any event, the Southern Sudanese themselves seem pretty nonplussed about Danny Ocean's presence in their midst:

“Who is that man talking?” a Sudanese journalist asked, gesturing to a white man with a group of reporters around him. When told it was George Clooney, a movie star, the Sudanese journalist looked confused and walked away.

For more on Southern Sudan, check out Maggie Fick on the dangers of referendum euphoria, view a slide show of Juba on the eve of independence, and read Robert Klitgaard on how the region's leaders are preparing to crack down on corruption.  

Andreas Markessinis has an intriguing post on the Nation Branding blog wondering just what the new country that will likely be created next week will be called:

One possible option is ‘New Sudan’, but some oppose the idea as that name would associate the new country with the actual Sudan, which is considered a pariah state. For a weak, new country with weak influence, getting the world population to distinguish between ‘Sudan’ and ‘New Sudan’ would take aeons. Many people still confuse South Korea with North Korea and don’t remember which one is the rogue state, so any combination of names including the word ‘Sudan’ will probably be counter-productive to the new country, nationals say.

In fact, another suggestion most Southern Sudaneses don’t like either is ‘Southern Sudan’. They discard it because the name raises fears that this name would also confuse people, as many people would think that ‘Southern Sudan’ is the Southern region within Sudan, and not a different country.

But while there are ones who oppose the ‘Sudan’ word, there are others who don’t want to lose it. The latter consider their region to be the real ‘Sudan’, while the Northern part, which has become arabized and islamized, is not. They unpolish semantics to substantiate it. ‘Sudan’, they say, etymologically means in Arabic ‘land of the black people’, which is how fairer-skinned Arabs called the lands of conquered black tribes under their power. So this would justify that the name ‘Sudan’ makes more sense in the blacks-populated South than in the Arab-occupied North.

Other possibilites up for consideration include plays on the Nile river, the area's main geographic feature, such as Nilotia, Nolotland, or the Nile Republic. Cushitia or Azania -- archaic geographic and ethnic names -- are other possibilities, though also fraught with uncomfortable overtones.

I have a feeling that intertia may dictate that "South Sudan" stays, given that it's already how the international media is referring to the place.  But despite its past significance, I'd have to think that at this point dropping "Sudan" -- with its contemporary connotations of genocide and famine -- from the name would be a wise branding move. I doubt anyone in Bangladesh wishes today that the country had stuck with "East Pakistan" after independence. Most of all, Southern Sudan should be sure to avoid the nomenclatural abomination that is the Republic of the Congo and the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

The Nile Republic isn't bad, though as Markessinis notes, Egypt is pretty protective of the Nile brand, raising the possibility of a FYROM situation. Maybe the country could go the Altria route and just make up a name? Not the worst idea for a place badly in need of a fresh start.

Any suggestions?

It's all the rage. Got a contested election in a fragile African country? Send in the elderly statesmen, make the warring parties sit down, and force them both into an uncomfortable but face-saving unity government. It happened in Zimbabwe, where President Robert Mugabe now shares power with the real vote-winner, Prime Minister Morgan Tsvangirai. It happened in Kenya, where incumbant President Mwai Kibaki was force-married with Prime Minister and rival Raila Odinga. And now, it's in danger of happening again in Cote d'Ivoire.

The mayhem in Cote d'Ivoire is serious. The country's presidential election was delayed repeatedly since 2005. When it finally took place, the results were delayed until international pressure came sufficiently to bear. The opposition candidate Alassane Ouattara is believed to have won and has been endorsed by international observers. But both he and the incumbent President Laurent Gbagbo have now held swearing-in ceremonies. 

So the temptation arises for a coalition. Le Monde has already floated the possibility, and African Union meditor (and former South African President) Thabo Mbeki has already flown to Abidjan. How else can we get both sides peacefully to come to some sort of agreement? But Zimbabwe and Kenya should be evidence enough of why not. Both pacts have ended in stagnation, infighting, and political deadlock. Ending the short-term crisis has come at the cost of sacrificing long-term political development.

Just take Zimbabwe, where the unity government may well have simply delayed the crisis. After months of being sidelined from Mugabe's unilateral decision-making, Prime Minister Tsvangirai has repeatedly boycotted his own government. He has been forced to sacrifice his entire reform agenda in favor of focusing all his political capital on a single goal: another election. There's no reason to believe another vote will go any differently that the last, when Mugabe lost and still claimed victory. Kenya has likewise proved troublesome; the president and prime minister are rumored to have gone months without talking. And so great was mediator Kofi Annan's frustration with the government's inability to push reforms and prosecute perpetrators of the 2008 election violence that he referred the names of the offenders to the International Criminal Court himself. 

Now to Cote d'Ivoire, where the situation has more in common with Kenya and Zimbabwe than just its potential for turmoil. Here, as in those two countries, the two political rivals aren't just political foes but personal ones who are not likely to work well together (if the current standoff isn't evidence enough.) Incumbent Gbagbo, who lost, blames Ouattara for imprisoning him when the former was a rebel leader long ago.  Ouattara, meanwhile, can't possibly feel fondly toward Gbagbo, having been barred from previous elections for his supposed non-Ivorian roots tracing to Burkina Faso. 

It would be great if these two could get along. But the stakes are too high to let them try while running a country. Cote d'Ivoire's government is already suffering.  And tensions have left more than a dozen dead in rival protests. Reconciliation is great and much needed -- but probably not best handled within the country's top office.