How Burundi has gone from peaceful protests to the brink of war

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When the name Adolphe was mentioned in public in Burundi, voices dropped to a whisper and people glanced around nervously to see if anyone was listening.

Adolphe Nshimirimana was a feared man, widely known as the chief enforcer of the brutal crackdown on Burundi's anti-government protesters this year. He was a former boss of Burundi's intelligence forces, a close ally of the president, and a key organizer of the police and secret agents who crushed the president's opponents.

People whispered his name because nobody knew whether his informers might be eavesdropping. But in a small country where the elite are known to everyone, his movements were tracked by the protesters, who passed around the details of his car, including the model and licence plate, to warn each other of his approach.

Last Sunday, he was assassinated in the streets of Bujumbura, the capital. Four assailants raked his car with bullets and grenades from automatic rifles and rocket launchers, killing him and three bodyguards.

His killers have not been identified. But his murder is another ominous step on the descent into violent chaos in one of Africa's most volatile regions, in a country with one of the continent's most blood-soaked histories.

Mr. Nshimirimana's assassination was swiftly followed by another wave of violence. A prominent Burundian journalist was detained by security forces at the scene of the assassination and severely beaten during a two-hour detention. On Monday, in a major escalation, Burundi's leading human-rights activist, Pierre Claver Mbonimpa, was seriously injured when he was shot in the face and neck by a man on a motorcycle who had pursued his car. On Tuesday, a local leader of Burundi's ruling party was shot dead, and an army colonel was reportedly killed by armed men in a separate attack.

This is how wars erupt: an escalating cycle of revenge from both sides, fuelled by repressive security forces and the anger of frustrated opposition groups after an autocratic government refuses to concede anything to its opponents. And this is how Burundi's conflict could be radicalized from peaceful protests into full-scale war.

Until recently, Burundi could have been an inspiration to many African countries. After years of civil war, its leaders had peacefully negotiated a power-sharing agreement, the Arusha Accords, which allowed the military to be politically and ethnically integrated. The integration seemed to be successful. Calm was restored. Even when President Pierre Nkurunziza violated the accords by announcing a bid for a third term as president this year, the protesters who flooded the streets in April and May were largely peaceful, and the soldiers who monitored the protests were equally restrained. Only the police were aggressively violent, killing and injuring hundreds of protesters.

But as the conflict wore on, with Mr. Nkurunziza rejecting all international pressure and flatly refusing to step down, the opposition grew angrier and less patient. One faction of the military attempted a coup, which failed. The president ignored the daily street protests, and the police continued to crack down.

Last month, sources in Burundi gave me a disturbing account of how the protesters were acquiring guns and grenades for the first time. When I had interviewed the protesters in May, they vowed that their marches would stay peaceful. But by July, with the government pushing ahead with the President's re-election, some of those peaceful protesters were arming themselves. They insisted it was for self-defence, but it was another troubling sign of the looming threat of war.

At the same time, divisions in the military were widening. Instead of being a force for peace and stability, as it seemed to be in the early days of the anti-government protests, the military has been splitting along political and ethnic lines.

Despite the worsening violence and escalating tension, Mr. Nkurunziza pushed ahead with his election on July 21. The opposition boycotted the vote, and Mr. Nkurunziza won a tainted victory. International observers condemned the results, noting that it lacked credibility because of the widespread violence and intimidation, and the forceful suppression of the media.

In May, when I met Mr. Mbonimpa, the human-rights activist, he was living in a house behind high walls topped with rolls of razor wire. He called it a "prison" – but he knew that he needed the heavy security because of the death threats and attacks he endured from government supporters. He had been jailed three times already. Yet despite the threats, he was calm and fearless as he chatted with me about the worsening situation.

By this month, Mr. Mbonimpa was one of the few remaining human-rights activists who hadn't fled Burundi. He showed remarkable courage by staying in the country. It left him vulnerable to attack, however, and this week his enemies caught up to him. It bodes poorly for the future of Burundi and its chances of avoiding war.