Sahel Juntas to The Hague: “We’re Out”—and Victims May Pay the Price
Three juntas in the Sahel—Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger—say they’re walking away from the International Criminal Court (ICC), branding it an “instrument of neo-colonial repression.” It’s the latest move in a hard pivot from Western partners toward sovereignty-first politics and new patrons.
This isn’t a bolt from the blue. All three are fighting entrenched insurgencies tied to al-Qaeda and the Islamic State, and they’ve bristled for years at investigations they claim land hardest on poorer African states. Mali’s ICC file has been open since 2013, with convictions that proved the court could act, but not at a speed or focus the juntas accept. Think of it like calling in an airstrike that arrives after the target has moved—proof of capability, not of timely effect.
The geopolitics are plain. These regimes already quit the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), pushed out French forces, and tightened security ties with Moscow.
Today’s ICC exit tracks with that realignment: fewer external constraints, more room to prosecute their wars their way—public relations included.
Here’s the legal fine print that matters: under Article 127 of the Rome Statute, withdrawal takes effect one year after the United Nations receives formal notice. Until that clock runs out, states remain bound to cooperate, and anything that happened before the effective date stays within the court’s reach. In short, you can slam the door, but the cases already in the hallway don’t vanish.
Human rights groups warn that the losers here are civilians. With weak domestic courts and brutal, multi-sided conflicts, the ICC often functions as the last resort when national systems won’t—or can’t—touch powerful perpetrators. Take away that backstop, and impunity starts to look like the house standard.
Bottom line: Calling the ICC biased plays well at rallies, but it won’t protect villagers on the wrong road at the wrong time. The juntas are betting that sovereignty beats scrutiny; Washington, Paris, and Brussels will read this as part of a broader tilt toward Russia and away from rules-based mechanisms. For SOF and intel folks tracking the Sahel, expect fewer handcuffs and more hard power—along with the political fog that follows when no neutral referee is left on the field.
Burkina Faso, Niger, and Mali have exited the ICC with immediate effect, after unveiling the framework for a Sahelian Criminal Court.
A historic decision that establishes once and for all that African sovereignty is the core of what the AES stands for.pic.twitter.com/PuZjQIxZAQ
— David Hundeyin (@DavidHundeyin) September 22, 2025
North Korea’s ICBM Puzzle: One Piece Left—Re-entry
South Korea’s President Lee Jae Myung says Pyongyang is closing in on a nuclear-tipped intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM) that can hit the United States (U.S.). The remaining piece is the toughest: a heat-shielded re-entry vehicle that can keep a warhead intact as it screams back through the atmosphere. Think of it like surviving a blowtorch and a pressure washer at Mach 20—if the cone holds together, the deterrent becomes credible in a way Washington can’t ignore.
North Korea’s path here is a study in grind and adaptation. The liquid-fueled Hwasong-14 and Hwasong-15 proved the basic geometry back in 2017. Since then, the program shifted to solid fuel with the Hwasong-18 and now the Hwasong-19—tests that matter because solid fuel trims launch prep, boosts mobility, and complicates allied targeting. Solid fuel turns a conspicuous fueling operation into a quicker “shoot and scoot,” shrinking the window for preemption and making every transporter-erector-launcher a bigger headache.
Estimates vary, but intelligence watchers put the current operational ICBM inventory at around 10 or fewer, with production lines and launchers ramping up. By 2035, a force as high as 50 ICBMs is within reach if trends hold. On the nuclear side, stockpile growth could add 15–20 warheads a year. Quantity doesn’t guarantee quality, but volume buys the regime options—salvo tactics, decoys, and the simple math of saturating defenses.
Re-entry technology remains the technical speed bump. It’s not glamorous, but it separates a political statement from a military capability. Survive re-entry, maintain guidance, and deliver a functioning package, and you have a strategic weapon. Fail, and you have orbital scrap. President Lee’s read is that Pyongyang will solve this soon; given North Korea’s learning curve and the tempo of tests, that’s a bet you take seriously.
Why the sprint? Pyongyang frames it as insurance against “hostile” U.S.–Republic of Korea (ROK) posture and exercises. Kim Jong Un wants a deterrent that forces respect and complicates allied crisis calculus. A nuclear-armed, solid-fueled ICBM fleet—even a modest one—reshapes warning timelines, intercept planning, and White House decision space.
What now? Expect louder calls to restore sustained deterrence diplomacy while shoring up missile defense and left-of-launch options. Any freeze worth the paper needs verifiable constraints on solid-fuel production and flight testing, with snap inspections that are actually intrusive. Until then, the board is tilting: each successful test shortens the odds that the next launch isn’t merely a message, but a mature capability aimed squarely at the U.S. homeland.
#BREAKING 🇰🇵🇰🇷⚡️- “North Korea is in the last stage of developing an intercontinental ballistic missile that could hit the United States with a nuclear weapon” – South Korean President pic.twitter.com/m0I1jcfbB5
— Monitor𝕏 (@MonitorX99800) September 25, 2025
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