This October marks the official start of the 2026-2027 school year in Mali, a period traditionally filled with hope and anticipation. Yet beneath the surface, the reality is far more grim. While the transitional government declares 2026 the « Year of Education and Culture, » the closure of more than 2,400 schools across the country tells a different story—one of systemic failure, deepening insecurity, and a generation’s future hanging in the balance.
From classrooms to battlegrounds: how extremist groups weaponize education
The scale of this educational collapse is unprecedented. Over 20% of Mali’s national schools lie shuttered, their doors sealed not by budget cuts or policy oversight, but by the deliberate campaign of terror waged by armed groups. These factions, rooted in ideological opposition to public education, systematically target institutions that represent state authority and Western ideals. Schools are not merely destroyed—they are repurposed as havens for the displaced or torched as symbols of resistance.
The regional impact is devastating. In the northern strongholds of Kidal, nearly 84% of schools remain inactive, while in Ménaka, the Islamic State in the Greater Sahara (ISGS) has seized control of over half the educational network. The crisis extends southward into Mopti and Bandiagara, where the Group for the Support of Islam and Muslims (JNIM), an Al-Qaeda affiliate, enforces brutal blockades on villages like Niono and Djenné. Teachers, often the first targets, face intimidation or worse, with entire districts forced into silence under threat of violence.
Junta under fire: security promises crumble amid military setbacks
The transitional government, led by General Assimi Goïta, rose to power on the pledge of restoring national sovereignty and security. Yet today, those promises lie in ruins. Since ejecting French forces and the UN peacekeeping mission, Bamako has pivoted toward Russian military support—via the Africa Corps (formerly Wagner Group)—in an attempt to regain control. But the strategy has backfired spectacularly.
Despite a much-publicized recapture of Kidal in late 2023, the Malian Armed Forces (FAMa) and their Russian allies have become bogged down in relentless attrition warfare. The catastrophic defeat at Tinzaouatène in summer 2024 exposed glaring weaknesses in their operational structure, prompting a surge in retaliatory attacks by armed groups. These offensives now extend beyond traditional strongholds, striking deep into the heart of the state: military garrisons in Faladié and Bamako’s main airbase were targeted in September 2024, shattering any illusion of territorial security.
The unraveling map of Mali: where the state no longer reaches
What emerges from this conflict is a fractured landscape of dwindling governmental influence. The Grand Nord, encompassing Kidal, Ménaka, and Taoudénit, exists in a state of near-total abandonment, with state presence confined to a handful of fortified towns. Meanwhile, ISGS imposes its brutal rule in vast swaths of Ménaka, levying taxes and enforcing sharia law on helpless communities. In the Central regions—Mopti, Ségou, and San—the JNIM dominates rural territories, enforcing economic blockades that choke off food and fuel supplies to cities like Ségou and Kayes. Even the west, once spared, now sees sleeper cells of the JNIM disrupting trade routes and destabilizing local governance.
A silent siege: education as the new frontline
For families, the closure of schools is not just a logistical failure—it is a cultural and psychological blow. Over 730,000 children have been denied their right to education, their futures written off as collateral damage in a conflict they did not choose. These closures are not accidental; they are calculated victories for extremist ideologies that thrive on ignorance and despair.
As the junta doubles down on military solutions, the humanitarian cost grows daily. Children, displaced and disenfranchised, are increasingly drawn into cycles of violence as recruitment tactics intensify in empty classrooms and abandoned communities. The « Year of Education » proclaimed in Bamako rings hollow when its most vulnerable citizens are trapped in a spiral of fear and neglect.
What lies ahead: can the state reclaim its schools?
The path forward is fraught with obstacles. Reopening schools will require more than rhetoric; it demands a comprehensive security strategy that addresses both the symptoms and root causes of radicalization. It requires the restoration of trust between communities and the state—a trust eroded by years of instability and broken alliances.
Yet time is not on Mali’s side. Every day these schools remain closed, the ideological ground is ceded to forces that seek to erase history, knowledge, and hope. The question now is not just whether Bamako can reclaim its territory—but whether it can reclaim its future.