A Human Security Doctrine for Europe: Project, Principles, Practicalities (Routledge Advances in International Relations and Global Politics)

A Human Security Doctrine for Europe

This edited collection sets out a new approach to European security that focuses on the security of the individual rather than the state. It argues that threats to Europeans like weapons of mass destruction or terrorism can only be countered if we address the insecurity of people in different parts of the world. Many people in the world lead intolerably insecure lives. In large parts of Africa, the Balkans, the former Soviet Union or the Middle East, men and women live in daily fear of violent attacks, kidnapping, rape, extortion, robbery or trafficking. The existence of large military apparatuses does not create security; indeed, as in Iraq, the use of regular military forces may only make things worse. This edited volume explores the needs of people in conflict areas, rather than taking an institutional or geo-political perspective. It proposes that Europe should develop a new kind of human security capability that involves the military, the police and civilians all working together to enforce law rather than to fight wars. The book is a record of the work of the Study Group on Europe’s Security Capabilities, an independent group convened at the request of EU High Representative Javier Solana to advise on the future of European security policy. It is the first comprehensive academic and policy response to the European Security Strategy, published by the European Union in December 2003. Apart from the Study Group’s Barcelona Report, it contains fifteen studies especially commissioned by the Study Group to help develop its approach: • • • •

Two introductory contributions setting out the changed global context and proposing new approaches to security. Five regional studies on the Balkans, the Great Lakes Region, the Middle East, the South Caucasus and West Africa. Four framework studies on different aspects of EU security policy, including the legal setting, the role of women, operational principles and the role of the new member states. Four operational studies on capabilities, resources and institutional embedding.

Written by a diverse team of international experts, this book will be of strong interest to policy-makers, students and researchers of security studies, human rights and international relations. Marlies Glasius is a Research Fellow at the Centre for the Study of Global Governance, London School of Economics and Political Science. Mary Kaldor is Director of the same centre and Professor of Global Governance. She is the author of New and Old Wars (1999), The Imaginary War (1990) and numerous other studies on global security. The editors are the coordinator and the convenor of the Study Group on Europe’s Security Capabilities.

Routledge advances in international relations and global politics

1 Foreign Policy and Discourse Analysis France, Britain and Europe Henrik Larsen 2 Agency, Structure and International Politics From ontology to empirical enquiry Gil Friedman and Harvey Starr 3 The Political Economy of Regional Co-operation in the Middle East Ali Carkoglu, Mine Eder and Kemal Kirisci 4 Peace Maintenance The evolution of international political authority Jarat Chopra 5 International Relations and Historical Sociology Breaking down boundaries Stephen Hobden 6 Equivalence in Comparative Politics Edited by Jan W. van Deth 7 The Politics of Central Banks Robert Elgie and Helen Thompson

8 Politics and Globalisation Knowledge, ethics and agency Martin Shaw 9 History and International Relations Thomas W. Smith 10 Idealism and Realism in International Relations Robert M.A. Crawford 11 National and International Conflicts, 1945–1995 New empirical and theoretical approaches Frank Pfetsch and Christoph Rohloff 12 Party Systems and Voter Alignments Revisited Edited by Lauri Karvonen and Stein Kuhnle 13 Ethics, Justice and International Relations Constructing an international community Peter Sutch 14 Capturing Globalization Edited by James H. Mittelman and Norani Othman

15 Uncertain Europe Building a new European security order? Edited by Martin A. Smith and Graham Timmins 16 Power, Postcolonialism and International Relations Reading race, gender and class Edited by Geeta Chowdhry and Sheila Nair 17 Constituting Human Rights Global civil society and the society of democratic states Mervyn Frost 18 US Economic Statecraft for Survival 1933–1991 Of sanctions, embargoes and economic warfare Alan P. Dobson 19 The EU and NATO Enlargement Richard McAllister and Roland Dannreuther 20 Spatializing International Politics Analysing activism on the internet Jayne Rodgers 21 Ethnonationalism in the Contemporary World Walker Connor and the study of Nationalism Edited by Daniele Conversi 22 Meaning and International Relations Edited by Peter Mandaville and Andrew Williams

23 Political Loyalty and the NationState Edited by Michael Waller and Andrew Linklater 24 Russian Foreign Policy and the CIS Theories, debates and actions Nicole J. Jackson 25 Asia and Europe Development and different dimensions of ASEM Yeo Lay Hwee 26 Global Instability and Strategic Crisis Neville Brown 27 Africa in International Politics External involvement on the continent Edited by Ian Taylor and Paul Williams 28 Global Governmentality Governing international spaces Edited by Wendy Larner and William Walters 29 Political Learning and Citizenship Education Under Conflict The political socialization of Israeli and Palestinian youngsters Orit Ichilov 30 Gender and Civil Society Transcending boundaries Edited by Jude Howell and Diane Mulligan

31 State Crises, Globalisation and National Movements in NorthEast Africa The Horn’s dilemma Edited by Asafa Jalata 32 Diplomacy and Developing Nations Post-Cold War foreign policymaking structures and processes Edited by Justin Robertson and Maurice A. East 33 Autonomy, Self-governance and Conflict Resolution Innovative approaches to institutional design in divided societies Edited by Marc Weller and Stefan Wolff 34 Mediating International Crises Jonathan Wilkenfeld, Kathleen J. Young, David M. Quinn and Victor Asal 35 Postcolonial Politics, The Internet and Everyday Life Pacific traversals online M.I. Franklin

36 Reconstituting the Global Liberal Order Legitimacy and regulation Kanishka Jayasuriya 37 International Relations, Security and Jeremy Bentham Gunhild Hoogensen 38 Interregionalism and International Relations Edited by Heiner Hänggi, Ralf Roloff and Jürgen Rüland 39 The International Criminal Court A global civil society achievement Marlies Glasius 40 A Human Security Doctrine for Europe Project, principles, practicalities Edited by Marlies Glasius and Mary Kaldor

A Human Security Doctrine for Europe Project, principles, practicalities

Edited by Marlies Glasius and Mary Kaldor

First published 2006 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group

This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2006. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” © 2006 Marlies Glasius and Mary Kaldor for selection and editorial matter; individual contributors their contributions All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested

ISBN 0-203-02000-6 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-415-36745-X (Print Edition)

Contents

List of illustrations Contributors List of abbreviations Preface

x xi xiii xiv

PART I

Introduction 1 A human security vision for Europe and beyond

1 3

MARLIES GLASIUS AND MARY KALDOR

2 The challenges to re-establishing a public monopoly of violence

20

HERBERT WULF

PART II

A bottom-up approach: five regional studies 3 Old and new insecurity in the Balkans: lessons from the EU’s intervention in Macedonia

40

43

DENISA KOSTOVICOVA

4 The Great Lakes region: security vacuum and European legacy

71

VICTORIA BRITTAIN AND AUGUSTA CONCHIGLIA

5 Sierra Leone’s war in a regional context: lessons from interventions DAVID KEEN

93

viii Contents 6 Human security in the South Caucasus

121

MIENT JAN FABER AND MARY KALDOR

7 Middle East security: a view from Israel, Palestine and Iraq

148

YAHIA SAID

PART III

A framework for operations 8 An international law framework with respect to international peace and security

171

173

CHRISTINE CHINKIN

9 Women as agents of change in conflict and post-conflict situations

200

SONJA LICHT

10 Culture and capabilities of the new EU members

215

PAVEL SEIFTER

11 Principles for the use of the military in support of law enforcement operations: implementing the European Security Strategy

231

ANDREW SALMON AND MARY KALDOR

PART IV

Capabilities, resources and institutions

247

12 What colour is your elephant? The military aspect of European security

249

CHRISTOPHER ANKERSEN

13 Civilian tasks and capabilities in EU operations

264

RENATA DWAN

14 Equipment, resources, and inter-operability

290

GENEVIÈVE SCHMÉDER

15 Embedding a bottom-up approach to European security STEFANIE FLECHTNER

311

Contents ix

Annex

325

A Human Security Doctrine for Europe: the Barcelona Report of the Study Group on Europe’s Security Capabilities

327

Index

357

Illustrations

Maps 3.1 3.2 4.1 6.1

International interventions in former Yugoslavia since 1992 Ethnic conflict in Macedonia in 2001 The Great Lakes region The Caucasus and its contested territories

45 47 73 130

Tables 12.1 12.2 14.1 14.2

14.3 14.4 14.5 14.6 14.7

Defence expenditures and total armed forces The global supply of projectable military force US military budget, 2000–5 (in constant $US billion) Equipment expenditures in the EU and the US, 1997–2000, in constant $US billion prices and exchange rates 2000 Defence expenditures (total and by category) in $US million at 2000 prices and exchange rates Military expenditures compared with budget situations, 2003 Military expenditures per capita in the five biggest European spenders in 2002 (in $US) Approximate unit cost of external operations per soldier per year in France in 2003 (in C) Recapitulation of costs per person per year of some external operations (in C)

250 252 291

291 298 299 299 303 303

Contributors

Christopher Ankersen is completing a doctoral dissertation at the Department of Social Policy, London School of Economics and Political Science. Victoria Brittain is a Research Associate at the Development Studies Institute, London School of Economics and Political Science. Christine Chinkin is a Professor of International Law at the London School of Economics and Political Science. Augusta Conchiglia is a freelance researcher focusing on Sub-Saharan Africa. Renata Dwan is Leader of the Project on Armed Conflict and Conflict Management, Stockholm International Peace Research Institute. She is presently on secondment to the United Nations Department of Peacekeeping Operations. Mient Jan Faber is a Visiting Professor of Conflict Studies at the Free University of Amsterdam, and former coordinator of the Inter-Church Peace Council. Stefanie Flechtner is a Policy Analyst at the International Policy Analysis Unit of the Friedrich Ebert Foundation, Berlin. Marlies Glasius is a Research Fellow at the Centre for the Study of Global Governance, London School of Economics and Political Science. Mary Kaldor is Professor of Global Governance and Director of the Centre for the Study of Global Governance, London School of Economics and Political Science. David Keen is a Lecturer at the Development Studies Institute, London School of Economics and Political Science. Denisa Kostovicova is a Research Fellow at the Centre for the Study of Global Governance, London School of Economics and Political Science.

xii Contributors Sonja Licht is President of the Belgrade Fund for Political Excellence, and was previously President of the Fund for an Open Society, Yugoslavia. Yahia Said is a Research Fellow at the Centre for the Study of Global Governance, London School of Economics and Political Science. Andrew Salmon is a Brigadier General of the Royal Marines. Geneviève Schméder is Professor at the Conservatoire National des Arts et Metiers, Paris. Pavel Seifter is a Visiting Fellow at the Centre for the Study of Global Governance, London School of Economics and Political Science and former Czech ambassador to the United Kingdom. Herbert Wulf is the former Director of the Bonn International Center for Conversion (BICC), where he is now associated as a Senior Fellow.

Abbreviations

BiH CFSP CIMIC CIVCOM CMCO COE DDR DRC EC ECHO ESDP ESS EU FYROM ICC KFOR MSU OSCE SADC SFOR UNDP

Bosnia-Herzegovina Common Foreign and Security Policy Civil–military cooperation Committee for Civilian Crisis Management Civil–military coordination Council of Europe Disarm, Demobilize, Reintegrate Democratic Republic of Congo European Community European Community Humanitarian aid Organization European Security and Defence Policy European Security Strategy European Union Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia International Criminal Court Kosovo Force (NATO) Multinational Specialized Unit Organisation for Security and Co-operation in Europe Southern African Development Community Stabilization Force in Bosnia and Herzegovina (NATO) United Nations Development Programme

Preface

When Europe was divided over the war in Iraq, it was divided about a security agenda determined by the United States and not by European countries. Even before the war in Iraq, the member states of the European Union had recognized the need to build an autonomous capacity for contributing to the global security agenda. This process was accelerated in the aftermath of the Iraq war. A European Security Strategy was approved in December 2003. The new Constitution, now under threat, establishes the post of foreign minister, merging the foreign policy activities of the Council and the Commission. Military forces and civilian capabilities have been made available to the European Union, and the European Union has embarked on its own security missions in Macedonia, BosniaHerzegovina, eastern Congo and Georgia. The Study Group on European Security Capabilities was convened by Mary Kaldor at the request of Javier Solana, the High Representative for Common Foreign and Security Policy. The terms of reference agreed with Javier Solana emphasized two issues. First, the Study Group should be concerned about capabilities: what, in practical terms, is needed to implement the European Security Strategy. Second, the approach of the Study Group was to be ‘bottom-up’. Rather than discussing institutional arrangements, a favourite topic for European security analysts, the focus of the study would be actual security problems faced in different parts of the world, which affect the security of individual Europeans. The aim of the Study Group would therefore be to specify how to design appropriate means to meet the actual problems faced on the ground, particularly in conflict zones. The composition and working methods of the Study Group were based on the following ideas: •

While it should of course be composed of people with particular experience of and/or expertise in relation to security, it should be drawn from a much wider variety of backgrounds than the small circle of professional ‘security experts’ in academia, the civil service and the military. It should also have a different gender composition from the usually male-dominated security field.

Preface xv •

•

It should base its findings on thorough research: commissioning a set of papers from experts within and beyond the group to inform its final report. Hence, it was called a ‘study group’ rather than an ‘independent commission’ or a ‘high-level panel’. It should invite input and discussion from a wide set of actors within the EU, to the benefit of the report but also in order to help generate a public debate about the role and the capabilities of the European Union in the area of security.

The Study Group was independently funded by the Caixa de Catalunya, so that it would have the capacity to advise the EU freely, independent of any institutional constraints. It reported to Javier Solana at the Barcelona Forum on 15 September 2004. Members were invited to join the group in the summer and autumn of 2003. Narcis Serra is the former Spanish Minister of Defence who was tasked with bringing the military under democratic control after the failed Tejero coup in 1981. He has since advised other states on military reform. Pavel Seifter, a former Czechoslovakian dissident and subsequently foreign policy adviser to then President Vaclav Havel, and Czech ambassador to the UK, was asked to bring in the perspectives of the new member states of the EU. Geneviève Schméder is an expert on military technology and the economics of security and disarmament. Klaus Reinhardt is the only German general to have undertaken hazardous foreign missions in Somalia, Bosnia and Kosovo. Jan Pronk is a former Dutch Minister of Development Cooperation and United Nations official, with a particular interest in the relationship between security and development. He participated in the first nine months of the work of the Study Group before being called by UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan to become his Special Representative in Sudan. Sonja Licht was a long-standing member of the Yugoslav democratic opposition, and headed a range of civil society initiatives during the conflicts in the Balkans, including the Helsinki Citizens Assembly and the Fund for an Open Society Yugoslavia. She also represented the experience of being ‘intervened upon’ within the group. Nicole Gnesotto is the Director of the Institute for Security Studies of the European Union, with many publications on European security to her name. Anthony (now Lord) Giddens, an eminent sociologist, has written on the changing nature of political violence in relation to globalization. Renata Dwan of the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI) is an expert on police and civilian involvement in humanitarian missions. She also brought a tremendous fund of institutional and political knowledge of the European Union to the group. Kemal Dervis is an expert on development economics, a former World Bank official and a former Turkish Minister of Economics. Christine Chinkin is an international lawyer who specializes in human rights law, dispute resolution, and gender. Ulrich Albrecht combines expertise on

xvi

Preface

aeronautical engineering, political science and economics in his views of security issues. The Study Group also had four special advisers who took part in some or all of its deliberations but for various reasons did not take responsibility as authors of the Barcelona Report: Robert Cooper, special adviser to Javier Solana and previously to British Prime Minister Tony Blair; Andy Salmon, a Brigadier in the British Royal Marines, whose career has involved numerous foreign missions in Europe, Africa and the Middle East; Alex Rondos, adviser to Greek PASOK leader George Papandreou, and who negotiated the release of Palestinians from the besieged church of the nativity in Bethlehem in 2002; and Marika Lerch of the Friedrich Ebert Stiftung, an expert on the external policy of the EU. The Study Group was supported by a coordinator with a background in human rights (Marlies Glasius), a researcher with expertise on conflicts in the Balkans, the South Caucasus, Chechnya, Israel/Palestine and Iraq (Yahia Said), and various administrators and research assistants. The Study Group first convened on 1 and 2 December 2003, just days before the European Council (in an otherwise failed meeting on the Constitution) adopted the European Security Strategy, which it has taken as the basis for its work. The group discussed the terms of reference and decided to divide its work into a discussion of an overall vision; a number of ‘bottom-up’ studies of conflict areas, which would in turn inform a subsequent session on the tasks and the necessary capabilities to support its vision for a European security policy; and finally one or two drafting sessions. The group had a vigorous discussion on visions and concepts, and invited us (the convenor and the coordinator) to write a ‘Vision Paper’ for its next session. A revised version of this paper forms the first chapter of this book. It is complemented by another conceptual study, by Herbert Wulf (Chapter 2), which tackles the questions of whether and how a ‘public monopoly of force’ can be maintained in a globalized world. It also commissioned five regional papers on conflict regions: on the Balkans (by Denisa Kostovicova, Chapter 3 of this volume), the Great Lakes region of Central Africa (Victoria Brittain and Augusta Conchiglia, Chapter 4), West Africa (David Keen, Chapter 5), the South Caucasus (Mient Jan Faber and Mary Kaldor, Chapter 6), and the Middle East (Yahia Said, Chapter 7). All the authors carried out fieldwork in their respective regions. The next session, in March 2004, was hosted by the European Council at its Presidium in Brussels. More than 70 people from a wide variety of backgrounds were invited to take part in a two-day conference that took the five regional studies as its point of departure for the discussion of Europe’s security policy, devoting a three-hour session to each of the regions. Most importantly, people from civil society backgrounds from these regions were invited to participate. Besides informing the work of the Study Group, these workshops turned out to fulfil another important

Preface xvii function: they offered a rare opportunity to expose EU foreign-policy makers to public scrutiny of their policies by academics, journalists, NGO representatives and, most importantly, by people from the regions their policies affected. We recommend that such discussions become a more regular feature in Brussels. In a closed session, the Study Group discussed and largely endorsed the vision as laid down in the Vision Paper, and commissioned a new set of papers. The aim of this set of papers would be to operationalize various aspects of the vision, informed by the regional studies. The list of possible topics for this phase of the project was very long, so the Study Group took the approach of commissioning studies only on topics which had previously received limited attention. Christine Chinkin (Chapter 8) makes an ambitious attempt to describe the contours of a legal framework that would provide guidelines not only on decisions to deploy personnel but also for the forms of law that operate in conflict and post-conflict situations, and the relation between them. Sonja Licht (Chapter 9) considers the roles women play in conflict situations, and provides recommendations for a gender-sensitive security policy that could harness the roles of women as development and peace agents. Pavel Seifter discusses the particular history and cultural sensitivities of the new accession states, and the obstacles and opportunities these offer for their role in European security policy (Chapter 10). And Andy Salmon and Mary Kaldor (Chapter 11) provide a set of operational principles to guide personnel in the kind of missions the Study Group envisaged. The Study Group met again in May 2004 in Berlin, hosted by the Friedrich Ebert Stiftung, to discuss these papers. Again, it invited a wider group of experts to discuss the papers and their possible contribution to the final report. The fourth Study Group meeting, in London in early July 2004, discussed a final set of ‘nitty-gritty’ papers on the civilian and military capabilities the EU would need in order to carry out operations according to the Study Group’s vision, and the way these could be resourced and institutionally embedded. Chris Ankersen (Chapter 12) summarizes the current structure of European forces, and discusses the organizational and cultural changes they need to undergo. Renata Dwan (Chapter 13) describes current civilian capabilities, and sets out the changes that are needed to support viable integrated civilian–military deployments. Mary Kaldor, with input from Andy Salmon, Marlies Glasius and Renata Dwan, drafted a discussion paper on the actual force the Study Group would propose. The paper is not included in this volume as its revised contents, proposing the Human Security Response Force, are largely reflected in the final report of the Study Group. Geneviève Schméder (Chapter 14) examines the equipment the force would need, as well as making proposals concerning the resourcing of a more active European security policy. Stefanie Flechtner considers how European security policy could

xviii Preface be embedded in a way that improves democratic control by the citizens of the European Union as well as accountability to citizens of deployment areas (Chapter 15). The Study Group also used this session to discuss a first full draft of the final report. It had a further drafting session in August, before the report was presented to Javier Solana in Barcelona. The report, entitled ‘A Human Security Doctrine for Europe’, is included as an Annex in this volume. The whole process was intended to be as transparent as possible and to involve as wide a range of people as possible in our thinking. In addition to these formal meetings, seminars and workshops were held in London and in Istanbul. Reports of meetings and draft papers were posted on a website, www.lse.ac.uk/Depts/global/StudyGroup/StudyGroup.htm. We would like to thank EU High Representative Javier Solana for his support and encouragement for the study, and all the participants in seminars and conferences in London, Brussels, Berlin and Istanbul for their valuable contributions. Special thanks go to Catherine Day for developing and sharing with us her ideas on information, communication and intelligence policy. We are grateful to the Council of the European Union for hosting a three-day conference on regional experiences, to the Friedrich Ebert Stiftung for hosting an expert seminar in Berlin and for further support and advice, and to the Economic and Foreign Policy Forum (EDP) for organizing a Round Table in Istanbul. Further thanks go to Forum Barcelona 2004 for hosting the launch of this report in Barcelona, and to the CIDOB Foundation and in particular Berta Baquer for logistical support with the Barcelona launch of this report. Finally, we would like to thank Michael James for copy-editing each paper swiftly and meticulously, Aleksandar Ciric for making four maps, and Michael Fitch and Wearset for further copy-editing and type-setting. At the time of writing, the members of the Study Group and their associates are presenting and debating their proposals in a series of meetings in various capitals of the European Union. Marlies Glasius and Mary Kaldor

Part I

Introduction

1

A human security vision for Europe and beyond Marlies Glasius and Mary Kaldor

Introduction Since September 11, many commentators have noted the growing divergence of world view between Europe and the United States. One of the most widely quoted characterizations of this divergence is that of Robert Kagan (2002, 2003). Kagan contrasts what he sees as the American Hobbesian world view, in which military power is the key factor, with the European Kantian view, which places the emphasis on the extension of international law. The former view considers the Hobbesian idea of a state of nature, a ‘war of every man against every man’, as continuing to apply to the inter-state world. A superpower, asserting its military might whenever and however it deems necessary, is therefore the only possible way to keep order and keep anarchy at bay. The Kantian view favours a law-based approach to maintaining international peace and justice, believing that peaceful and rights-based states cannot exist in isolation in a world where ‘might is right’. ‘The problem of establishing a perfect civil constitution is subordinate to the problem of a law-governed external relationship with other states, and cannot be solved unless the latter is also solved’ (Kant [1784] 1991: 45, 47). According to Kagan, the Kantian approach is typical of weak states. Our contention is that a European world view should indeed be based on Kantian principles. As we elaborate below, the European Union itself can be viewed as a ‘perpetual peace’ project, according to which nationstates continue to exist but agree not to go to war with each other and to adhere to certain standards, particularly standards of democracy and human rights. But we differ from Kagan in two important respects. First of all, we argue that, in an era of globalization, this approach is actually more realistic than a Hobbesian world view. Because societies are so interdependent at all levels, it is no longer possible to defend the interests of a particular nation or region unilaterally. A geo-political approach, which pursues national interest through top-down relations backed by military force, will turn out to be counter-productive, as is clearly evident in the ‘war on terror’ operations in Afghanistan and Iraq. Second, we do think

4 Marlies Glasius and Mary Kaldor that the European approach needs to be underpinned by military force and that Europe needs to be ‘tougher’ than hitherto. But military forces need to be configured in quite new ways. They need to be able to prevent and contain violence in different parts of the world; but this is different, we argue, from being able to fight wars against other states or proto-states. They should address the real security needs of people in situations of severe insecurity; and, by addressing these, they will also make the world safer for Europeans. Indeed, in our view, there is a dangerous disjunction between traditional security instruments and actual security needs. Naturally, internal security within the Union and within the member states remains of vital importance, and substantial resources of the member states and the EU will continue to be devoted to initiatives to enhance security internally. However, our point is that internal and external security are now inseparable, and that making a contribution to global security should be part of Europe’s security policy. This introductory chapter, like the work of the Study Group, addresses only this external security dimension. The approach to security we propose is not peculiar to Europe. We would make the same case for NATO or the United Nations. The advantage of thinking about European security capabilities is that European security policy is relatively recent and is not mired in the institutional legacy of past wars and past military traditions. This is not a competitive approach vis-à-vis the United States. Ideally we would hope that eventually the United States would adopt a similar approach. In the next section, we elaborate why we think the changed global context calls for a radically different approach to security. Subsequently, we discuss the concept of human security, and why we think security outside the borders should concern Europe. The next section outlines our overall vision for European security policy. The penultimate section contains a reflection on the nature of the European polity in its relation to human security. The conclusion recapitulates the main elements of our vision.

The changed global context Before the Second World War the agency dealing with military policy in most countries was called the ‘Ministry of War’. After the war, these departments changed their name to ‘Ministry of Defence’ in recognition of the emerging norm that aggressive war was no longer legitimate. We would like to propose the need for another shift, from considering ‘defence policy’ to ‘security policy’ and, more particularly, ‘human’ or ‘global’ security. The term ‘defence policy’ tends to mean a policy aimed at defending the state and its inhabitants from foreign aggression, more particularly from the aggression of foreign states. Of course, any security policy has to be concerned with threats to its own people. But our argu-

A vision for Europe and beyond 5 ment will be that it is no longer possible to defend a particular territory or group of people in isolation. Since the inception of the United Nations, but more particularly since the 1990s, armies which were originally maintained for the defence of borders have been used for peacekeeping operations outside, and often far away from, those borders. Clearly, the governments in charge of these armies and the citizens who voted for these governments have long believed that these were somehow relevant and useful operations, whether to serve humanitarian goals or to keep the armed forces fit. However, the justification for such operations, and their relation to national defence, remained under-theorized for a long time. Only in the late 1990s did the changing nature of ‘defence’ and ‘security’ really become a matter of debate. An important reason for the inadequacy of traditional state security approaches is the changing nature of military power. Clausewitz defined war as ‘an act of violence designed to compel an opponent to fulfil our will’ ([1832] 1968: 1). What has become known as ‘compellance’ (Schelling 1960) is much more difficult nowadays. Small arms, grenades and so forth have become much more accurate and easy to use, so the difference between those who possess advanced military technology and those who do not has been reduced. Hence the importance of what the Americans call ‘asymmetric threats’. The US advantage in military technology is much less than the difference in expenditure. The US has an advantage in the air and in information technology. It can be very destructive. But it is not very good at imposing order – at coping, for instance, with suicide bombers who have relatively unsophisticated technology. Moreover, the means used in traditional warfare have themselves become considered increasingly illegitimate. The consequence of the barbaric wars of the twentieth century was not only the introduction of legal constraints on war but also growing public pressures against war. In a world where human rights norms have become an increasingly salient element of the global discourse, an intervention that uses traditional warfighting means, including in particular aerial bombardment, can itself be considered a violation of human rights. While contemporary Western governments do try to minimize civilian casualties, they cannot avoid such casualties altogether. The numbers of civilians killed in Afghanistan or Iraq exceed the numbers killed on September 11 and, for many people, the distinction between war as legitimate killing and violations of human rights is becoming harder to sustain. Related to the growing illegitimacy of traditional war-fighting is the lack of will to engage in wars and, in particular, to risk casualties. The decline in the utility of traditional military power means, on the one hand, less likelihood of external aggression by foreign states and, on the other hand, new sources of insecurity that are less amenable to traditional military methods. These developments also have to be understood in the broader context of globalization – growing interconnectedness in all fields, deterritorialization

6 Marlies Glasius and Mary Kaldor of authority, and the erosion of the autonomy of states. All of these developments call into question the classic equation of the security of the state with the security of the citizen. Classic authoritarian closed states, which threaten the security of their own citizens, are increasingly of concern to other states and to global public opinion. At the same time, as the outside world cannot be kept out, formerly authoritarian states often degenerate into ‘failing states’, which are unable to protect their citizens. The ‘new wars’ that are taking place in many parts of the world call into question the distinctions between ‘human rights violations’ inflicted by the state on its own citizens and ‘conflict’ between armed combatants: battles are rare and most violence is inflicted on civilians. In particular, population displacement is a typical feature of such wars, as a result both of deliberate ethnic cleansing and of the difficulty of distinguishing between civilians and combatants. Such wars blur the distinction between the internal and the external because they spill over borders and involve both local and global actors. They also blur the distinctions between public and private, and between military and civilian, since they involve regular forces as well as paramilitary groups, warlords, mercenaries and organized crime groups. It is these conflicts that become the ‘black holes’ generating many of the new sources of insecurity – refugees and displaced persons, extremist ideologies, terror, and various forms of trafficking – that spread across borders and are increasingly difficult to contain. While these developments may initially have appeared to apply primarily to developing and conflict states, the September 11 attacks have made it clear once and for all that no citizens of the world are any longer safely ensconced behind their national borders, and that sources of insecurity are no longer most likely to come in the form of border incursions by foreign armies. The new ‘threats’ to Europe (terrorism, the spread of weapons of mass destruction, and organized crime, for example) have to be managed through a global strategy aimed at a people-centred concept of security rather than traditional territorial forms of defence.

Human security The idea of human security is an attempt to conceptualize the changing nature of security. It recognizes that ‘the security of one person, one community, one nation rests on the decisions of many others – sometimes fortuitously, sometimes precariously’, and that ‘policies and institutions must find new ways to protect individuals and communities’ (Commission on Human Security 2003: 2–4). The Commission on Human Security uses a broad definition: ‘to protect the vital core of all human lives in ways that enhance human freedoms and human fulfilment’. It then goes on to say that what is considered vital differs across individuals and societies, and therefore ‘we refrain from proposing an itemized list of what makes up human security’.

A vision for Europe and beyond 7 Deputy High Commissioner for Human Rights Bertrand Ramcharan takes a simpler but equally broad approach: ‘It is submitted that international human rights norms define the meaning of security’ (2002: 9). He then goes on to enumerate the international treaties that set out these norms. In Ramcharan’s approach, human security becomes practically synonymous with human rights, that is, all internationally codified human rights. While these very broad and holistic notions of human security are quite intentionally juxtaposed to the much narrower national defence approach, it does in fact make it rather difficult to found a security policy on such concepts. However, both the Commission on Human Security and the wider literature on human rights offer points of departure for a narrower concept. In the Commission’s report, Amartya Sen conceptualizes human security as narrower than either human development or human rights. In relation to human development, he focuses on the ‘downside risks’: ‘the insecurities that threaten human survival or the safety of daily life, or imperil the natural dignity of men and women, or expose human beings to the uncertainty of disease and pestilence, or subject vulnerable people to abrupt penury’. In relation to human rights, he sees them as ‘a class of human rights’ that guarantee ‘freedom from basic insecurities – new and old’ (Commission on Human Security 2003: 8–9). However, here too he refuses to list the human rights or the insecurities involved. The human rights literature also tends to shy away from recognizing a hierarchy of norms, predicated on a similar fear of devaluing and trivializing some hard-fought rights by according them second-class status. However, it is clear that certain rights, or certain violations, are singled out in international law by being put into categories like ‘ius cogens’ or ‘peremptory norms’, by being non-derogable in emergency situations, or by constituting international crimes under the Statute for an International Criminal Court. Examination of these categories could lead to the identification of a narrower core of human security threats. Genocide, large-scale torture, inhuman and degrading treatment, disappearances, slavery, crimes against humanity and war crimes as defined in the International Criminal Court (ICC) Statute are commonly agreed to warrant special status, while killings and arbitrary detentions may also come under this category (Seiderman 2001). Violations of the right to food, health and housing, even grave and massive ones, are not commonly recognized as belonging to this category, although some authors would make a case for them as ‘survival rights’ (Donnelly and Howard 1988; Seiderman 2001: 293–4). In practice, the distinction may not matter as massive violations usually entail more than one category of rights. In the case of Kosovo, for instance, the mass expulsions were grave violations of the right to housing, but were also accompanied by killings, torture, and inhuman and degrading treatment. We propose that, while the holistic category of human security as proposed by the Commission or by Ramcharan might inform the common

8 Marlies Glasius and Mary Kaldor foreign, security and development policy of the European Union as a whole, a narrower category of situations that become intolerably insecure, as outlined above, could be one of the criteria for deciding to deploy operational capacities.1

Why is human security of concern to the European Union? The moral case The moral case for Europe’s interest in human security outside its borders is founded simply on our common humanity. It posits that human beings have a right to live with dignity and security, and a concomitant obligation to help each other when that security is threatened. It defends the idea that all human life is of equal worth, and does not accept that human lives become cheap in desperate situations. There is nothing distinctively European about such moral norms. On the contrary, they are by their nature universal. But they do appeal to the European public. Whenever European states have intervened abroad for humanitarian reasons, whether in Kosovo, East Timor or Sierra Leone, this has been based on very strong public support, even public pressure, from European citizens. Moreover, beyond state action, large numbers of Europeans have voluntarily gone to Yugoslavia to help with post-conflict reconstruction, to Guatemala to accompany returning refugees, or to Palestine to monitor human rights violations. Morality also gives some guidance as to the way in which ‘concern’ for the human security of others should be expressed in policy decisions. A basic precept is ‘first, do no harm’. It makes no sense, therefore, to engage in actions that destroy the security or even the lives of those they are meant to protect. It may be necessary and should be acceptable, based on the equal worth of all human life, to risk lives in order to restore the security of others. Such willingness has recently been more evident within civil society initiatives than in state-sponsored military missions. Finally, as the Commission on Human Security makes clear, restoration of security must be coupled with empowerment. In the next major section, outlining our vision for a European security policy, we elaborate on the ramifications of these basic precepts. The legal case If human security is considered as a narrower category of protection of human rights, as proposed above, then it is now generally accepted that other states, and international institutions such as the EU, have not only a right but also a legal obligation to concern themselves with human security worldwide. Articles 55 and 56 of the United Nations Charter enjoin states to promote universal respect for, and observance of, human rights.

A vision for Europe and beyond 9 This obligation is restated in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, and the Vienna Declaration of 1993. In its new Draft Constitution, the European Union explicitly recognizes the same obligation. Article 4 states: ‘In its relations with the wider world, the Union shall uphold and promote its values and interests. It shall contribute to peace, security, the sustainable development of the earth, solidarity and mutual respect among peoples, free and fair trade, eradication of poverty and protection of human rights and in particular children’s rights, as well as to strict observance and development of international law, including respect for the principles of the United Nations Charter.’ The European Union does, therefore, recognize that it has obligations concerning the human security of people outside its borders. However, neither the United Nations nor the European legal framework has much to say about the nature and extent of these obligations. International law does have a great deal more to say about the much narrower question of the limits to the right, or obligation, to intervene militarily against the will of another state. Traditionally, the only exceptions to the non-intervention principle have been self-defence or the authorization of intervention by the UN Security Council, based on a decision that a situation constitutes a ‘threat to the peace, breach of the peace, or act of aggression’. It has regularly characterized situations of massive human rights violations as such, and has authorized intervention on this basis in northern Iraq, Somalia, Bosnia, Liberia and Sierra Leone. However, since the Kosovo war there has also been a debate on whether there should be a – very restrictive – opening for humanitarian intervention not based on a Security Council resolution. Various commissions, including the ICISS (2001), the Independent International Commission on Kosovo (2000) and the Advisory Council on International Affairs (2000) have attempted to formulate criteria for the admissibility of such intervention. Many other experts, however, continue to be of the opinion that any deviation from the Security Council framework would open the floodgates to unilateral action with dubious motives. We have opted not to focus on making another contribution to this debate. While the debate continues to be important, other aspects of the future of European security, including in particular the manner and means of intervention, have been almost entirely neglected and are in need of more urgent attention. However, we would like to stress that, if there is to be an alternative to the Security Council route at all, it should be very narrow and unambiguous. We do not espouse a ‘just war’ concept that would be open to interpretation by those intending to wage the war. We revisit the relevance of international law to the manner and means of security policy in our discussion of the human security doctrine.

10 Marlies Glasius and Mary Kaldor The enlightened self-interest case While we believe that both moral and legal justifications for a European security policy founded on human security are the most cogent, and are in fact popular with the citizens of Europe (see our section on European identity below), it is also possible to make a compelling ‘enlightened selfinterest’ case for a human security policy by the European Union. The whole point of a human security approach is that Europeans cannot be secure while others in the world live in severe insecurity. National borders are no longer the dividing line between security and insecurity: insecurity gets exported. We believe that the ‘threats’ Europeans face are all related to human security and mostly rooted in areas of severe insecurity. In ‘failing states’ and conflict areas, the criminal economy expands and gets exported: the drug trade, human trafficking and the easy availability of small arms, and even the brutalization of society, are not contained within the ‘conflict zone’ but felt beyond it, including in Europe. When the state breaks down, communalist ideologies are mobilized, generally rooted in religion or ethnicity; and while this leads first and foremost to a spiral of violence within the conflict zones, terrorist networks also thrive upon and recruit from such situations, with the effects again felt in Europe. In the case of Afghanistan, for instance, these connections with drugs as well as terrorism are now obvious, but they were not so ten or 15 years ago. It may also be, therefore, that, in a case like the Great Lakes region, which does not export terrorism or drugs at present, the severe insecurity of millions may have as yet unforeseeable consequences for Europeans. In a globalized world, the brutalization of a society, with daily experience of high levels of violence and the cheapening of human life, is bound to affect other societies. Perceived this holistically, the enlightened selfinterest case comes very close to the moral case, which is why we believe a Kantian vision should now be considered as a form of realism, not just idealism. Dealing with terrorism and organized crime only by devising more robust punitive and intelligence measures within our borders, which may in fact endanger the democratic values and institutions of Europe, can never be more than firefighting. We believe that the only real response to such threats is to address the security needs of people in situations of severe insecurity. We do not have the illusion that this will deliver perfect security to Europeans, but it is the most credible way to address the causes of insecurity at source.

Our vision of a European security policy We propose that Europe’s security policy should be built on the following elements: it should be rooted firmly in a multilateralist commitment to international law, it should give primacy to individuals and not states, it

A vision for Europe and beyond 11 should be bottom-up in its approach, it should be regionally focused in its analysis and policies, and it should be based on methods or guidelines appropriate to a human security approach. A corollary of this vision is that the operational capacities to carry them out should be rethought. Military troops will be an important component of these operational capacities but they will have to restructure and re-equip along new lines and they will need to be integrated with civilian capabilities, for example, policemen, tax and customs officers, judges, providers of aid and human rights specialists. Multilateralism We understand multilateralism to have a much more comprehensive meaning than ‘acting with a group of states’ (in that narrow sense, nearly all international initiatives might be considered multilateral). Multilateralism is closely related to legitimacy, and has two basic aspects. First, it means a commitment to work with international institutions and through the procedures of international institutions. This means, first and foremost, working within the United Nations framework, but it also entails working with or sharing out tasks among other regional organizations such as the OSCE in Europe, the OAU and ECOWAS in Africa or the OAS in the Western hemisphere, if the EU were to ever get involved there. The EU’s experience of its own regional security arrangement of pooling sovereignty could be applied in its policy to other regions: credible state-building in a globalized world is not about building walls of sovereignty but rather about integration in the world community. Second, multilateralism entails a commitment to international law: creating common rules, solving problems through rules, and enforcing those rules. Seeing the EU as an international norms promoter does not make it a ‘rival’ to the US but rather reflects an alternative approach to international order. Such an identity is less threatening to non-European states and offers a pole around which support could be built in multilateral forums such as the UN. International law can be used as an instrument for promoting human security: using legal discourse as a security instrument; using the ICC and universal jurisdiction legislation; using the European Court of Human Rights’ language and expertise in relation to terrorism (see also Chinkin, Chapter 8). A corollary of this commitment is that operations by the European Union should have legal accountability to those who are ‘operated’ upon (see Flechtner, Chapter 15). There should be not only codes of behaviour but also sanctions for breaking the codes. In order to improve clarity, for policy-makers, for deployed personnel and for the local population, we recommend that the EU develop a legal framework for the deployment of its human security missions. The European Security Strategy speaks of ‘effective multilateralism’ (Council of the European Union 2003). This has to include coordination

12 Marlies Glasius and Mary Kaldor rather than duplication or rivalry. An effective human security approach requires coordination between intelligence, foreign policy, trade policy, development policy and security policy initiatives, of the member states, of the Commission and the Council, and of other multilateral actors, including the United Nations, the World Bank, the IMF and regional institutions. Preventive and proactive policies cannot be effective if they are isolated and even contradictory. This is not a new insight, in fact it is a truism, but it is still not acted upon in practice. Primacy of individuals Individuals, not states, should be the focus of European security policy, both as victims and as sources of insecurity. Protecting individuals can include the creation and protection of safe havens where civilians can find refuge, the protection of convoys delivering humanitarian assistance, disarmament and demobilization, providing a secure environment for elections, or for the return of refugees and displaced persons. Within this focus on individuals, there should also be a gender perspective. Wars, and more particularly ‘new wars’ that involve violations of the rights of civilians, have typically had a particularly detrimental impact on women’s rights. But the gender perspective is not just a focus on women: men, especially young men, are also more subject to violence while at the same time being encouraged or even coerced to use violence. On the positive side, women are also often the civil society actors most likely to get organized, either against the violence or simply to get certain basic services running again. In development, it is now commonly accepted that policies targeting women are a good idea not just because women are a marginalized and victimized group but also because they are likely to be effective agents of change. At the same time it has become commonly accepted that they cannot be considered in isolation; the roles of both men and women in particular situations should be considered. Security policy should use and adapt these insights from development studies. A human security policy should focus not only on protecting and empowering individuals, however, but also on tackling the power of those individuals who cause insecurity. In the human security literature, this point is not made very clearly. While the traditional conception of security threats was firmly linked to foreign states, the new threats can seemingly come from anywhere and everywhere. It therefore misses the important new insight in human rights thinking, namely, that threats to security can also be considered at the individual level. Of course, not all sources of human insecurity emanate from individuals. Some, like poverty and HIV/Aids, have structural causes. Others do continue to emanate from the policy of states. However, we believe that, when thinking of sources of insecurity, individuals must be put firmly in the frame. The establishment of the International Criminal Court is largely predicated on the idea that

A vision for Europe and beyond 13 considering human rights violations as perpetrated only by states has done little to improve observance of human rights norms, and that assigning individual criminal responsibility might be more effective. In the case of terrorism it is equally important to realize that the perpetrators are individuals, and the means of curbing terrorism should be tailored to that insight. Criminal justice, not defeat of the enemy, is the most appropriate frame for anti-terrorist policies. Bottom-up approach Decisions about the kind of policies to adopt in relation to situations of severe insecurity, whether or not to intervene and how, must take account of the most basic needs identified by the people who are affected by violence and insecurity. This is not just a moral issue, it is also a matter of effectiveness. People who live in the affected area are the best source of intelligence. As the Commission on Human Security puts it, ‘The primary question of every human security activity should not be: What can we do? It should be: How does this activity build on the efforts and capabilities of those directly affected?’ (Commission on Human Security 2003: 11–12). It is very difficult to conduct full-scale ‘consultations’ with a population that is in a situation of severe insecurity. Nonetheless, a more comprehensive and continuous effort should be made, by talking to experts, exiles, civil society groups, so as to discover as accurately as possible what people want and need. When a mission is deployed, troops need to increase their understanding by talking to people on the ground. Conventional attitudes have too often been to ‘do it for them’ or to work with weak or criminalized ‘leaders’. The top-down approach is problematic for two reasons. First, institution-building for the sake of human security is bound to fail when it excludes those for whom the institutions are built. Without a bottom-up approach, an operation cannot successfully work towards its own redundancy. Second, beyond the immediate restoration of security, international mandates have a legitimacy deficit: they form an exception to the principle of self-determination. Excluding the locals exacerbates and perpetuates this deficit. To some extent, there has been recognition of the importance of a bottom-up approach in recent years. However, the solution has primarily been sought in working with NGOs. But powerful NGOs are not always the best informants for and implementers of a bottom-up policy. Despite good intentions, the top-down approach is deeply rooted in international institutions, not only in attitudes but also in the culture that develops around international missions whereby international officials remain within their own circles and are often on very short-term missions with little long-term commitment.

14 Marlies Glasius and Mary Kaldor Regional analysis In the past, foreign policy analysis has been conducted primarily on a state-by-state basis. How much attention was given to particular states depended on various factors, including political importance and economic and historic ties. Different members of the EU therefore focused on different states. As our regional case studies show, this often caused them to be taken by surprise when, after considerable attention had been given to one conflict, another conflict would seemingly spring up out of the blue in a neighbouring state. Thus, despite being intensely involved in Kosovo, and to a lesser extent in Albania, the build-up of violence in Macedonia still came initially as a surprise to the EU. Lack of coordination between EU policies relating to different states of the former Yugoslavia continues to be a problem (Kostovicova, Chapter 3). Worse, different members of the Union were actually supporting, in old-fashioned geo-political style, different parties in what seemed to be separate but were in fact interrelated conflicts. In West Africa, for instance, the UK was supporting the Sierra Leonean government, while France refused to lean on the leaders of Liberia and Burkina Faso who supported the Sierra Leone rebels (Keen, Chapter 5). Clearly, it is necessary for the members of the Union not only to pursue a truly common foreign policy but also to adopt a regional approach to analysing conflict areas. Whatever policies are being pursued in response to a particular conflict, its consequences for neighbouring areas (and sometimes even beyond) need to be thought through if the policy is to achieve more than firefighting. Appropriate methods In much of the literature on intervention, the emphasis is placed on ‘proportionality’ – the notion that the intervention should do less harm than it was designed to prevent. The problem with the concept of ‘proportionality’ is that it is derived from ‘just war’ principles. Our concern is not with ‘just war’ but with the ‘justifiable use of force’, as Adam Roberts (2004) recently put it. Human security operations must therefore follow principles of law enforcement rather than of war-fighting. This would include equal respect for all human lives instead of privileging one side, protecting people, and arresting individual criminals rather than defeating an enemy. Chapter 11 by Salmon and Kaldor in this volume elaborates on these principles.

The distinctive nature of the European Union As mentioned above, the human security approach need not be unique to Europe. But it can be considered as a particularly appropriate policy for

A vision for Europe and beyond 15 the European Union, depending on one’s view of what the European experiment is all about. These tensions reflect different conceptions of Europe. One conception has always been of Europe as a ‘peace project’. This is an Enlightenment idea – many of the great liberal thinkers (Abbé St Pierre, Rousseau and Kant) developed perpetual peace projects. In the nineteenth century, these ideas were propounded at pan-European Peace Congresses, in which people like Victor Hugo, Jeremy Bentham and Giuseppe Mazzini participated. In the same spirit, the founders of what was to become the European Union wanted, in the immediate aftermath of the Second World War, to preclude another war on European territory. This continues to be a strong motive in the minds of European citizens: when asked what the European Union means to them personally, the third answer that comes up in the Eurobarometer survey, right after the euro and freedom of movement, is ‘peace’. Indeed, 89 per cent of respondents consider ‘maintaining peace and security in Europe’ to be a priority of the EU. It is also considered to be the most effective of EU policies (European Commission 2004: 1.3, 2.2, 4.4). There are, of course, different versions of the ‘peace project’ idea, including both classic inter-governmental models (Moravscik 1998) and the notion of Europe as a new type of cosmopolitan polity, a ‘civil space’, or a ‘normative power’ (Manners and Whitman 2000). According to these latter conceptions, nation-states remain as legal repositories of sovereignty but sovereignty changes in fundamental ways. Nation-states become ‘postmodern’ (Cooper 1996) or ‘globalising’ (Clark 1999) or ‘post-national’ (Beck 2000). What this means is that they exercise their sovereignty through multilateral institutions and they agree to constraints on the use of force. Externally, the use of force is subject to international law. Domestically, nation-states have to adhere to certain democratic and legal standards. A human security strategy derives from this conception of Europe. This conception of Europe is above all based on the principle of human equality: nation-states can no longer privilege the lives of their own nationals. This multilateral and human rights-oriented identity is already expressed and embedded in the EC and EU treaties, the basic rights charter, human rights clauses in the EU’s bilateral agreements and common foreign policy declarations. In a globalizing world, the ‘peace project’ has to be understood as a process rather than an end goal. The coming together of legal relations and a civil space had to be reproduced and extended to keep the process going. In the interdependent post-Cold War environment, the peace project can succeed only as a global project and not as a merely European one. In a sense, the human security approach is an extension of the internal methods of integration. The European Union is a political experiment that cannot be confined by territory. The other conception of Europe is as a superpower in the making.

16 Marlies Glasius and Mary Kaldor Even before the Second World War, Ernest Bevin, later to become British Foreign Secretary, talked about the advantages of ‘pooling’ the European colonies. There has always been a strand of Europeanism which sees the project as a way of reversing the decline of Europe’s Great Powers. Many European politicians have long favoured a common defence policy because they believed that Europe had the potential to become a superpower rivalling the United States. This is the conception of Europe that envisages a defence policy on the American model, as opposed to a human security policy. Such a policy would build European security capabilities on the same model as those of the member states, only bigger and better. There has always been a tension in the Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP) as well as the European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP) between a human or global security concept and a state security concept. This tension continues to be expressed in the most recent European documents, for example, the European Constitution. It refers to a Common Security and Defence Policy (thus bringing together CFSP and ESDP) which includes both the development of military and civilian assets for ‘peace-keeping, conflict prevention, and strengthening international security in accordance with the principles of the United Nations’ (Article 40.1) and ‘the progressive framing of a common Union defence policy’ (Article 40.2), presumably referring to the defence of territory. The European Security Strategy goes much further in making Europe’s ‘responsibility for global security’ the centrepiece of a European security strategy and argues that this has to be achieved through an international order based on effective multilateralism. European identity is as yet weak. Fifty-seven per cent of Europeans think of themselves as European to some degree (with 47 per cent defining themselves as national citizens first and European citizens second), and 58 per cent feel ‘fairly or very attached’ to Europe (European Commission 2004: 1.1, 1.3). Interestingly, Europeans have shown steady support for common foreign policy of about 65 per cent over the last ten years, and even higher – 70 per cent – support for common defence policy, against declining support, presently at 48 per cent, for the EU as a whole. (European Commission 2004: 2.4.1, 3.2, 3.4). Policy objectives that we consider part of a holistic security approach are all considered to be best dealt with by the EU rather than national governments: fighting international terrorism (by 84 per cent); fighting the trade in, and exploitation of, human beings (79 per cent;); fighting organized crime (71 per cent); and fighting drugs (68 per cent). However, with the possible exception of the ‘human trafficking and exploitation’ objective, this does not in itself tell us whether respondents have a Hobbesian or a Kantian view of European security policy. Other aspects of the same survey suggest that, while there is support for both, the Kantian view is the more popular. Trust in all kinds of government institu-

A vision for Europe and beyond 17 tions is waning. Trust in the European Union is considerably higher, at 41 per cent, than trust in the national government (31 per cent). However, the most trusted institution is in fact the United Nations at 48 per cent. This suggests a high level of support for the multilateralist approach. Fiftythree per cent of Europeans believe ‘asserting the political and diplomatic importance of the EU around the world’ to be a priority area for the EU. On the other hand, 74 per cent of Europeans think that ‘the EU should guarantee Human Rights around the world, even if this is contrary to the wishes of some other countries’, and 69 per cent believe that ‘the EU should have a rapid reaction force that can be sent quickly to trouble spots when an international crisis occurs’ (European Commission 2004: 3.6). How this identity is developed will depend on what happens in practice and whether Europe is seen to contribute to human security. The failure to intervene effectively in Rwanda and Bosnia, and the divisions over Iraq, may well have had the opposite effect, while the Kosovo war was controversial. Some would argue that it is more difficult to ‘sell’ the more sophisticated Kantian vision to Europeans than it was to sell old-fashioned patriotic wars. But, as the Eurobarometer survey suggests, the sophisticated judgement of European citizens in a complex world should not be underestimated.

Conclusion We argue that there is a middle way between a non-intervention stance and a geo-political approach to global security, a European security policy that is quite prepared to use military force if necessary but uses it for different aims, based on different processes and using different means, from those of traditional war-fighting. We propose that the goal of such a European security policy should be to establish and maintain what might be termed ‘human security’. It should be founded on the primacy of individuals, not states. The process through which it operates should be a multilateral commitment to international law and international institutions at the global level, and a bottom-up approach at the local level. The means it uses are based on law enforcement rather than war-fighting, premised on the equal value of all human lives instead of privileging one side, aimed at protecting people and arresting individual criminals rather than defeating an enemy, and situated within a framework of international law. We argue that in the twenty-first century such an approach is the only realistic version of a European security policy.

18 Marlies Glasius and Mary Kaldor

Note 1 By ‘deploying operational capacities’, we do not necessarily mean ‘intervening’; that is, there need not be a conflict with sovereignty.

References Advisory Council on International Affairs (2000) Humanitarian Intervention. Advice No. 13, April, The Hague. Beck, U. (2000) ‘The cosmopolitan perspective: sociology of the second age of modernity’, British Journal of Sociology, 51: 79–105. Clark, I. (1999) Globalization and International Relations Theory, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Clausewitz, Carl von ([1832] 1968) On War, London: Penguin Books. Commission on Human Security (2003) Human Security Now, Final Report, 1 May, New York: Commission on Human Security. Available online at: http://www. humansecurity-chs.org/finalreport/FinalReport.pdf (accessed 19 October 2004). Cooper, R. (1996) The Post-Modern State and the World Order, London: Demos. Council of the European Union (2003) A Secure Europe in a Better World: European Security Strategy. Brussels, 12 December. Available online at: http://www.ueitalia2003. it/NR/rdonlyres/994663FB-368F-4562-9BF0-C7FE46E66F4C/0/1212DocSolana StrategiaEuropea_en.pdf (accessed 29 September 2004). Donnelly, J. and Howard, R. (1988) ‘Assessing national human rights performance: a theoretical framework’, Human Rights Quarterly, 10: 214–48. European Commission (2004) Eurobarometer 60: Public Opinion in the European Union, Autumn 2003, Brussels: European Commission. Available online at: http://europa.eu.int/comm/public_opinion/archives/eb/eb60/eb60_rapport_ standard_en.pdf (accessed 19 October 2004). ICISS (International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty) (2001) The Responsibility to Protect, Ottawa: ICISS. Available online at: http://www.dfaitmaeci.gc.ca/iciss-ciise/pdf/Commission-Report.pdf (accessed 19 October 2004). Independent International Commission on Kosovo (2000) The Kosovo Report; Conflict, International Response, Lessons Learned, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kagan, R. (2002) ‘Power and weakness’, Policy Review, 113. Available online at: http://www.policyreview.org/JUN02/kagan.html (accessed 19 October 2004). —— (2003) Paradise and Power: America and Europe in the New World Order, London: Atlantic Books. Kant, I. ([1784] 1991) ‘Idea for a universal history with a cosmopolitan purpose’, in I. Kant, Political Writings (ed. H. Reiss), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Manners, I. and Whitman, R. (eds) (2000) The Foreign Policies of European Union Member States, Manchester: Manchester University Press. Moravscik, A. (1998) The Choice for Europe: Social Purpose and State Power from Messina to Maastricht, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Ramcharan, B. (2002) Human Rights and Human Security, The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Roberts, A. (2004) Unpublished comments at Why and How Intervene? Jus ad

A vision for Europe and beyond 19 bellum and jus in bello in the new context, CERI Colloque, Paris, 15–16 January. Schelling, T. (1960) The Strategy of Conflict, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Seiderman, I. (2001) Hierarchy in International Law: The Human Rights Dimension, Antwerp: Intersentia.

2

The challenges of re-establishing a public monopoly of violence Herbert Wulf

Loss of the state’s monopoly of violence in ‘new wars’ A characteristic of recent wars is that the state can neither exercise a complete monopoly of violence1 nor maintain the rule of law. Many scholars agree that we have entered an era of ‘new wars’, often called internal, intra-state, local or regional civil wars, or low-intensity conflicts.2 In recent decades most such conflicts have been intra-state rather than inter-state. Mary Kaldor (1997, 1999) has pointed out that in new wars both the nature of war and its effects on populations in war-torn societies have changed (Münkler 2002; Duffield 2001). The proliferating scholarly literature on new wars emphasizes two factors, both rooted in deep shifts in the global political and economic order: global economic changes and the declining role of the state. Both of these trends have dramatic effects on the state’s monopoly of violence. Global economic changes Superpower competition until the end of the Cold War and ethnonationalist insurgencies in its aftermath long overshadowed the economic dimension of intra-state wars. With the end of the Cold War, the South dimension of the East–West conflict disappeared and foreign patronage of state and non-state actors in many parts of the world declined. Economic globalization replaced state-led development; market liberalization and free trade created new opportunities for economic growth but also for more systematic self-financing by combatants in wars. Warfare became economically attractive for some of its participants, notwithstanding its cumulative societal destructiveness (Ballentine and Nitzschke 2003). Not only are resources used to finance wars, but wars are fought to extract these resources. In the past, when economic factors were viewed as root causes of intrastate violent conflicts, analysis tended to focus on economic deprivation and resource scarcity as factors preventing development and exacerbating conflict (Ballentine and Nitzschke 2003; Pugh and Cooper 2004). In recent years the emphasis has shifted to economic factors that promote

A public monopoly of violence 21 conflict. This shift has been captured most graphically by the terms ‘greed’ and ‘grievance’ (Berdal and Malone 2000; Collier and Hoeffler 2001). The debate continues between those who argue that conflict is caused by resource scarcity and those who argue that it is caused by resource availability. The latter cite such factors as war economies, lootseeking and plunder, violence markets, violence entrepreneurs, shadow economies and network wars (Collier 2000a, 2000b; Collier et al. 2003; Duffield 2000, 2001; Elwert 1999; Jean and Rufin 1999; Keen 1998; Kurtenbach and Lock 2004; Pugh and Cooper 2004; Reno 2000; von Trotha 1997). Usually, the impact of globalization and its consequences for the state’s ability to exercise its monopoly of violence feature prominently in such explanations. The role of the nation-state The second reason for the new wars is political. The key to the Westphalian modern nation-state was the monopolization of legitimate force (or organized violence). One of the central functions of the modern state is to guarantee the security of its citizens by establishing the rule of law, which Max Weber saw as an achievement of civilization. The state in Europe became the monopolist of what Weber (1919) called ‘legitimate physical violence’. The defining characteristic of the state, according to Weber, is that it is the only organization that can successfully claim to exercise legitimate physical force in a given territory. The importance of legitimacy in its exercise of a monopoly of force needs to be recognized and can be based on three sources of authority: traditional rules, charisma and agreed rules (Weber 1919). In the modern state the authority to exercise legitimate violence rests on its legality and good governance. Political leadership is democratically controlled and accountable for its use of the instruments of legitimate force. This Weberian notion of the state is reflected, as Kaldor (1997) argues, in the elimination of private armies, internal pacification, the emergence of a state system of organized and centralized war-making activities in a given territory, and the rise of state-controlled regular professional armies. What is the role of these four factors in today’s conflicts? First, the disruption of this carefully balanced nation-state system has led to new wars with new actors. As the state is no longer capable of exercising a monopoly of force, private actors like warlords, war profiteers and entrepreneurs, organized criminals, terrorists, rebels, paramilitary units and child soldiers act in conflicts usually without or expressly against the consent of state authorities. As a result of this insecurity other private actors, especially private military companies and private security companies, are increasingly hired by governments and international organizations to carry out tasks previously undertaken by armed forces and the police (Cilliers and Mason 1999; Singer 2003; Lilly 2000; Lock 2001;

22 Herbert Wulf Musah and Fayemi 2000; Mair 2004; Münkler 2001; Wulf 2000, 2003). This does not mean that states no longer play any role in these wars; private actors often fight over political control and state power. Second, in many countries state authorities cannot guarantee peace or establish law and order as organized mafia-like crime and widespread robbery create a situation of insecurity. People who can afford to do so try to organize their own security without resort to under-funded, incompetent or corrupt state authorities (Cilliers and Mason 1999; Eppler 2002), while the rest of the population have to live with the insecurity or even resort to violence in their fight for survival. Zones of asymmetric security have emerged or, rather, zones of insecurity for the poor and zones of relative security for the rich provided by private companies. While the international norm of a state guarantee of the public good of ‘security’ still exists, its implementation in reality is no longer possible. Third, the undisputed national entity no longer exists as national boundaries are increasingly broken down by globalization. Many actors operate outside the boundaries dictated by the logic of territoriality. Although wars might be confined to particular localities, the political economy of armed conflicts has effects on a whole region, and conflicts are fuelled from beyond national borders. Market liberalization, deregulation and neo-conservative economic agendas have contributed to a freer flow of goods and services, including the financing of wars. State functions are being reduced in both theory and practice, and the state monopoly of violence is being outsourced to private actors, whether by default or by design. In societies where conflict is endemic and peace fragile, neoconservative economic strategy can increase poverty, crime and social unrest, and thus contribute to challenging the state monopoly of force. The opening up of societies to the globalized economy through liberalization, structural adjustment or transition policies has resulted in severe social disruption and unrest, involving job losses, decreased production or increased inequality. As a result, many individuals and groups have turned to operations in the shadow economy, ranging from life support by relatives or clan members in the diaspora and moonlighting with important welfare functions, to clearly illegal transactions like smuggling, corruption, black market activities, warlordism, drug dealing and trafficking in human beings and weapons. Such activities and their importance for the economic survival of large groups of marginalized people are often underestimated. The partial integration into the world economy has led to the cross-border spillover of violence and economic and military spin-in effects. External finance, sanctuaries for combatants, external reservoirs of violence and military inputs in finance, personnel and weaponry are important ingredients in new wars ( Jean and Rufin 1999; Reno 2000). Duffield (2001) has defined wars that are fuelled by and rely on such external factors as ‘network wars’, indicating that not only NGOs but also warlords act locally and think globally.

A public monopoly of violence 23 Fourth, although many regular professional armies have been drastically reduced and millions of soldiers have been demobilized in the last 15 years, the principle of professional armed forces is not questioned (BICC 2004). However, two trends are apparent. One is the internationalization of armed forces (for instance, in UN peace support operations, in coalitions of the willing and emerging supra-national forces like in the EU), although such forces are still organized nationally. The other trend is the outsourcing and privatization of traditional military functions, for a variety of reasons such as budgetary constraints, modernization of weaponry, overburdened armed forces and the concept of a lean state (Wulf 2002). Re-privatization of war is a challenge to the legitimate state monopoly of violence and counters the evolution of the nation-state over several centuries in Europe. The clear distinctions between war and peace, between war and violence or between military activities and organized crime have become blurred, and war slides gradually into relative or fragile peace and vice versa (Debiel 2002). As Kaldor notes (1997), because wars are globally influenced, have effects beyond national state borders and are at the same time locally fought, it is difficult to distinguish between internal and external wars. This mishmash of violent situations does not mean that the category of war has to be given up completely or the focus should instead be on violence, as Lock (2004) argues (but see Brock 2004 for an alternative view). Besides the two powerful economic and political factors of globalization and the erosion of the state, a third element is perceived as a central threat. The terrorist attacks of September 11 have changed the security landscape. The strongly emotional reactions to this criminal act are natural, but the declaration of a ‘war on terror’ accords terrorists a status and a kind of dignity as combatants that amount almost to diplomatic recognition (Howard 2002: 8). The 2001 attacks on Washington and New York and the 2004 bombings in Madrid and in Riyadh are criminal acts, not acts of war. The continued threat is real, but a primarily military response to this threat is at best insufficient but most likely counterproductive. It is questionable whether the US idea of the pre-emptive strike against the terrorists will be successful. It is in the nature of this asymmetric conflict that modern mass armies are limited in their ability to use their overwhelming military power. These judicial and military assessments have important consequences for the means and methods of exercising the state monopoly of violence. Criminal acts are most effectively countered by the police and the judiciary, while the military can play a supportive role at best. Another consequence of September 11 is the interest in countries that had not received much attention previously or had been forgotten. So-called ‘basket cases’, like Afghanistan and Somalia, are now of interest to the international community. To legitimize the deployment of the Bundeswehr in Afghanistan, for example, German Minister of

24 Herbert Wulf Defence Peter Struck has tried to argue that Europe’s ‘security is also defended at the Hindu Kush’ (Mutz 2004).

Principles for international peace and security efforts The genie is out of the bottle, but can it be put back? If so, how? The decisive factor is the reconstruction of the legitimacy of the monopoly of violence, not just the re-establishment of the state’s monopoly of force. The complex challenge that the new wars pose to the international community is not adequately addressed by devoting peace settlements and post-conflict reconstruction primarily to nation-building. The concept of the ‘failed’ or ‘collapsed’ state or the ‘erosion’ of the state presupposes the existence of state structures. But nation-state structures in some regions have been weak or non-existent for centuries. The Western concepts of nation-building, democratization, and provision of the public goods of ‘security’ and ‘welfare’, are often lacking in crisis-prone societies (Hippler 2003). The process of nation-building is seen as a short-cut to overcoming violent structures. Experience shows that such short-cuts usually fail and that the emphasis on nation-building is too narrow and overlooks cultural and societal structures. Difficulties in conflict prevention, peace settlements and post-conflict reconstruction are often underestimated or deliberately downplayed; and, in the absence of fully fledged peace treaties, partial settlements remain fragile and are easily disrupted if reservoirs of violence remain or peace spoilers are not under control. These peace spoilers continue fighting for a variety of economic, political and social reasons since they feel they can profit more from continued war than from a peace settlement and the reestablishment of a monopoly of violence. The tragic experiences of numerous failed peace treaties and ceasefires in many African conflicts (Angola, Sudan, Sierra Leone, Democratic Republic of Congo – DRC) are proof of the negative role that peace spoilers can play. They are the main hindrance to establishing a state monopoly of violence. In cases of postconflict reconstruction peace spoilers often draw their strength from sources within the society, like the warlords and war entrepreneurs in Afghanistan who also function as drug dealers. There is always the dilemma of disregarding economic criminals or co-opting them into statebuilding (Pugh and Cooper 2004). History suggests that there is no reason to believe that a monopoly of violence in the nation-state is the only method of guaranteeing security. Thomson (1994) describes the long-term use of violence: The contemporary organization of global violence is neither timeless nor natural. It is distinctly modern. In the six centuries leading up to 1900, global violence was democratized, marketized, and internationalized. Nonstate violence dominated the international system. Indi-

A public monopoly of violence 25 viduals and groups used their own means of violence in pursuit of their particular aims, whether honor and glory, wealth, or political power. People bought and sold military manpower like a commodity on the global market. The identity of suppliers or purchases meant almost nothing. (Quoted in Mandel 2001: 133–4) By comparison, the monopoly of violence in the nation-state was an enormous improvement. But is the nation-state up to the job of guaranteeing a monopoly of violence given today’s challenges of war and violent conflict in a globalized world? The aim should be, not the reconstruction of a state, but the construction of a politically and economically viable society. Many post-conflict societies are in a pre-state stage. Böge (2004) classifies wars as (a) traditional pre-state (in a number of war-torn societies a state system never existed), (b) modern state-centred wars (in countries where states are the principal actors of wars) and (c) new wars or post-state wars (where nonstate actors such as private racketeers are the principal actors).3 If this classification is accepted, it should have consequences for post-conflict reconstruction and the establishment of the monopoly of violence. Furthermore, with the irreversible penetration of globalization into most sectors of every society, it seems questionable to base our hopes for solving conflicts and ending or preventing war almost exclusively on the nation-state and nation-building. But most international reconstruction programmes do exactly this. The most ambitious present programmes in the different Balkan countries, Afghanistan and Iraq are directed at establishing or re-establishing the functioning state structures, including a monopoly of violence. But do these efforts of establishing internationally mandated protectorates really achieve their purpose? Are such efforts suited to establishing a legitimate monopoly of violence, or do external intervention and the imposition of nation-states create or re-create illegitimate monopolies of violence? Nationbuilding seems to be imposed top-down without consideration of the local realities. International programmes pretend to fix the roof of a damaged house, but often ignore the subsidence or collapse of its structures. There is no alternative to working towards re-establishing clear rules about the legitimate use of violence to ensure security and peace, but the question is the level of society – state, region or the globe – at which that monopoly should be exercised. The realities in war-torn countries and conflict-prone societies teach us that there is no universal blueprint for monopolizing violence and creating a basis for security and peace.

Creating a multi-level public monopoly of violence In all the experience of conflict prevention, peacekeeping, post-conflict reconstruction and nation-building during the post-Cold War years, no

26 Herbert Wulf panacea has emerged to ensure security, to prevent or resolve conflicts, or to restore the state monopoly of force. Each case has its own history and process, and there are no opportunities for quick fixes. The instant cureall approaches usually have long-term negative effects and have often exacerbated conflicts and further shattered weak state institutions. The present military operations in Iraq are a case in point. Time is an important factor and immediate action can save lives or forestall violence, but conflicts are usually deep-rooted and protracted, often over centuries. Yet they are usually treated by the international community as short-term problems to be solved as quickly as possible. When insecurity persists and violence affects large sections of the population, ready-made policy responses are being implemented: conflict management and mediation, humanitarian intervention with civil and military means, emergency relief and aid, peacekeeping, peace enforcement and peace-building, post-conflict reconstruction and nation-building, democratization and development, and so forth (Pape 1997; Debiel and Nuscheler 1996; OECD/DAC 2001). Most of these efforts reflect genuine humanitarian concerns. But a critical evaluation of the strengths and weaknesses of these approaches in concrete conflicts is not very encouraging. The reconstruction of the monopoly of violence is not just about reestablishing the state’s monopoly of violence. A more holistic approach is necessary to establish rules and regulations for the use of force that more effectively address the legacy of conflict-ridden societies, the immediate security of the people and the external linkages. Given the violent clashes and the breakdown of the rule of law in many societies, it is virtually impossible for any of the warring parties to re-establish the monopoly of violence. Instead of working almost exclusively at the level of the nationstate, as external actors currently do, a legitimized multi-level public monopoly of violence should be sought. Such a system should be based on at least the following four levels of authority: • • •

•

the local level, which offers proven forms of regulating violence such as ‘zones of peace’ and ‘islands of civility’; the national level, with credible and accountable institutions of organized violence and good governance; the regional or sub-regional level, with regional organizations engaged in providing security and facilitating peace beyond the various national boundaries; and the international global level, with the United Nations operating with accepted international principles and agreed norms and with legitimate authority to intervene for the protection of people.

Given the globalized world, with porous or non-existent nation-state borders, with failing or collapsed states and with asymmetric zones of inse-

A public monopoly of violence 27 curity, the future lies not necessarily in the establishment of a nation-state monopoly but rather in a multi-level public monopoly of violence. A quintessential characteristic of a functioning system is the absence of asymmetric zones of security. As long as privatized zones of security and public zones of insecurity exist, societies cannot be expected to be politically stable or economically viable. The experience of recent centuries teaches that security must be guaranteed by a public monopoly of force and that the commercialization of security creates zones of relative security and insecurity, with a privileged minority enjoying privately provided protection. Besides the daunting practical difficulties of implementing a multi-level public monopoly of legitimized violence regulation, such a system is faced with two conceptual problems. How should the four different levels be legitimized, given the acute deficit in democratic processes at all four levels? And how can cooperation and a division of labour between these fragmented authorities at the different levels function? Top-down, bottom-up or through consent? A multi-level monopoly is, strictly speaking, an oligopoly since the monopoly powers need to be shared between authorities at the different levels. Oligopolies are faced by definition with the prospect of competition and conflict. A set of agreed rules is a precondition for creating the suggested four-level public monopoly of violence as an efficient and functional instrument; otherwise the system will be bogged down in disputes over competencies and various authorities. And only if the system functions is there a chance to move from the present breakdown of the monopoly of force in many parts of the world to a legitimate public monopoly of violence. What might a set of agreed rules look like? They would be based on two principles. First, the monopoly of violence should be exercised according to the principle of subsidiarity; that is, a bottom-up approach in which the lowest level should be the starting point and only if the lower level is not capable of, or cannot be tasked with, exercising a monopoly of force should the next-highest level be entrusted with this mission. This approach has been adopted, for example, in many federal systems with the component states (or even local communities) executing police functions, and the central government (the nation-state) becoming involved only if the task goes beyond the local level or if the instruments of legitimized organized violence prove to be incompetent or inadequate. If the nation-state level is ill-equipped or unable to exercise the monopoly of violence, the regional organization is tasked. This would leave the United Nations as the highest authority to ensure peace and security only as a last resort. The second principle is based on a hierarchy of authority. Norm-setting takes place top-down. International norms prevail over regional, regional over national, and national over local. The UN has higher authority than the regional organizations, the region is placed higher than the national

28 Herbert Wulf level, and the national level has prevalence over the local level. Given the realities of conflict-prone and war-torn societies, not all four levels will actually exist, but the multi-level approach is designed precisely for such situations, where one of the four levels is lacking or, if present, is unable to prevent the breakdown of the monopoly of violence.

Policies for creating a public monopoly of violence Military, political and economic policies This proposal is, of course, more easily made than implemented. Numerous practical reasons and conceptual considerations can be cited to illustrate how difficult it is to establish such a system. In many societies the local level is infected with corruption, dominated by criminal networks and suffering from weak public institutions; the nation-state level is presently ineffective in many countries; regional organizations are often inept at performing their mission, not just because of a lack of capabilities but more so because of deep-rooted political differences; and at the global level, although the United Nations is the highest authority on peace and security, its activities are often heavily biased and contested. Despite all these difficulties, a proposal for a multi-level public monopoly of force points towards an exit strategy from the present stalemate, uncertainty and quagmire. If the aim is to control violence, military force may have to be used. But the criteria for the use or non-use of force need to be clearly spelled out in order to find an appropriate and effective compromise between the application of massive fire-power and doing nothing (Kaldor 1997; ICISS 2001). But the typical peace support operations and other military missions and capabilities are not clearly geared towards meeting today’s challenges. They are pursued in the interest of dominant national governments; they address primarily the national level and focus on establishing institutions at that level. In addition to this narrow national state-centred approach, it is a paradox that the military is used more and more in present humanitarian interventions and especially post-conflict rehabilitation. These postconflict programmes in crisis situations, including those undertaken or assisted by the EU and its member states, are primarily police and not military tasks. But usually the armed forces are deployed because there are not enough police officers. Taking schoolchildren to class is not a task for paratroopers, as Condoleeza Rice (quoted in NATO 2001) has put it, but that is what they are doing in Kosovo and in Afghanistan. And, paradoxically, the armed forces are more involved in war-fighting in the name of prevention of conflicts and in reconstruction programmes than during the Cold War and the East–West confrontation. In political terms it must be clear that military intervention is not an alternative to diplomacy, negotiations and conflict mediation or modera-

A public monopoly of violence 29 tion. This has been clearly spelled out, although often not practised, in the 1992 Agenda for Peace by Boutros Boutros-Ghali (United Nations 1992). Whatever governments claim, it is doubtful that the military has been only used as a last resort when political and diplomatic measures have failed. Political and economic changes induced by globalization and their effects on conflicts have led to the new accent on quick military intervention. The cry for immediate military action is loud, and Western governments often feel they have to do something to please their domestic audiences. The result for the populations that this policy pretends to protect has not always been positive. The political process should have priority over military action before a conflict erupts into a war, during a war and also in post-war reconstruction. It might be possible to win a war quickly with massive modern military power. But such a military victory does not ensure a smooth process of reconstruction, of nation-building or of re-establishing the monopoly of force. On the contrary, the display of military power might antagonize the people that are meant to benefit from the military victory. Yet democratization and development offer no easy road to peace and stability either. Many empirical cases illustrate that democratization, although a cherished value, has often coincided with new forms of militarism, violent conflict and insecurity. This is probably no accident. One reason is that democratization raises the level of political and economic expectations. It is, however, resisted, often forcibly, by those whose power and privileges are questioned (Cawthra and Luckham 2003). European history shows that periods of intensive violence like the French Revolution preceded the establishment of a Kantian democratic peace. Problems worsen if expectations of democracy and development are not fulfilled and when the process of democratization fails to deliver the initial promises. The state’s legitimate monopoly of violence is still an important achievement, despite the declining role of the state. However, we should not be too impressed by what state elites say about security. One of the main sources of threat to people’s security is the state: powerful military groups, corrupt police and judges, and predatory rulers. Entrusting the monopoly of violence to the state – conceptually as well as practically – regardless of how the state is constituted is irresponsible. A new concept of human security has emerged in the international debate which focuses on the security of citizens (Ogata and Sen 2003; Krause 2004; Mack 2005). It can be summarized by the term ‘people first’ and forms a contrast to the continuing orientation of the armed forces. Economic reconstruction is a means to make societies (not necessarily nation-states) function again. If these efforts consist in practice only of economic liberalization in the international community’s protectorates by reinforcing the old clientelist structures and siphoning off scarce resources, continuation of fighting or re-emergence of conflict and the

30 Herbert Wulf breaking of the fragile peace can be expected (Pugh 2003). A short- and medium-term measure is to demilitarize economic life, to restrict the use of economic resources for violent purposes and to reallocate such resources to peace and development processes. This, of course, requires challenging those who profit from war and conflict. The more fundamental question that needs to be raised is how to eliminate the root causes of the many conflicts. Globalization has contributed to the outbreak of violence in many parts of the world. Privatization has contributed to undermining the public monopoly of force. Peace-support operations often address the symptoms of conflicts but not necessarily their causes. Instead of the dominance of a world market-oriented economic system based locally and nationally often on new forms of elite domination and misrule, as we see presently in Afghanistan and Iraq, a social contract is required that offers perspectives to survive. ‘Wealth distribution and access to rights and opportunities are extremely uneven, and economic activity is privatised without accountability or provision for public infrastructure and welfare’ (Pugh 2003: 53). The four levels of a public multi-level monopoly of force Although the proposed multi-level public monopoly of violence would be difficult to implement, a number of measures can be taken and policies introduced that aim at such a system. First, the local level. The new wars arising from the erosion or disintegration of the state are but one side of the coin. On the other side, the emergence of the nation-state has contributed in many cases to violence or has disrupted traditional local pre-state mechanisms for conflict management. Wars and large-scale violence have arisen as a result of state formation. Böge (2004) describes a number of cases in which traditional, non-nation-statebased conflict regulation has worked and in which the emergence of the state has destroyed or manipulated pre-existing conflict regulation. The fact that Western researchers and media do not recognize such mechanisms working at the local level does not mean that they do not exist. A pertinent example is the traditional conflict between the Ngok (Dinka) and Homr (Arabs) in the Horn of Africa (Deng 2000). The two groups had established a balanced relationship of conflict and cooperation over hundreds of years. Violent conflicts were fought under accepted rules and regulations. With the emergence of Sudan as a nation-state, structural changes took place that disturbed this balance, and the supply of weapons into the region made the conflicts more violent. Other examples can be cited showing that traditional local pre-state conflict regulation survives (von Trotha 1996). Such traditional conflict regulations have their strengths and weaknesses. They are, among other things, suited to local situations, offering inclusion and participation, but often disregard the essentials of democratic societies and might not conform to Western standards of human rights.

A public monopoly of violence 31 War-torn states may be dominated by warlords, organized crime, militias and unruly gangs of ex-combatants, mercenaries and corrupt officials – features to be found in countries like Afghanistan, Colombia, Sierra Leone, Liberia and many others. But such societies are also populated by citizens who form ‘zones of peace’, as Kaldor (1999) has described them in the case of the former Yugoslavia. It can be safely assumed that the majority of the population in conflict-prone states are strongly opposed to the continued violence. But often the short-term requirements for controlling violence result in warlords, paramilitary groups, rebels or disbanded combatants being co-opted and thus legitimized. This usually happens at the expense of assistance to the ordinary citizens who are capable of rebuilding a society without resorting to violence. It is essential not to address exclusively the nation-state level. The long-term, bottom-up approach of cooperating with the non-violent factions in a society is, of course, more laborious and time-consuming, but these processes might be a prerequisite for assuaging people’s impatience for better times ahead. Civil society, although usually not well organized in war-torn societies, can be seen as the decisive societal pillar for reconstruction. More attention needs to be paid to facilitating the establishment of local public institutions to enable them to implement responsible governance. This requires transparency and good governance with credible and accountable authorities not only at the national and international levels but also at the local level. Second, the national level. The nation-state in conflict-prone societies seems to be subject to two processes: the weakening or even collapse of state authority and the attempt by the international community and donor countries to re-establish state authority. Despite the predicted demise of the state and dire experiences with weak, collapsed or failed states, it is still national governments that remain critical in international actions, whether they involve fighting wars, intervening in conflicts, arming or disarming. Notwithstanding the intensification of globalization, the quest for global governance, international norm-building and the growth of civil society, international policy remains decidedly state-centred. The demilitarization of societies has been described above as a necessary condition for peace and development. Such programmes need to be implemented chiefly at the national level. Demilitarization is more than the downsizing of the armed forces. The realities in many countries often mean that there will be no peace without a reform of the security sector, which includes, besides the military, paramilitary forces, militias, the police, the judiciary and correction system and the intelligence community. Security-sector reform aims at improving the security of the population. Thus, it is a people-centred rather than state-centred concept. Development economists and politicians are still very reluctant to engage in security sector reform, especially with the military. To the critics it still smacks somewhat of the old-style military assistance. But to expect to bring

32 Herbert Wulf peace and to stabilize a society without touching the security sector is wishful thinking. Security-sector reform addresses in particular the breakdown of law and order and the loss of the state monopoly of violence. Since the military, police and judiciary are the ultimate agents of the organized institutions of state force, it is essential to make them efficient and accountable. Security is important for governance, and inappropriate security structures can contribute to weak governance and intensified violent conflicts (OECD/DAC 2004). Security-sector reform tries to improve the situation through institutional reforms. Democratic, civilian control over security forces is crucial for the provision of security in the interests of the population. The crux of the reform of the security sector is therefore the development of effective civil oversight and the creation of institutions capable of providing security. Credible and accountable security forces reduce the risk of conflict, provide security for citizens and create the right environment for sustainable development. The emphasis on establishing a democratic security sector stems from a lack of attention to applying accountability, transparency, rule of law and democratic control to military assistance programmes during the Cold War era. During the 1990s, it could no longer be overlooked that the state instruments of organized violence needed to be made part of the solution and could no longer be ignored. To put this Erkenntnis (insight) into practice is of course quite challenging (Ball et al. 2003; Hendrickson and Karkoszka 2002; OECD/DAC 2001, 2004). It is imperative that this process of reform be driven by civilians and not left to the so-called security experts. The reform of the different actors in the security sector addresses mainly the symptoms of violent conflicts and aims at short- or medium-term adjustments to facilitate the long-term process. It is certainly a significant objective to try to reform the most important state instrument in the peace process. It is a necessary but not a sufficient condition for the goal of re-establishing the monopoly of violence. Arms control, especially the ending of small arms proliferation and the disarmament and demobilization of combatants, is a prerequisite for the re-establishment of legitimate state force. Neglecting the ‘revolving door’ of combatants and mercenaries who wander from one conflict region to another, or the weapons that are shipped from one war to the next, is a guarantee of renewed fighting. Although this is as much an international and regional concern, the implementation is primarily geared to national policies and legislation. There are both successful and unsuccessful examples of demobilization and reintegration of combatants in conflictprone and post-conflict societies (Kingma 2000) as well as weapon collection programmes (BICC/SAND 2002). Armed forces have been reduced with the demise of the Cold War confrontation. Approximately one-third of the worldwide total of 29 million soldiers was demobilized after the end of the Cold War. Many of them were reintegrated into civilian life; where

A public monopoly of violence 33 this transformation process failed, others form problem groups, causing instability. Many of the remaining armed forces were tasked with different types of missions, especially in peace support operations. Despite the success of demobilization and integration of ex-combatants in many countries, the case of Ethiopia and Eritrea illustrates that demobilized soldiers can quickly be mobilized again to fight a war. In that particular case, a successful and costly programme of disarmament, demobilization and reintegration of ex-combatants was reversed within a few months so that the combatants could fight a war against each other. There have been both failures and successes in attempts to convert military activities and assets into civil goods and services. In the immediate aftermath of the Cold War, the experience in many countries that partially disarmed shows that the reallocation of resources for non-military purposes has taken place, by default and design. The great optimism about the peacemaking capacities of international organizations and the peace dividend has been tempered. But a number of arms producers have successfully diversified into civil production lines, weapon laboratories have reoriented their research and development efforts into non-military high technology, ex-combatants have found new occupations, the number of weapons deployed by the armed forces has been cut substantially and military bases are being closed and have turned out to be valuable assets when properly redeveloped. At the same time, the present trend of intensified armament proves that the process of conversion is not irreversible. On the contrary, a process of disarmament can be quickly reversed, although at great economic costs (BICC 1999). Third, the regional level. The experience of UN peacekeeping during the 1990s, with partly catastrophic results, has led to an emphasis on regional responsibilities for peace and security. In contrast to previous decades, UN peacekeepers tended to be deployed after the end of the Cold War in wars and military stalemate situations, but less so in postconflict situations (United Nations 2000). One result of this so-called Brahimi report of 2000 was an emphasis on regional actors. Institutions like the African Union (AU), the Organization of American States (OAU), the European Union (EU), the Association of South East Asian States (ASEAN), the Organisation for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE) and others are now asked to take over responsibility for stability and peace in their own or neighbouring regions. An important reason for emphasizing the obligations of regional organizations has been the reluctance of some of the traditional major peacekeeping contributors to engage their own troops in conflicts in other continents. Election monitoring, promotion of democracy, assistance in demobilization and disarmament programmes, arms control agendas, security-sector reform and other tasks have been carried out. Regional organizations suffer from three weaknesses that need to be overcome to establish a functional multi-level monopoly of force. The

34 Herbert Wulf relations between regional organizations and sovereign nation-states remain in most cases tense and contested. Most governments jealously guard their traditional nation-state authority and are opposed to delegating it to regional bodies. Similarly, the division of labour among regional organizations (especially when there are geographically overlapping organizations like the EU, OSCE and NATO) and that between the United Nations and regional organizations is not always clear. Competition between regional organizations and shifting responsibility to each other in crisis situations or blaming one another for inactivity impair their performance. This drawback could, however, be overcome if there were the political will to strengthen the role of regional organizations. Another weakness is the fundamental political differences that exist within many organizations, which often prevent them agreeing on a resolution for regional action. Often a compromise, addressing emergencies, wars and other regional concerns, is based on the lowest common denominator and mere lip-service. The third weakness is the absence of adequate institutions to implement decisions – for example, to impose sanctions – and a lack of military muscle to project force if required in a crisis situation. The AU is a case in point. Although African governments have signalled their readiness to promote African solutions for African problems, their lack of consensus and scarcity of resources limit the capabilities of the organization. So far only one peace-support operation, led and almost exclusively implemented by South Africa, has been implemented under the authority of the AU, in Burundi. The regional organization for West Africa (ECOWAS), however, has engaged with a large force in several conflicts in the region, although both their implementation and success are debatable. Subcontracting coalitions of the willing and able, like Australia in East Timor or France on behalf of the EU with a moderate force in the DRC, is seen as an alternative to engaging regional organizations. Such actions are, of course, a far cry from the responsibility of regional organizations. Furthermore, the critique made above on conflict prevention and postconflict reconstruction programmes that prioritize the nation-state level is valid for the programmes of the regional organizations too. Strengthening regional organizations, on the basis of clearly spelled-out international norms and an agreed division of labour, is required to overcome their present weakness and to contribute to the system of a multilevel public monopoly of violence. In many cases the chosen geographical focus of present-day post-conflict programmes is too narrow. Reactions are then confined within sovereign state borders, although conflicts usually have external spillover and spin-off effects. Economic agendas introduced on the coat-tails of international intervention have tended to disregard crucial aspects of war economies, especially their regional linkages and the functional aspects of shadow economic activity (Pugh and Cooper

A public monopoly of violence 35 2004). Ignoring those linkages results often in partial and fragile settlements. Finally, the international level. Peacekeeping as a global governance concept is not neutral. As long as it is dominated by the leading economic and military powers, it serves as a tool for problem-fixing or as sticking plaster for the existing world system, even though such peace operations might be morally justified. The increased number of international interventions is primarily the result of increased demand: to protect victims of wars such as refugees, to prevent genocide or ethnic cleansing or to reinstall a toppled government. However, there are also non-altruistic supply-side motives that facilitated the trend to increasing numbers of socalled humanitarian action. After the Cold War the military was in search of new vocations and needed to demonstrate a raison d’être (Wulf 2002). The armed forces had excess capacities that humanitarian organizations lacked, especially in air transport and logistics. It seemed natural to call on the armed forces to provide assistance. Military mission-creep played a role too, not just humanitarian necessity. The United Nations enforces liberal and democratically motivated humanitarian interventions selectively, for well-known political reasons that are not always consistent. Why did the United Nations intervene in Somalia but not in Rwanda? Large and powerful countries do not have to fear United Nations interventions at all, as the case of Chechnya proves. Several important interventions have been carried out without a UN mandate due to the failure of the Security Council to act. The functioning of the international system, and with it the multi-level monopoly of violence, depends on the enhancement of international norms, a world order in which nation-state sovereignty is limited in accordance with the existence of a higher-level executive authority and regionally and globally accepted legal norms (Weiss 2000; Messner and Nuscheler 1997). A tendency towards global governance manifests itself in civil society in a number of ways. International norm-setting and global governance practice with regard to the military and police sectors are rare, as these are still the prerogative of the nation-state and the instrument of strong states. Precisely because the military possesses the instruments of ultimate power, it is of great importance to regulate its legitimacy, civilian control and responsibility. The scientific literature offers a plethora of systematic analyses on the institutionalization of democracy. Yet democratic control of armed forces and accountability in international operations is poorly researched and rarely practised (Ku and Jacobson 2002; Born and Hanggi 2004). Political leaders are not accountable at the international level for the use or non-use of force. We can expect effective and sustainable peace processes only if the structural causes of conflict are removed (Nathan 2001), if political primacy is established over the military, if there is respect for traditional forms of conflict regulation, if the non-violent groups in conflict-ridden

36 Herbert Wulf societies are strengthened, and if good governance and human security are observed at the local, national, regional and international levels. The concrete policies of the EU and other democratic countries are often far removed from the ideas and values of liberal democracy. To convince people in other societies and to achieve sustainable results, it is necessary to practise what one preaches and to adhere to one’s principles. In the political space the quest to establish the rule of law and endorse international norms is often violated by the most ardent promoters of such norms. In the military field security-sector reform in developing and transitional countries is promoted, assisted and implemented by EU donors to create a democratic, accountable and transparent security sector capable of guaranteeing the security of its citizens. In the economic field, the liberalization of the market, actively promoted in and sometimes imposed on developing countries, is not adhered to by the most enthusiastic promoters.

Notes 1 The terms ‘monopoly of violence’ and ‘monopoly of force’ are here used interchangeably. 2 I do not discuss the various terms that are current, but it should be noted that some reflect different approaches and concepts to explain these violent conflicts. The term ‘new wars’ has been criticized on the grounds that such conflicts are not so new at all. See for example Gantzel (2002). 3 Cooper (2003) uses the term ‘pre-modern states’ to characterize the lawlessness in countries like Somalia and Afghanistan. More developed states like China, Brazil and India are called ‘modern states’ while the US, the EU and Japan are classified as ‘post-modern’.

References Ball, N., Fayemi, K.J., Olonisakin, F. and Williams, R., with Rupia, M. (2003) ‘Governance in the security sector’, in N. van de Walle and N. Ball (eds) Beyond Structural Adjustment, Basingstoke: Palgrave. Ballentine, K. and Nitzschke, H. (2003), Beyond Greed and Grievance: Policy Lessons from Studies in the Political Economy of Armed Conflict. New York: Program on Economic Agendas in Civil Wars (EACW), International Peace Academy. Available online at: http://www.worldpolicy.org/projects/arms/study/bak05_1.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004). Berdal, M. and Malone, D. (eds) (2000) Greed and Grievances: Economic Agendas in Civil Wars, London and Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. BICC (Bonn International Center for Conversion) (1996–2004), Conversion Survey: Global Disarmament, Demilitarization and Demobilization (annually), Oxford: Oxford University Press (1996–8); Baden-Baden: Nomos Verlag (1999–2004). BICC/SAND (Program on Security and Development) (2002), Tackling Small Arms and Light Weapons: A Practical Guide for Collection and Destruction, Bonn: BICC, February. Available online at: http://www.bicc.de/publications/books/ guide_smallarms/guide_smallarms.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004).

A public monopoly of violence 37 Böge, V. (2004) Neue Kriege und traditionale Konfliktbearbeitung, INEF Report 74, Duisburg: Institute for Development and Peace, University of Duisburg. Available online at: http://inef.uni-duisburg.de/page/documents/Report74.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004). Born, H. and Hanggi, H. (eds) (2004) The ‘Double Democratic Deficit’: Parliamentary Accountability and the Use of Force under International Auspices, Aldershot: Ashgate. Brock, L. (2004) ‘Alt und neu, Krieg und Gewalt’, in S. Kurtenbach and Peter Lock (eds) Kriege als (Über)Lebenswelten, Bonn: Dietz Verlag. Cawthra, G. and Luckham, R. (eds) (2003) Governing Insecurity: Democratic Control of Military and Security Establishments in Transitional Democracies, London: Zed Books. Cilliers, J. and Mason, P. (eds) (1999) Peace, Profit and Plunder? The Privatisation of Security in War-torn African Societies, Pretoria: Institute for Security Studies. Collier, P. (2000a) ‘Doing well out of war: an economic perspective’, in M. Berdal and D. Malone (eds) Greed and Grievances. Economic Agendas in Civil Wars, London and Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. —— (2000b) Economic Causes of Civil Conflict and their Implications for Policy, Washington, DC: World Bank, 15 June. Available online at: http://econ.worldbank. org/files/13198_EcCausesPolicy.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004). Collier, P. and Hoeffler, A. (2001) Greed and Grievance in Civil War, Washington, DC: World Bank, 15 June. Available online at: http://128.8.56.108/irisdata/docs/ppc_ideas/conflict_frameworks/collier_hoeffler.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004). Collier, P., Elliott, V.L., Hegre, H., Hoeffler, A., Reynol-Querol, M. and Sambanis, N. (2003) Breaking the Conflict Trap: Civil War and Development Policy, Washington, DC: World Bank. Available online at: http://econ.worldbank.org/files/ 26673_intro.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004). Cooper, R. (2003) The Breaking of Nations: Order and Chaos in the Twenty-first Century, New York: Atlantic Monthly Press. Debiel, T. (ed.) (2002) Der zerbrechliche Frieden, Bonn: Dietz Verlag. Debiel, T. and Nuscheler, F. (eds) (1996) Der neue Interventionismus: Humanitäre Einmischung zwischen Anspruch und Wirklichkeit, Bonn: Dietz Verlag. Deng, F. (2000) ‘Reaching out: a Dinka principle of conflict management’, in W. Zartman (ed.) Traditional Cures for Modern Conflicts: African Conflict Medicine, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Duffield, M. (2000), ‘Globalization, transborder trade, and war economies’, in M. Berdal and D. Malone (eds) Greed and Grievances: Economic Agendas in Civil Wars, London and Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. —— (2001) Global Governance and New Wars: The Merging of Development and Security, London: Zed Books. Elwert, G. (1999) ‘Markets of violence’, in G. Elwert, S. Feuchtwang and D. Neubert (eds) Dynamics of Violence: Processes of Escalation and De-escalation in Violent Group Conflicts, Berlin: Duncker and Humblot. Eppler, E. (2002) Vom Gewaltmonopol zum Gewaltmarkt? Frankfurt: Suhrkamp Verlag. Gantzel, K. (2002) ‘Neue Kriege? Neue Krieger?’, in B. Schoch, C. Hauswedell, C. Weller, U. Ratsch and R. Mutz (eds) Friedensgutachten 2002, Münster: Lit Verlag. Hendrickson, D. and Karkoszka, A. (2002) ‘The challenges of security sector reform’, in SIPRI Yearbook 2002: Armaments, Disarmament and International Security, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

38 Herbert Wulf Hippler, J. (2003) Nation-Building: Ein Schlüsselkonzept für friedliche Konfliktbearbeitung? Bonn: Dietz Verlag. Howard, M. (2002) ‘What’s in a name?: how to fight terrorism’, Foreign Affairs, 81/1: 8–13. ICISS (International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty) (2001) The Responsibility to Protect: Report of the International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty, Ottawa: Global Issues Bureau, Foreign Affairs Canada. Available online at: http://www.dfait-maeci.gc.ca/iciss-ciise/pdf/Commission-Report.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004). Jean, F. and Rufin, J.-C. (eds) (1999) Ökonomie der Bürgerkriege, Hamburg: Hamburger Edition. Kaldor, M. (1997) ‘Introduction’, in M. Kaldor and B. Vashee (eds) Restructuring the Global Military Sector, London and Washington: Pinter. —— (1999) New and Old Wars: Organized Violence in a Global Era, Cambridge: Polity Press. Keen, D. (1998) The Economic Functions of Violence in Civil Wars, Adelphi Paper 320, New York: Oxford University Press. Kingma, K. (ed.) (2000) Demobilization in Sub-Saharan Africa: The Development of Security Impacts, Basingstoke: Macmillan. Krause, K. (2004) ‘Is human security “more than just a good idea?” ’, paper presented at the BICC 10-year Anniversary Conference, Bonn, 1–2 April. Available online at: http://www.bicc.de/events/bicc10years/conference/papers/keith_ krause.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004). Ku, C. and Jacobson, H. (eds) (2002) Democratic Accountability and the Use of Force in International Law, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kurtenbach, S. and Lock, P. (eds) (2004) Kriege als (Über)Lebenswelten, Bonn: Dietz Verlag. Lilly, D. (2000) The Privatization of Security and Peacebuilding, London: International Alert. Lock, P. (2001) ‘Sicherheit à la Carte? Entstaatlichung, Gewaltmärkte und die Privatisierung des staatlichen Gewaltmonopols’, in T. Brühl, T. Debiel and B. Hamm (eds) Die Privatisierung der Weltpolitik. Entstaatlichung und Kommerzialisierung im Globalisierungsprozess, Bonn: Dietz Verlag. —— (2004) ‘Gewalt als Regulation: Zur Logik der Schattenglobalisierung’, in S. Kurtenbach and P. Lock (eds) Kriege als (Über)Lebenswelten, Bonn: Dietz Verlag. Mack, A. (2005) (forthcoming) Human Security Report Vancouver, BC: Human Security Center. Mair, S. (2004) ‘Die Rolle von Private Military Companies in Gewaltkonflikten’, in S. Kurtenbach and P. Lock (eds) Kriege als (Über)Lebenswelten, Bonn: Dietz Verlag. Mandel, R. (2001) ‘The privatization of security’, Armed Forces and Society, 28/1: 129–51. Messner, D. and Nuscheler, F. (1997) ‘Global Governance: Herausforderungen an der Schwelle zum 21. Jahrhundert’, in D. Senghaas (ed.) Frieden machen, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Münkler, H. (2001) ‘Die privatisierten Kriege des 21. Jahrhunderts’, Merkur, 55/3: 222–34. —— (2002) Neue Kriege, Hamburg: Rowohlt. Musah, A.-F. and Fayemi, K.J. (eds) (2000) Mercenaries: An African Security Dilemma, London: Pluto Press.

A public monopoly of violence 39 Mutz, R. (2004) ‘Verteidigung am Hindukusch? Gratwanderung deutscher Sicherheitspolitik’, in C. Weller, U. Ratsch, R. Mutz, B. Schoch and C. Hauswedell (eds) Friedensgutachten 2004, Münster: Lit Verlag. Nathan, L. (2001) ‘The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The structural cause of violence in Africa’, Track Two, 10/2: 3–24. Available online at: http://ccrweb.ccr.uct.ac.za/archive/two/10_2/p04_horsemen.html (accessed 11 October 2004). NATO (2001) ‘Can soldiers be peacekeepers and warriors?’, NATO Review, Web edition, 49/2: 16–20. Available online at: http://www.nato.int/docu/ review/2001/0102-04.htm (accessed 11 October 2004). OECD/DAC (2001) Helping Prevent Violent Conflict: Orientations for External Partners. Supplement to the DAC Guidelines on Conflict, Peace and Development Co-operation on the Threshold of the 21st Century, Paris: OECD. Available online at: http://www.gmunccd.org/FIELD/OthOrg/OECD/Conflicts.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004). —— (2004) Security System Reform and Governance: Policy and Good Practice, DAC Guidelines and Reference Series, Paris: OECD. Available online at: http://www.oecd.org/dataoecd/26/44/31870339.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004). Ogata, S. and Sen, A. (2003) Human Security Now: Final Report of the Commission on Human Security. New York: Commission on Human Security. Available online at: http://www.humansecurity-chs.org/finalreport/FinalReport.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004). Pape, M. (1997) Humanitäre Intervention: Zur Bedeutung der Menschenrechte in den Vereinten Nationen, Baden-Baden: Nomos. Pugh, M. (2003) ‘Protectorates and spoils of peace: political economy in SouthEast Europe’, in D. Jung (ed.) Shadow Globalization, Ethnic Conflicts and New Wars, London: Routledge. Pugh, M. and Cooper, N. (2004) War Economies in a Regional Context, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner). Reno, W. (2000) ‘Shadow states and the political economy of civil war’, in M. Berdal and D. Malone (eds) Greed and Grievances. Economic Agendas in Civil Wars, London and Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Singer, P. (2003) Corporate Warriors: The Rise of the Privatized Military Industry, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Thomson, J. (1994) Mercenaries, Pirates, and Sovereigns: State-building and Extraterritorial Violence in Early Modern Europe, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. United Nations (1992) Report of the Secretary-General, ‘An Agenda for Peace: Preventive Diplomacy, Peacemaking and Peace-keeping’, UN doc. A/47/277–S/2411, 17 June. Available online at: http://www.smallarmssurvey. org/source_documents/UN%20Documents/Other%20UN%20Documents/A_ 47_277.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004). —— (2000) Report of the Panel on United Nations Peace Operations (Brahimi Report), UN doc. A/55/305–S/2000/809. Available online at: http://www.un. org/peace/reports/peace_operations (accessed 11 October 2004). von Trotha, T. (1996) ‘From administrative to civil chieftaincy, some problems and prospects of African chieftaincy’, Journal of Legal Pluralism and Unofficial Law, 37/38: 79–107. —— (1997) ‘Zur Soziologie der Gewalt’, in Kölner Zeitschrift für Soziologie und Sozialpsychologie, Sonderheft 37, Opladen and Wiesbaden: Westdeutscher Verlag.

40 Herbert Wulf Weber, M. (1919/1992) ‘Politik als Beruf’, in M. Weber, Gesamtausgabe, 17, Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr/Paul Siebeck. Weiss, T. (2000) ‘Governance, good governance and global governance’, Third World Quarterly, 21: 795–814. Wulf, H. (2000) Security-Sector Reform in Developing Countries, Eschborn: Deutsche Gesellschaft für Technische Zusammenarbeit (GTZ). —— (2002) ‘Change of uniform – but no uniform change in function: soldiers in search of a new role’, in BICC Conversion Survey 2002, Baden-Baden: Nomos. —— (2003) ‘ “Rent-a-Soldier”. Die Privatisierung des Militärs’, Wissenschaft und Frieden, 21/3: 7–12.

Part II

A bottom-up approach Five regional studies

3

Old and new insecurity in the Balkans Lessons from the EU’s involvement in Macedonia Denisa Kostovicova

Introduction The stakes of the European Union (EU) in the security of the Balkans are very high. European and Balkan stability are interconnected. The EU’s military and police missions in the Balkans are a test case of the European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP). The EU’s performance in the Balkans will reflect on its credibility and ability to deliver on its global commitments. Past international interventions have shown that post-conflict security threats in the region can be tackled effectively by diversifying away from traditional military engagement, implying close cooperation with civilian structures such as police. This chapter argues that a conceptual shift away from the traditional role of the military represents only a half-step. It needs to be accompanied by a reciprocal rethink: a recognition and creation of a security role for non-state actors. The EU’s security involvement in the Western Balkans takes place alongside the region’s European integration as defined by the Stabilisation and Association process (SAp). The EU’s focus on institutional reform is necessary in view of the complex security challenges in a post-Communist and post-conflict context, ranging from state weakness to high poverty levels. These challenges require a strong, democratic and accountable state. However, institutional reform is a time-consuming process. The time necessary to attain state effectiveness contrasts starkly with the potential for instant deterioration of the security situation, as demonstrated by the flare-up of ethnic violence in Kosovo in March 2004. Meanwhile, the weak, unreformed and corrupt state in the Balkans itself remains a cause of insecurity. While reinforcing the SAp, the EU should turn to non-state actors as partners in its security involvement in the Western Balkans. This chapter’s focus on Macedonia1 is aimed to illustrate the typical security challenges in the region (including the countries of former Yugoslavia and Albania) and the EU’s action necessary to tackle them.

44 Denisa Kostovicova

The EU in the post-war Balkans: past lessons and new tools The EU takes a lead in the Balkans at a time when it is itself undergoing a major remake of its security profile. The EC/EU’s unsuccessful attempt at arbitration of the Balkan conflict in the early 1990s left it with dented diplomatic credentials. The prospect of European integration has put the relationship between the EU and its Balkan partners on a new footing. However, the EU’s power is still mainly perceived in economic terms. The EU has yet to make an imaginative leap in the Balkans and impose itself as a credible security actor. In this respect, it can learn a great deal from past international interventions in the Balkans. More than 50 interventions by international organizations and individual countries took place in former Yugoslavia over the decade of its disintegration that began in the early 1990s. As Map 3.1 illustrates, they encompassed a wide range of activities, from diplomatic peace initiatives and humanitarian aid deliveries to peace enforcement and military strikes. These interventions revealed the limitations of both soft and hard power. Just as the attraction of EU membership throughout the 1990s could not halt ethnic conflict in the Balkans, so military intervention itself created new security challenges on the ground. NATO’s intervention in the then Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (now Serbia and Montenegro) in 1999 ended Serb repression against the Albanian majority in Kosovo. However, it prompted counter-violence against Kosovo’s minorities, while leaving the Serb–Albanian dispute over Kosovo’s future status unresolved. Post-conflict public security challenges blur the distinction between the realms of responsibility traditionally occupied by police and military. Peacekeeping may require an array of tasks, from securing a return of refugees and the internally displaced and supporting the electoral process to disarming and demobilizing former combatants and assisting humanitarian activities (Call and Barnett 1999). In the Balkans, the international community has learned to combine civilian and military tools in order to respond effectively to post-conflict instability. In Bosnia-Herzegovina, NATO has gradually taken on a growing number of activities in cooperation with the international police, including the arrest of mainly middleranking officials and soldiers indicted by the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY), supporting returnees, repossessing occupied property, securing massacre sites for forensic investigation, and the like (see Cockell 2002). The consolidation of peace in the Western Balkans requires further inventiveness in crossing conceptual boundaries of what is conventionally considered an intervention in security. This chapter points to an absence of security-related initiatives outside the state sphere. The EU’s relationship with the post-war Western Balkans is defined by the Association and Stabilisation process, which was launched in the aftermath of the Kosovo war in 1999. Coming closer to Europe with EU assis-

Old and new insecurity in the Balkans 45

Map 3.1 International interventions in former Yugoslavia since 1992.

tance through the SAp presupposes the establishment of the rule of law, democratic and stable institutions and a free economy, coupled with the principle of regional cooperation. Therefore, the SAp is envisaged as a major stabilizing influence on the region (Commission of the European Communities 2003). Both the prospects and the process of the SAp in relation to its ability to project stability have increasingly come under criticism. The EU’s commitment to integration of the Balkan countries has been questioned, especially after the introduction of a notion of a ring of well-governed countries along the EU’s borders into a discussion of EU

46 Denisa Kostovicova security strategy (van Meurs and Weiss 2003; Triantaphyllou 2003: 75). Among the criticized policy tools available in the SAp policy tool-kit, the principle of conditionality and its contradictory impact can be singled out (see European Stability Initiative 2002b). According to van Meurs (2000: 22), it entails one fundamental dilemma: Preconditions for reform assistance and enhanced relations favour countries that have already managed to fulfil minimum conditions of stability and reform on their own, while the countries with the largest stabilisation deficits would fail to qualify for the conditional EU offers. He adds that the tensions and asymmetries thus caused cannot be compensated by regionality envisaged in the SAp. Similarly, the Stability Pact, a facilitating mechanism for advancement of regional cooperation complementing and supporting the SAp (Phinnemore and Siani-Davies 2003; Special Co-ordinator on the Activities of the Stability Pact in 2003 2003), has not been able to offset the divisive impact of conditionality. After five years of the SAp, new lines of division have emerged within the Western Balkans. Croatia has received a positive response to its application for EU membership, Macedonia is now awaiting one. BosniaHerzegovina, Serbia and Montenegro, and the UN-protectorate Kosovo have made only limited headway in the SAp process. The countries that are likely to produce possible future threats to stability of the Western Balkans are those where the SAp is least advanced. As a consequence, the use of the SAp and the prospect of European integration as a political lever to accelerate domestic reforms in the interest of further stabilization are also restricted. In order to dispel doubts over the EU’s commitment to the region, analysts have begun to explore possibilities, such as ‘junior membership’ or ‘membership light’, as an intermediate process leading to full membership (Altmann 2004). Most criticism of the SAp focuses on the EU’s policy towards the region. This chapter, by contrast, argues that the SAp’s instruments applied in the region need to be re-examined as well. Not only do these instruments suffer from a lack of intra-EU coordination, but they are also disconnected from the local communities where daily insecurity is played out. Calic (2003: 121) notes that ‘the region’s most urgent problems, such as ethnic conflicts or security threats, require immediate and targeted action that lies outside of the aims and means of accession-oriented instruments’. Put simply, the SAp alone cannot be counted on to stabilize the region. It is necessary to reinforce the Stabilisation and Association process. A nontraditional security intervention would imply closer oversight and mentoring of reforms, in the police and judiciary in particular. The ownership of the reform process would be in the hands of locals, while external guidance would give impartiality to these critical areas for security reform.

Old and new insecurity in the Balkans 47

The EU and the Macedonian conflict The EU had a decisive role in a peaceful resolution of the Macedonian conflict in 2001.2 Although it could have easily become yet another longdrawn-out ethnic conflict in the region, the war in Macedonia turned out to be a brief, though a bloody and destructive, episode. The conflict between the Macedonian security forces and the armed Albanian guerrilla forces, illustrated in Map 3.2, erupted in January 2001. All major Albanian and Macedonian parties signed a peace agreement in Ohrid on 13 August. A joint effort by NATO, the EU and the US, behind a common platform condemning violence, supporting Albanian national demands, while insisting on Macedonia’s territorial integrity and rejecting an internal territorial solution to an ethnic problem, helped bring about the peace accords (Atanasov 2004). On the EU’s part, three dimensions were particularly significant for a positive resolution of the conflict. First, the creation of a new institutional structure for the Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP) and ESDP, and, especially, of the post of High Representative for CFSP, provided promptness and coherence to the EU’s action (Piana 2002). Second, Macedonia’s upcoming signature of the Stabilisation and Association Agreement gave the EU a political and economic leverage in the negotiation of

Map 3.2 Ethnic conflict in Macedonia in 2001.

48 Denisa Kostovicova peace. Third, the transatlantic agreement, characterized by the unity of action and cooperation between the EU, the US and NATO, enhanced the credibility and effectiveness of Western involvement in general and each outside mediator in particular. The role of the EU in post-conflict Macedonia has become even more significant. The country signed the Stabilisation and Association Agreement with the EU in April 2001, and submitted its application for the EU candidate status in March 2004. The EU’s first military mission, Concordia, which took over the peacekeeping task from NATO, was deployed in Macedonia in March 2003. The EU’s police mission Proxima replaced Concordia in December 2003 (Yusufi 2004). The shift from a military to a police mode of activity reflects the assessment of the nature of security threats. Javier Solana, EU foreign policy chief, said: ‘As the main threat to stability is no longer armed conflict but criminality, the emphasis of our support must be police and not military’ (AFP 2003). This chapter draws on over 40 interviews with ethnic Macedonian and Albanian officials, analysts, academics and civil society activists, as well as representatives of the international community in Macedonia in spring and summer 2004. It argues that the EU needs to create and recruit allies outside the state sphere in order to confront post-war insecurity in the Balkans. The post-conflict regional security context There has been a paradigm shift in the EU’s perception of key security threats in the Western Balkans. In the words of Chris Patten, External Relations Commissioner, ‘corruption and organised crime have descended like carrion crows [on the region]. They pose a huge threat to the security of the European Union itself’ (Patten 2002). This view is premised on the threat posed by organized crime to political and economic reform in the region and on its ability to reach out and affect the security of the European Union. It tends to underestimate ethnicity as still a very potent source of instability, and especially a dangerous interface between organized crime and inter-ethnic tensions in the Balkans. Academics, policy-makers and analysts agree that the likelihood of a major armed conflict in the Balkans has diminished (Glenny 2004). Still, most states in the region, such as Bosnia-Herzegovina, Serbia and Montenegro, Serbia vis-à-vis Kosovo, and Macedonia, confront to various degrees a legitimacy deficit as a direct consequence of recent wars (Stefanova 2003). Organized criminal networks for which a strong and effective state represents a threat also underline the fragility of these states. Therefore, security issues in the Balkans can be divided into two separate yet related sets: ethnic and local on the one hand, and criminal and transnational on the other. Insecurity fuelled by ethnicity has to do with the anticipation of a new round of border change(s) in the Balkans, and with a reversal of extreme

Old and new insecurity in the Balkans 49 nationalist wartime gains. At the regional level, the unresolved status of Kosovo has an increasingly destabilizing impact. Despite the international community’s insistence on divorcing the issue of Kosovo’s status from all other regional issues, local extremists have done exactly the opposite. Consequently, there is ongoing speculation about national compensation for Kosovo’s final status, whatever it may be. Hence, Serbs in Serbia have looked towards Republika Srpska in Bosnia-Herzegovina, while Albanians have looked towards Southern Serbia, which they call Eastern Kosovo (Hadzic 2000). The Balkan wars have led to ethnic homogenization of territories. Still, nowhere in the region have ethnic cleansers been completely successful. Residual post-conflict multi-ethnicity, reinforced by the international community’s insistence on a return of minorities to majority community areas in the Balkans, has become a security issue. Transitional justice and apprehension of war criminals have been crucial for encouraging a return of minorities to their homes (Judah 2004). Large-scale ethnic conflicts in the Balkans have been localized and reduced almost to village incidents. Nonetheless, local inter-ethnic incidents reflect on the larger ethnic or national agenda, making ethnicity a threat to state integrity. Since the large-scale violence ended, the Balkans have seen an unprecedented expansion of organized crime. Criminal networks are involved in corruption and trafficking of people, drugs and arms, as well as people smuggling, racketeering and other illegal activities. Communist governments in former Yugoslav republics had cultivated criminal networks and used them against ideological opponents (Fati´c 2004). Pre-war links between the state and organized crime proved crucial in starting the ethnic conflict in former Yugoslavia. They were only reinforced over a decade of bloodshed. The problem in the post-war Balkans has become self-perpetuating. On the one hand, the weakness of post-war states hinders their ability to clamp down on organized crime (Politi 2001). On the other hand, states themselves are an integral part of the criminal enterprise. According to Andreas (2004: 4), ‘Once a state goes into the business of crime, it can be difficult to get it out of the business’. At the same time, organized crime has used and abused the region’s multi-ethnicity. Ethnicity has not been an obstacle to cross-national criminal cooperation (Vukadinovic 2002: 144). In fact, organized crime would not be feasible without cooperation of ‘enemy’ nations, as illicit cigarette trade during and after the war illustrates (Hozic 2004). The value of multiethnic links is not lost on Balkan criminals. Collaboration between Milorad Ulemek, chief suspect for the assassination of Serbian Prime Minister Zoran Djindjic in March 2003, and fellow criminals in Croatia, BosniaHerzegovina and Macedonia has been documented (Vasi´c 2004). Many suspect such collaboration has provided a haven for fugitives from justice. However, organized crime has also protected itself by stirring inter-ethnic conflict. For example, it has been difficult to execute legitimate police

50 Denisa Kostovicova operations against suspected Albanian criminals in Kosovo and Macedonia without these spilling into retaliatory inter-ethnic violence on the criminals’ whim (Petruseva 2003). The end of the Yugoslav wars precipitated global integration of the Balkan criminal networks in a quest for a new source of income. The region assumed several roles: it established itself as a transit route, as a destination, but also, due to impoverishment, as a source of illicit commodities. Some routes first used for petty smuggling of food, especially of chicken legs between Southern Serbia and Kosovo, for example, have now become trails for smuggling and trafficking of humans, with profit margins soaring. The Balkans has joined the ‘global fight against terrorism’. In March 2002 Macedonian special police executed six Pakistanis, claiming they were terrorists, in order to win US support. The victims were innocent illegal immigrants passing through Macedonia on their way to Europe in search for jobs (The Guardian 2004). The region may yet acquire a new role in this context. All states in the Balkans with Muslim populations are potentially failed states. According to Allin (2002: 89), it is this, rather than a propensity of Balkan Muslims to embrace radical political Islam, along with a nexus of organized crime, that may lead to the establishment of an illicit infrastructure to be exploited by terrorists (Moore 2002: 85–6). In sum, the end of the conflict in the Balkans is paradoxical: there is more stability in the region but, at the same time, it is plagued by a wide array of complex and interconnected old and new security issues. All these issues play themselves out in Macedonia as well. Macedonia: local perspective(s) on insecurity When asked about their concerns the citizens of Macedonia, both ethnic Macedonians and ethnic Albanians, have ranked them as follows: unemployment (78.8 per cent), poverty (66 per cent), corruption (54.8 per cent), crime (43.1 per cent) and ethnic problems (29.5 per cent) (UNDP 2003). After the country gained independence in 1991, the Macedonian economy was severely affected by the UN sanctions on its northern neighbour Serbia and Montenegro (the former Federal Republic of Yugoslavia) from 1992 to 1995 and Greece’s unilateral trade embargo on Macedonia from 1994 to 1995. In addition, the war in Kosovo in 1999 and (especially) the ethnic conflict in Macedonia in 2001 caused a severe deterioration of all economic indicators in Macedonia (Mojsovska 2004). The unemployment rate stands at some 30 per cent, although the real figure is somewhat lower due to unregistered work in the informal economy. However, even salaries, because they are low or irregularly paid, cause a feeling of insecurity among as many as 84.9 per cent of the people (UNDP 2001). Remittances from Albanians working abroad have also decreased in recent years (Musliu and Ademi n.d.). Three key dimensions of insecurity – poverty, criminality and ethnicity – reinforce each other. Poverty forces people

Old and new insecurity in the Balkans 51 into criminal activity. According to one foreign observer in Macedonia, criminality ‘can deliver’ a means of survival in the absence of an effective government. It is not a surprise, then, to find an advertisement offering a guided illegal crossing of the Greek border at the price of C60 in a Macedonian newspaper (Dnevnik 2004). The outbreak of the conflict in Macedonia in 2001 is attributed to criminal manipulation of ethnic tensions in the country. Albanian political, institutional or economic inequality was insufficient to produce a war throughout the 1990s. Instead, according to Hislope (2003), NATO’s failure in neighbouring Kosovo to completely disarm the Kosovo Liberation Army, the spread into Macedonia of Albanian extremist groups with a vested interest in insecurity, as well as a porous border between Kosovo and Macedonia turned Albanian national demands into a casus belli (Toscano 2001; Brunnbauer 2004). The interface between organized crime and ethnicity continues to pose a threat to Macedonia’s stability. Criminals have sparked ethnic tensions to safeguard their interests, from evading justice to securing conditions conducive to pursuit of their illicit activities (International Crisis Group 2003). However, organized crime is also blind to ethnicity when it suits it. On the one hand, cross-ethnic criminal cooperation in Macedonia continues unhindered (Latifi 2003: 51). On the other hand, criminals have turned even against their own co-nationals and created a zone of low-intensity intra-national conflict in western Macedonia (Agushi 2003). Since the end of the war, the region around Tetovo, informally called Macedonia’s Albanian capital, has been plagued by kidnappings and killings by Albanian criminal elements. These acts have by and large remained unsanctioned due to the impotence and corruption of the state (Lobi 2004). Since the end of hostilities in 2001 over 130 Albanians have been killed, a far greater number of casualties than even during the inter-ethnic conflict. The sense of insecurity is vocally expressed in the Albanian daily newspaper: ‘Insecurity, anxiety, loss of hope for a quiet life, collective depression, these grip unrelentingly Albanian families whilst creating unprecedented insecurity’ (Salihu and Ajdini 2004). These fratricidal murders have nothing to do with the tradition of blood feud still alive in Albanian society in Macedonia: these are ‘classic liquidations veiled in mystery that continues and cannot be explained by a tradition as Albanian valour does not recognise killings of that kind’ (Mehmeti 2004). Aggravated by the recent conflict but also by difficulties accompanying the implementation of the Ohrid peace agreement, inter-ethnic relations are a continuing source of insecurity in Macedonia. Historically, ethnic Albanians in Macedonia have harboured a sense of grievance in relation to the majority Macedonians. It was fuelled by their political, economic and social exclusion (Maliqi 2001; European Stability Initiative 2002a). The sense of discrimination among Albanians was sharpened after the breakup of Yugoslavia and the pursuit of nationalizing policies of the new

52 Denisa Kostovicova independent state of Macedonia throughout the 1990s. Even before 2001, ethnic distance between the two communities was evident: 57 per cent of Macedonians and 72 per cent of Albanians believed that a husband and a wife should be of the same ethnic group (Simoska 2001: 31). Yet despite this high percentage favouring ethnic exclusion in personal relations, only a minority expressed a preference to live separately. Asked whether different ethnic groups should live in different neighbourhoods, only 29 per cent of Macedonians and 17 per cent of Albanians answered affirmatively (Simoska 2001: 37). According to ethnic Macedonian and Albanian interviewees, this sense of ‘living together separately’ nourished in Macedonia through a traditional practice of good neighbourly relations, ‘komshilluk’, spared the country from a slide into an all-out war along ethnic lines as in BosniaHerzegovina. This tradition entails visits to neighbours on special occasions, births, weddings, deaths, but also on religious holidays, as well as coffeedrinking rituals. Nonetheless, the conflict reinforced distrust between the two communities. Its most recent illustration has been the opposition to the government’s decentralization plan that envisages a reduction in a number of municipalities in Macedonia. A referendum on the re-districting plan was held in November 2004. There has been general agreement on the need to reform the municipal structure in the country. However, the anxiety over losing the status of a majority ethnic group or the desire to become a majority community in one’s own municipality shows that ethnicity, not democratic governance, is perceived as a guarantor of security. Like other post-conflict areas of former Yugoslavia, Macedonia is plagued by issues concerning war crimes, missing and internally displaced persons (IDPs), war veterans, and the destruction of property. While the ruling ethnic Albanian and Macedonian political elites cooperate on the implementation of the Ohrid agreement, at the grass roots the ethnic groups are becoming quietly and voluntarily segregated. People have been selling property in areas where their ethnic group is a minority community and moving to areas where it is the majority. Only a small minority of some 160,000 people displaced during the conflict have not returned to their homes. Still, they illustrate the problems to hand. Many reconstructed houses were destroyed or burnt again, as was the case with a number of minority Macedonian homes in majority Albanian areas (Association for Democratic Initiatives n.d.: 50–9). Further, people continue to hold on to their illegally owned firearms, even though they perceive their possession as threatening. Both ethnic Albanians and Macedonians still have low confidence in the police (Association for Democratic Initiatives 2003). According to a UNDP representative in Skopje, over 100,000 small firearms remain in private possession. Lastly, most interviewees have pointed out that former Albanian fighters and Macedonian reservists from the Macedonian war represent a serious security threat due to the absence of programmes for their post-conflict integration and re-socialization. Many former Albanian fighters have now

Old and new insecurity in the Balkans 53 regrouped in gangs and have begun to collect, or rather extort, taxes from the population. The fear is reflected in the survey. When asked whether they trust their own ethnic armed forces, that is, paramilitaries, 43 per cent of Albanians said they ‘do not’ and 17 per cent ‘mainly do not’ (Association for Democratic Initiatives 2003: 15). Put simply, the fear of one’s own extremists in both communities is palpable. According to one interviewee, some 200 men from the vicinity of his village in northern Macedonia, who had fought for the liberation army either in Kosovo or in Macedonia, are not doing anything now. ‘They are kept as a trump card’, he added. This observation illustrates a growing mistrust towards the Albanian parties themselves, as well as apprehension about instrumentalized violence by the political elites. Similarly, for many unemployed Macedonian veterans criminality offers a means of survival following their post-conflict marginalization. Besides the weakness of the state and the effectiveness of organized crime felt by all citizens of the country, each ethnic community identifies separate causes of insecurity. These concerns are not shared and, therefore, put additional strain on fragile ethnic relations. All interviewed Albanians are increasingly concerned about the process of implementing the Ohrid agreement. They are taken aback by delays in achieving proportional representation of Albanians in state institutions and in the security forces, particularly in the leading positions (Association for Democratic Initiatives 2004). Unlike Albanians, Macedonians are concerned about violence. Aware that the Albanians have achieved recognition of their national demands after the war, ethnic Macedonians believe that the Ohrid agreement legitimized violence as a means of pursuing political goals. This belief is accompanied by fear that Albanians may again resort to violence in the event of a political deadlock. Additionally, unlike their Albanian counterparts, all ethnic Macedonians are apprehensive about the resolution of the final status of neighbouring Kosovo. Specifically, they are concerned about its impact on the national demands of Albanians in Macedonia and the effects of international disengagement from Kosovo on trans-border crime. Fearing that the situation may deteriorate overnight, many Macedonians and Albanians say that stability in Macedonia is ‘on glass legs’. This deterioration is bound to manifest itself as an ethnic conflict between two communities whose relations have been strained by a recent war. Behind the ethnic veneer there is most likely to be a criminal trigger and criminal interest in instability, linked to the very structures of the state. According to Rahik (2004), ‘Every country has its own organised crime, only the criminals from the Balkans have their own states’. The overlap between the state and criminality makes the state a crucial focus of stabilization efforts. However, the following paragraphs will demonstrate that it must not be the only one if a significant impact on the country’s security is to be made.

54 Denisa Kostovicova

The EU in Macedonia: the shortcomings of a state-centred approach The European Union’s strong interest in stability in Macedonia is reflected in the size of its presence in the country. The EU is represented in Macedonia through the EU Commission, the European Agency for Reconstruction (EAR), the Office of the Special Representative of the EU (EUSR), Proxima Police Mission, and the European Union Monitoring Mission (EUMM). The EU’s presence in Macedonia has developed along with the range of political and security issues arising in the country since its independence in the early 1990s. EUMM has been in Macedonia as part and parcel of the preventive effort, the Commission and the EAR are involved in Macedonia’s accession and reconstruction efforts, while the EUSR and Proxima focus their activity on the post-conflict stabilization of the country. Given the EU’s intent to build its security profile through its involvement in Macedonia and its stabilization, the structure of the EU’s presence, the coordination of activities within the EU, and the credibility of the EU’s security role are of particular relevance. The structure European integration has had an important integrative impact on the country. Macedonia’s European integration is the only political goal endorsed without reservation by both ethnic communities. However, the structure of the EU presence in Macedonia has undermined the stabilization potential of the integration process. The presence of the EUSR and Proxima has been perceived by ethnic Macedonian political elites as an actual impediment to the European integration process. These ‘external’ missions suggest that Macedonia is not ready to make progress independently within the Stabilisation and Association process. Therefore, ethnic Macedonian elites are advocating a speedy closure of the post of the EUSR, since a ‘state wishing to become a candidate for the EU membership should not have a need for that kind of a diplomatic service’ (Jovanovska 2004). Likewise, they insist on the winding up of Proxima since ‘the reasons for its presence have been eliminated’ (Tegovski 2004), arguing that the police reform takes place entirely within the SAp framework. Unlike ethnic Macedonians, articulating security needs in their community, ethnic Albanians strongly advocate the expansion of Proxima. Paradoxically, the division of the EU’s involvement between the SAp process and security activity within the CFSP has created tension. This is utilized by the Macedonian elites to plead for the elimination of the EU’s security missions in Macedonia. As a result, the structure of the EU’s stabilization efforts in Macedonia is having a destabilizing effect. It is dividing two communities on the crucial issue of the EU’s stabilization of the country.

Old and new insecurity in the Balkans 55 Coordination The complex presence of the EU in Macedonia has affected both the projection of the EU as a unitary actor and its efficiency. When queried about the perception of the EU, the locals note that relations between different agencies of the EU are worse than those between Macedonians and Albanians. To quote one interviewee, ‘Europeans here are fighting a bureaucratic struggle for survival. No one among the EU talks to each other here.’ This impression is not far off the assessment by EU officials themselves in Macedonia. They admit that communication within and coordination between different EU agencies in Macedonia is a problem; for example, three representatives of three EU agencies visited the same Albanian official in the same week independently of each other. Interorganizational cooperation has had a positive impact on Macedonia’s security, as illustrated by the EUMM’s support for the OSCE-led programme of training and re-entry of ethnically mixed police patrols into former crisis areas. By contrast, the lack of intra-organizational coordination within the EU has led to duplication of effort. Both the Commission and Proxima have focused on the police without any benefits accruing to the reform process itself. The EU assists the police reform in Macedonia through the SAp framework, which is overseen by the Commission. Therefore, it draws on the accession instruments, such as the Community Assistance for Reconstruction, Development and Stabilisation (CARDS) programme and the European Agency for Reconstruction (EAR). The Proxima mission is organized in the framework of the ESDP. It is a non-executive police mission, designed to effect change by ‘monitoring, mentoring and advising’ (Eupol Proxima 2004). Its recommendations range from short- to longterm ones, from a lack of equipment to the outdated legal framework. The Macedonian police have significant urgent needs. For example, policemen sometimes check identity cards with cigarette lighters in traffic operations. Similarly, the force lacks an information-technology structure. Relying on telephones and faxes, it has no efficient flow of information to reduce the response time. These urgent operational needs are not synchronized with ongoing institution- and capacity-building as a part of Macedonia’s Europeanization. As a result, the efforts of all EU institutions involved in police reform are discredited. Unlike budgetary allocation for long-term police reform within the CARDS, there is no such provision for urgent police needs identified by Proxima. Yet the need for an immediate impact on the ground cannot be overestimated. To project effectiveness in Macedonia, the EU would have to sort out the institutional structure of its instruments aimed at enhancing security in the country. There is a need to integrate separate police reform activities by the EU within the framework of the Stabilisation and Association process.3 It would clarify the question of the political oversight and

56 Denisa Kostovicova coordination of the police reform efforts within the EU, while allowing prompt and visible meeting of urgent needs by budgetary flexibility. Also, such a reinforced SAp would remove the argument used by ethnic Macedonians that the EU’s security involvement in the country is taking Macedonia away from the EU. In fact, the opposite is the case. The question for the EU is how to make its security-related engagement more effective and credible. Learning from the Proxima model of engagement, the EU should implement a similar reinforced SAp mechanism for judicial reform as well. ‘You know he killed a man. Yet two days later he is out [of jail], drinking coffee in a café. And you can’t do anything’: this is how many Albanians and Macedonians describe the failings of the unreformed judicial system. Any progress in police reform is easily set back by the neglect of the judiciary. Designing a security mission with a judicial focus closely integrated with the SAp could guide and stimulate judicial reform, which has not taken place despite the Macedonians’ determination to join the EU. Credibility Lastly, the EU’s credibility is dented by its inability to prevent the damaging economic embargo on Macedonia by one of its member states, Greece, in the early 1990s, and its inability to resolve the Macedonian–Greek dispute over Macedonia’s name. Engstrom (2002) argues that ethnic Macedonians’ insecurity about their identity has had a negative impact on their relationship with ethnic Albanians. Like the rest of the international community, the EU is marred by a ‘myth of prevention’ in the eyes of Macedonia’s citizens (Vankovska 2004). The UN, OSCE and EUMM missions involved in a conflict-prevention exercise in Macedonia were successful throughout the 1990s (Ackermann 1996). However, they were unprepared for the destabilizing impact of the breakdown of law and order in Kosovo after the removal of Serbia’s rule in the province and the introduction of the UN administration in Kosovo in 1999 (Kuzmanovski 2004: 137; Hislope 2003; Toscano 2001). Still, the international presence in Macedonia was essential for a fast and effective resolution of the conflict once it had broken out in 2001. The conflictmanagement process reaffirmed the political role of the EU and the security role of NATO. It has left the EU with the task of proving its security credentials. The local view of the EU’s security involvement is cynical: ‘the global EU policy towards the Republic of Macedonia looks like a playground, or an experimental field for new initiatives’ (Kuzmanovski 2004: 153). It reflects the credibility deficit of the EU in the sphere of security in the Balkans. Concordia, which took over from NATO, was the EU’s first military operation. It was crucial for testing new operational procedures

Old and new insecurity in the Balkans 57 between the EU and NATO, the so-called Berlin Plus arrangement, which allows the EU to conduct autonomous operations while accessing NATO assets. Hence, it was a trial run for Bosnia-Herzegovina (Blackwell 2004). The Macedonian government perceived the presence of Concordia as an impediment to Macedonian progress within NATO’s Partnership for Peace (PfP) (International Crisis Group 2002). Accordingly, it lobbied for its speedy closure and replacement by a police mission. This replacement eliminated the two most effective features of Concordia: visibility and liaison teams (International Crisis Group 2003). NATO is still perceived as a pre-eminent security guarantor and threat deterrent in the region (Dempsey 2004). Still, the EU has begun to emerge as a security actor in Macedonia. NATO’s presence is related to the continued US role in the Balkans, reflecting the local perception of the American decisiveness and action as opposed to the EU’s indecision and inaction. Security reform tasks have been divided, with NATO guiding the security reform of the Macedonian military within the PfP and the EU emerging as a key actor in the country’s police reform. Asked which can help Macedonia more, 42.20 per cent of the total population named the EU as compared to 6.60 per cent who named NATO in 2004 (Institute for Sociological Political and Juridical Research 2004), compared with 43.30 per cent for the EU and 10 per cent for NATO in 2003 (Institute for Sociological Political and Juridical Research 2003). These figures illustrate a changing perception from hard security threats to non-traditional ones, as well as the impact of the progress of the European integration process. This chapter has argued that the EU can enhance its security role, streamlining its existing activities by incorporating security aspects into the SAp. The following paragraphs will demonstrate that its involvement also needs to be diversified by recognizing a security role for non-state actors.

The civil sector as a security actor in Macedonia One of the lessons of failed prevention for post-conflict Macedonia is a need to focus on local initiatives and self-help activities rather than on the central authorities (Vankovska 2004). The EU considers consolidation of civil society ‘fundamental to achieving a more accountable and accessible government as well as strengthening the representation of citizens’ interests in the former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia’ (European Agency for Reconstruction 2004a). However, the EU’s assistance directed at civil society both in the SAp and in the Stability Pact framework indicates that non-state-centred investment has been considered neither strategic nor integral to comprehensive security efforts, with the exception of the recognition of its contribution to promoting ethnic reconciliation (European Agency for Reconstruction 2004b; York Centre for International and Security Studies 2003). Yet a number of civic actions in Macedonia have had important security implications. The following paragraphs build on

58 Denisa Kostovicova positive examples of civic actors in a security role in Macedonia in order to demonstrate the possibility of turning the civic sector into a security actor. The EU has been less inclined to engage with civic actors than other international actors present in Macedonia, such as the OSCE or the US through US Agency for International Development (USAID). It has overwhelmingly supported state institutions and state actors to promote democratization and stability, while neglecting civic action and civic actors, whether NGOs or traditional forms of self-organization specific to Macedonia. Ironically, the EU has thus backed the state, which is the least popular and credible actor in the eyes of Macedonian citizens, while collaborating with ethnic political parties that are being increasingly alienated from their grass roots. The demise of Communism in Macedonia created an opportunity for the emergence of a civic sphere independent of the state. Its development was accompanied by a range of challenges common to the postCommunist context: from its vilification as a ‘fifth column’ of foreign interests, through to attempted co-option by the state, to its rejection by ordinary people as an exclusively money-making ploy (Stewart 2004: 9–11). Since the early 1990s, however, civic action has won some degree of credibility, asserting itself as an actor to be reckoned with in Macedonia’s democratic transition. At the same time, the young civic sector has been unable to avoid ethnic friction in Macedonian society, although a part of it worked on easing this. More than three years after the ethnic conflict in Macedonia, civil society in Macedonia is still ethnically divided. Multiethnic initiatives are either an exception or a result of outside donor pressure. Some weaknesses of Macedonian civil society could be transformed into strengths. These, in turn, could contribute to security in the country. Developing a strategic approach to civil society and recognizing its security role could achieve this effect. There are at present some 5,000 registered NGOs in Macedonia. Nonetheless, the quantity does not reflect the quality of their impact. The creation of the NGOs has been driven by donations from abroad. As a result, there are few NGOs with a stable mission and activity record over the past decade. Instead, NGOs in Macedonia have frequently changed their activities, intermittently working on environmental issues, human rights, ethnic reconciliation and so forth, depending on available donations, which in most cases have not been sustained long enough to make an impact. Therefore, a majority of NGOs have failed to build up expertise on specific issues or to assert themselves as visible and identifiable actors in discrete fields. Further, Macedonia’s civic activists have been faced with a double challenge to their credibility: from the state and from the population at large. The state attitude towards the civic sector has hinged on power-holders. The post-Ohrid governing coalition appears more cooperative towards

Old and new insecurity in the Balkans 59 civil society. Both the civic sector and the state have slowly begun to learn about benefits of cooperation. For example, civic-sector experts have made a key contribution to the state’s education programmes since the state lacks the capacity to develop them itself. However, the civic sector in Macedonia also has a long way to go to prove itself to ordinary citizens. According to one representative of civil society in Skopje, if people want to change something ‘they will either go to a political party or take guns and go to the mountains’. It is the weakness of the state that has prompted citizens to pursue civic forms of organization and action. In a string of ethnically homogeneous Albanian and Macedonian villages north of Skopje, the villagers have founded a multi-ethnic organization ‘Coexistence’ in order to submit a project for improvement of the water supply. A villager illustrated the absence of the state: ‘They are not interested even to put up a sign here to warn drivers that children from a nearby school are playing on the road, let alone anything else.’ This multi-ethnic initiative was the first contact between the two communities. Prior to this, the only thing ethnic neighbours did together ‘was to use the same road’. Finally, the identification of civic activism with the NGOs has resulted in marginalization of other forms of civic action in Macedonia, which are rooted in the Communist period but also in the traditional institutions and customs of Albanian society. The Communist period has left a legacy of citizens’ self-organization at the grass roots, focused on mesna zajednica (literally, ‘local community’, that is, the sub-municipal level), roditeljski savet (‘parents’ council’, akin to the parent–teacher association in the West) and kucni savet (‘house – that is, apartment-block – council’). All these non-institutional fora function as organized groups of citizens dealing with problems encountered in the local area, school or home. They were used for problem resolution and general welfare activities (such as paper recycling, cleaning up, and so forth). With its recognition of citizens’ groups as civic actors, USAID has funded initiatives by local communities and parents’ councils, achieving an immediate impact on confidence-building and inter-ethnic relations at the local level. At the same time, the organization of Albanian society provides yet another unexplored form for non-state activity. The Albanian tradition of muhabet (conversation) or traditional gatherings of Albanian men in the guest room, oda, specifically for collective discussions of local issues and reception of guests under the authority of krye plaqu (the community elder in Albanian society in Macedonia), has not been utilized as a credible and important civic locus for initiating activities in local communities. The Europeanization of the state accompanying Macedonia’s efforts at European integration has already had some positive impact on the state’s acceptance of the civic sector as a partner. However, civil activists stress that this has been the case only in areas of particular interest to the EU, such as the environment and, to some extent, inter-ethnic reconciliation. The ineffectiveness of Macedonian civil society can also be explained by

60 Denisa Kostovicova the donor community’s lack of strategy. Donors have disproportionate leverage on the future of civil society because it relies on international funding. The development of the security role of Macedonian civil society is largely dependent on a concerted and sustained strategy by the international community, including the EU. This role would entail the development of security-related expertise and sponsorship of security-enhancing initiatives. Apart from developing security-related expertise for advocacy, monitoring and consulting in the civic sector, civic action could reinforce the effectiveness of state-centred action while itself contributing to a greater sense of security, as the following paragraphs demonstrate. Direct support for security activities The results of instances of direct involvement by civil society in activities aimed at improving security in Macedonia have exceeded the expectations of all involved. One example concerns the surrender of illegal arms. Local NGOs became involved in the UNDP-led campaign for a weapons amnesty, which led to the surrender of over 7,000 pieces. Civic action had a synergic effect by encouraging informal allies at a local level, as wives of men who had weapons became the loudest advocates of amnesty. Similarly, civic action has contributed to tackling the destabilizing impact of erroneous popular interpretations of the Ohrid agreement. While many Albanians perceive it as an unacceptable concession on their part, many Macedonians tend to see it as a national defeat, heralding the end of the Macedonian state. Ironically, when asked whether they had read the agreement, 43 per cent Albanians and 49 per cent Macedonians said they had not, while 29 per cent and 30 per cent respectively had read it partly (Association for Democratic Initiatives 2004: 143). Civil society familiarized people with this document by organizing meetings and debates in local communities (Debat shkencor 2003). International donors, including the EU, funded these activities, recognizing that civil society could directly boost security in the country. By contrast, the international community did not see the relevance of transitional justice for future security. Members of civil society in Macedonia say that they are discouraged from tackling the question of war crimes. ‘ “Don’t open old wounds”, they tell us. But they are practically open. They have never been healed’, one representative said. The obituary pages in newspapers where families commemorate their fallen sons and relatives on the anniversary of the conflict are just one reminder of the conflict and its toll (Fakti 2004). The issues of war crimes and missing and kidnapped persons remain in the public sphere, available for political exploitation by the political elite, especially as the two communities attribute the conflict to completely different causes (Irwin 2002). Meanwhile, both Albanian and Macedonian members of civil society agree that without confronting the past conflict it will be difficult to prevent a future one (Aziri 2004: 22–5).

Old and new insecurity in the Balkans 61 Consultation and feedback The effectiveness and appropriateness of policies are critically dependent on accurate security assessment. In Macedonia, the reliance on consultation of political elites, whether Macedonian or Albanian, has resulted in discrepancies in the appraisal of the policies pursued. This is particularly stark in the assessment of the EU’s police mission, Proxima. All Albanian interviewees, from community elders to local dignitaries such as school headmasters in rural former war-torn areas of western Macedonia, were unanimous in their assessment that Proxima should be ‘expanded, more visible and more present in the field’. Proxima’s mission focuses on observation and advising, which implies that its work has become more officebased. This is in stark contrast to the positive appraisal of Concordia, the EU’s peacekeeping mission preceding Proxima, which was regularly out in the field. All interviewees emphasized their trust in Proxima or, more specifically, in the Western security involvement. It is a result of a lack of trust in the police, the time-consuming process of training Albanian recruits to fill the ranks of the multi-ethnic police and security forces, but also of the limited mandate of community police who are not equipped to deal with organized crime. When challenged about the need for a greater presence for Proxima in the field, representatives of the EU’s agencies in Skopje were unanimous as well: there is no such need, as this is ‘just their perception’. The EU’s lack of attention to popular reception of its own activity in the most volatile areas of Macedonia represents a serious security gap. Instituting consultation mechanisms in order to gather feedback from people who live and feel insecurity in their daily lives, while designing policies to adequately reflect these needs, is an area of security involvement that remains unused. In particular, where Albanian areas are concerned, utilizing traditional institutions of a krye plaku and discussions in odas could yield immediate benefits. Complaints and appeals outlet(s) The accumulation of grievances of an ethnic, social, economic and security nature in Macedonia, without a trustworthy channel and procedure for their resolution, creates a sense of helplessness and hence insecurity. The work of the state appeals commission for security and human rights indicates that the state cannot impose itself as an arbiter, not least because it itself is a focus and cause of citizens’ grievances (RistovaAsterud and Maxhovski 2004). By contrast, interviewees have identified Citizens Advisory Groups (CAGs) – an OSCE initiative assisted by local NGOs in former crisis areas – as an example of good practice. CAGs were designed to support the implementation of the community policing strategy by encouraging cooperation between local citizens and police. They provided a regular opportunity for citizens and police to talk about

62 Denisa Kostovicova problems, from illegal woodcutting to crime. According to one participant, ‘some people almost cried as for them it was the first time to talk to the police’. These meetings have been important in helping restore confidence in the police. According to an Albanian villager, ‘people have a phobia about police’. Consultation of local communities also facilitated a necessary flow of information to the police. According to one security expert: ‘It is no use people complaining in cafés, you need to complain to the police in order to feed information to the system’. Nonetheless, many Albanians privately admit their fear of openly identifying perpetrators of crimes and violence. Therefore, the establishment of effective complaints mechanisms for a range of issues, from petty crime to corruption, would give citizens hope that they themselves can act to curb the insecurity in their midst. NGO-managed toll-free complaints hotlines or postboxes are some of the suggestions proposed to deal with blocked communications. These outlets would have to safeguard the security of those reporting but also liaise with relevant authorities in order to take the complaints further. Such grass-roots activity could also be a form of guidance and pressure for the functioning of the state authorities, in particular of the unreformed judicial system. Combining development and security According to Goreski (2004), security initiatives themselves do not contain a development dimension, which in turn plays into a general sense of insecurity. Multi-ethnic police patrols in the vulnerable areas of Macedonia were welcomed by the local population. However, they did not improve their economic welfare, nor did they necessarily change the quality of their relationship with their ethnic neighbours. Similarly, construction of roads or electricity grids improved the quality of life of the local population but not their interaction. Therefore, externally funded projects which relied on communities, especially ethnically mixed ones, to identify the problems, come up with a project, and work on its realization, have yielded the benefit of infrastructure improvement but also that of crossnational cooperation (USAID 2003). In one such project for school reconstruction, parents realized that local tensions were unfounded. Albanians had thought that Macedonian schoolchildren would boycott the school if it changed its erstwhile Macedonian name into the name of an Albanian hero; but they realized this was not the case when they started discussions with their Macedonian counterparts about school reconstruction. Since the ethnic conflict in 2001, schools have become a focal point of interethnic clashes. According to a civil society activist, ‘you have to come to security in a roundabout way’. Moreover, by focusing on development projects the donors can draw on a widespread tradition of self-contribution from the Communist period in former Yugoslavia, when the citizens invested their labour in the improvement of their local area.

Old and new insecurity in the Balkans 63 Creating multi-ethnic spaces One of the consequences of the failure to prevent conflict in Macedonia is scepticism towards what interviewees have described as an imposed multiculturalism. Many representatives of civil society are adamant that the creation of multi-ethnic spaces is a much more effective tool for creating a sense of a multi-ethnic community than sporadic seminars training participants in conflict resolution. Hundreds of these seminars, held before 2001, failed to stop the conflict, they say. Tetovo, with nearly 100,000 inhabitants, is effectively a town divided between majority Albanian and minority Macedonian populations. Cafés, sports fields and schools are ethnically divided. Sporadic projects implemented in the past showed that the activities that brought together youth of all ethnicities were the most beneficial. Young people got together and began to focus on common interests, such as theatre, sports and the Internet, rather than on the divisive issue of the conflict. According to one member of civil society from Tetovo, initiatives for the creation of multi-ethnic clubs or other facilities have not been supported. Instead, international funders made a significant investment in environmental projects. ‘We have a good climate, even better water, and clean air here. We do not have a problem with the environment’, he said, adding that there was a problem with a return of inter-ethnic confidence; hence, a need for multi-ethnic spaces where this confidence would be built on a daily basis. As the biggest single donor in the Western Balkans, the EU would have to recognize the security potential of cultural and sports facilities in order to make its money work for greater stability. Youth as a security guarantor High levels of unemployment and little hope of economic prosperity any time soon make disgruntled youth a critical social group for future security in the country (Aziri 2004). Analyses of the conflict and post-conflict insecurity in Macedonia point to substantial youth involvement in the ranks of fighters during the war but also in criminal activities after the war. Albanian youth are particularly vulnerable due to the disproportionate poverty of the rural regions they inhabit, but also to the high proportion of youth in the Albanian population (European Stability Initiative 2002a).4 At the same time, both ethnic communities ‘suffer’ from a positive image of criminals in the context of a ‘macho’ culture rooted in violence, itself an intangible but serious impediment to stabilization. Criminals need to be discredited not only by the establishment of law and order but also by alternative role models. Especially in the impoverished rural areas of both Albanian west and Macedonian east Macedonia, the challenge is to mobilize the youth around non-political issues. Young interviewees in the villages said that a construction of a sports facility and local sporting

64 Denisa Kostovicova competitions would significantly change their lives. In the village of Studeniqani, when asked what there was to do for fun, a young Albanian IT teacher said, ‘nothing, only a çajtoria [a traditional tea house]’. All villagers were open to the idea of inter-ethnic sport contests with Macedonian neighbours. Youngsters could be additionally empowered by being given responsibility for ensuring multi-ethnic contests were trouble-free. Sports appear to offer a cost-effective way to bring about change in everyday lives. However, its security dimension needs to be recognized. A similar project in Pec´/Peja, in western Kosovo, proved to be rather effective, as the creation of the local basketball league made basketball the main topic of conversation, created local idols and gave young people a sense of purpose. Culture could be used in a similar way. Thus, the creation of a multi-ethnic youth radio in Macedonia allowed music to push issues of ethnicity into the background. So far, funding for cultural and sports projects in Macedonia has been a drop in the ocean. Similarly, with the exception of funding for the multi-ethnic South East European University in Tetovo, the intermittent funding for cross-ethnic projects in Macedonia’s educational institutions, from kindergartens to secondary schools, indicates that the security potential of education, culture and sports is still not taken seriously, even though their effect on the youth as a critical constituency for Macedonian security is immediate.

Conclusion Referring to the Latin American experience, Mendelson Forman (2002) has argued that security may remain fragile if support aimed at enhancing a country’s security is confined to institutions. The creation of indigenous civil-society capacity in the security field is relevant for supporting and sustaining institutional reform itself, while the involvement of local communities through their direct participation in achieving security has a stabilizing impact. Despite its comprehensive approach to the Western Balkans, the EU has overlooked civil society as a strategic partner and ally in its security involvement in the region. The Stabilisation and Association process, which defines the EU’s involvement in the Western Balkans, is state-centred. SAp is supposed to be an anchor and a motor of political, economic and security reform, with the EU’s security missions designed to boost the region’s security through direct security involvement or through direct support for security-sector reform. This chapter has pointed out weaknesses even in the EU’s institutional approach. Better coordination of its policy initiatives and reinforcement of the SAp, especially in the field of police and judiciary reform, would strengthen the impact of the EU’s security involvement in the region. Institutional reform is bound to take time to yield results, which makes the pursuit of alternative modes of enhancing security even more press-

Old and new insecurity in the Balkans 65 ing. The EU should strive to create a security constituency alternative to the state, not least because the state in the Western Balkans is typically a cause of overall insecurity. It could start by turning the civic sector into a security actor in its stabilization efforts in the region. This, however, requires prior scrutiny and re-examination of acceptable non-traditional security actors and activities. According to Sampson (2003), the NGO-ization of civil society in the region has itself generated insecurity in the Balkans because developmental assistance has created lines of exclusion and inclusion. He called for the acknowledgment of home-grown models of Balkan associational life rather than the imposition of Western models, in the effort to enhance security in the region. As described above, traditional social structures, but also forms of civic self-organization nourished under Communism, represent a largely unused avenue in the pursuit of security initiatives in the region. In addition, the weakness and absence of state in the Balkans has been a powerful motive for local communities to selfmobilize in ‘Western fashion’ in order to fill the gap caused by inactivity both by the state and by the external donors. Whether it is the founding of a local inter-ethnic NGO for improving water supply in Macedonia, or of a citizens’ association for combating drug addiction in response to the state’s tolerance of drug dealing in Novi Sad, Serbia, civic actors trying to achieve greater security for their families and communities should be important partners in efforts aimed at enhancing security in the Balkans. The EU has yet to recognize this potential security role of civil society, but also of civil initiatives that directly contribute to a sense of greater security, albeit in a non-traditional manner. A future EU ‘soldier’ might have to be trained to organize an inter-ethnic football tournament with special negotiating skills. This would need to be accompanied by a conceptual shift within the EU so that an investment in a football field, for example, might actually be seen to be an investment in security. Not only are these activities closer to ordinary citizens than incomprehensible institutional reform, but, by descending to the local level, they also tackle the sense of insecurity where it is most acutely felt. This descent to the local level, leaving a mark on security in the local communities on people’s very doorsteps, may be the security credential that the EU needs to win so as to be able to assert itself as a global security actor.

Notes The author would like to acknowledge research assistance of Nazmi Maliqi, Petar Atanasov and Milos Teodorovic. Input and comments on drafts of this chapter by Andy Salmon, Petar Atanasov, Svetlana Djurdjevic-Lukic and Dimitrios Triantaphyllou are greatly appreciated. The maps were prepared by Aleksandar Ciric. 1 ‘Macedonia’ is used here as an abbreviated form of Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia.

66 Denisa Kostovicova 2 According to the 2002 census, the ethnic composition of Macedonia is: 64.18 per cent Macedonians, 25.17 per cent Albanians, 3.85 per cent Turks, 2.66 per cent Roma, 1.78 per cent Serbs, 0.84 per cent Bosnians, 0.48 per cent Vlachs, and 1.04 per cent others (Ministry of Defence of the Republic of Macedonia 2003: 3). 3 Noting a problem with the structure of the EU’s security presence, the International Crisis Group advocated the extension of the EUMM and its incorporation within the EU police mission (International Crisis Group 2003). 4 According to Hislope (2004: 21), more than half of the Albanian population in Macedonia is below the age of 27.

References Ackermann, A. (1996) ‘The Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia: a relatively successful case of conflict prevention in Europe’, Security Dialogue, 27: 409–24. AFP (Agence France Presse) (2003) ‘EU police mission starts in Macedonia, shifts focus to organized crime’, 15 December. Agushi, I. (2003) ‘Macedonia: kidnappings unnerve Albanian leaders’, Balkan Crisis Report, No. 438, 12 May. Available online at: http://www.iwpr.net/ index.pl?archive/bcr3/bcr3_200305_429_3_eng.txt (accessed 15 October 2004). Allin, D. (2002) NATO’s Balkan Interventions, Adelphi Paper 347, London: The International Institute for Strategic Studies. Altmann, F. (2004) ‘The European Union’s policy in South East Europe – the danger of unfulfilled expectations’, German Institute for International and Security Studies: Berlin. Available online at: http://www.bmlv.gv.at/ pdf_pool/ publikationen/10_wg8_pmp_16_alt.pdf (accessed 15 October 2004). Andreas, P. (2004) ‘Criminalized legacies of war: the clandestine political economy of the Western Balkans’, Problems of Post-Communism, 51: 3–9. Association for Democratic Initiatives (2003) Arms in Macedonia: Survey, Gostivar. —— (2004) ‘Monitoring the implementation of the framework agreement: annual report’, Gostivar. —— (n.d.) ‘The delayed return, rehabilitation and reconstruction’, in Social Integration of Refugees and Stateless People in Macedonia: Advocacy Task Force Macedonia of the LIG, Gostivar. Atanasov, P. (2004) ‘The Framework Agreement in FYR Macedonia: its integration and implementation aspects’, paper presented at South East Europe Discussion Group, London School of Economics and Political Science, 2 March. Aziri, E. (2004) ‘Partitë politike në Maqedoni, keqpërdorimi i të rinjve për qëllime politike dhe konflikti i armatorsur i vitit 2001’, in Traumat dhe dukuritë psikologjike si pasojë e konfliktit dhe të drejtat e njeriut, Skopje: Friedrich Ebert Stiftung and Shoqata e intelektualëve shqiptar. Blackwell, S. (2004) ‘Berlin plus uncertainty: the EU Mission in Macedonia’, Newsbrief, Royal United Services Institute, 24: 5–6. Brunnbauer, U. (2004) ‘The consequences of identity politics: security dilemmas in the Republic of Macedonia’, in A. Fati´c (ed.) Security in Southeastern Europe, Belgrade: Security Policy Group. Calic, M. (2003), ‘EU policies towards the Balkans: fostering ownership of reforms’, The International Spectator, 3: 111–23.

Old and new insecurity in the Balkans 67 Call, C. and Barnett, M. (1999), ‘Looking for a few good cops: peacekeeping, peacebuilding and CIVPOL’, International Peacekeeping, 6: 43–68. Cockell, J.G. (2002) ‘Civil–military responses to security challenges in peace operations: ten lessons from Kosovo’, Global Governance, 8: 483–502. Commission of the European Communities (2003) The Stabilisation and Association Process for South East Europe: Second Annual Report, Brussels, 26.3.2003, COM (2003), 139 final. Available online at: http://europa.eu.int/comm/external_ relations/see/sap/rep2/com03_139_en.pdf (accessed 16 October 2004). Debat shkencor (2003) Implementimi i Marrëveshjes kornizë të Ohrid, Skopje: Fondacioni Friedrich Ebert and Unioni i inteligjencies shqipare në Maqedoni. Dempsey, J. (2004) ‘Europe: US and EU in dispute on control of Bosnia force’, Financial Times, 9 March. Dnevnik (2004) , 25 June. Engstrom, J. (2002) ‘The power of perception: the impact of the Macedonian question on inter-ethnic relations in the Republic of Macedonia’, The Global Review of Ethnopolitics, 1: 3–17. Eupol Proxima (2004) Mission Statement. Available online at: http://www.eupolproxima.org (accessed 16 October 2004). European Agency for Reconstruction (2004a). FYR Macedonia. Annual Programme 2004. Online. Available online at: http://www.ear.eu.int/macedonia/main/ fyrom-a1c2g3a4.htm (accessed 19 October 2004). —— (2004b) Annual Report to the European Parliament and the Council, January to December 2003, Thessaloniki, 7 June. Available online at: http://www.ear.eu.int/ publications/main/documents/EARAnnualReport2003.pdf (accessed 16 October 2004). European Stability Initiative (2002a) ‘The other Macedonian conflict’, ESI discussion paper, Berlin-Brussels-Istanbul, 20 February. Available online at: http://www.esiweb.org/docs/showdocument.php?document_ID⫽32 (accessed 16 October 2004). —— (2002b) Western Balkans 2004: Assistance, Cohesion and the New Boundaries of Europe, Berlin-Brussels-Sarajevo: ESI, 3 November. Available online at: http://www.esiweb.org/pdf/esi_document_id_37.pdf (accessed 16 October 2004). Fakti (2004) 22 June, Përkujtim [Obituary]. Fati´c, A. (2004) ‘Introduction: security threats in Southeastern Europe and ways to respond to them’, in A. Fati´c (ed.) Security in Southeastern Europe, Belgrade: Security Policy Group. Glenny, M. (2004) ‘Europe and the Balkans: snatching defeat from the jaws of victory’, paper presented at Hellenic Observatory Research Seminars, London School of Economics and Political Science, 27 January. Goreski, V. (2004). Head of Interministerial Group of the Macedonian Government for the Strategic Defence Review. Interview, Skopje, June. The Guardian (2004). ‘Killings “staged to win US support” ’, 1 May. Hadzic, M. (2000) ‘Kosovo and the security stabilization of South-East Europe’, International Peacekeeping, 7: 83–94. Hislope, R. (2003) ‘Between a bad peace and a good war: insights and lessons from the almost-war in Macedonia’, Ethnic and Racial Studies, 26: 129–51. —— (2004) ‘Crime and honor in a weak state: paramilitary forces and violence in Macedonia’, Problems of Post-Communism, 51: 18–26.

68 Denisa Kostovicova Hozic, A. (2004) ‘Between the cracks: Balkan cigarette smuggling’, Problems of PostCommunism, 51: 35–44. International Crisis Group (2002) Moving Macedonia toward Self-Sufficiency: A New Security Approach for NATO and the EU, Balkans Report No. 135, Skopje and Brussels, 15 November. Available online at: http://www.icg.org/home/ index.cfm?id⫽1695&l⫽1 (accessed 15 October 2004). —— (2003) Macedonia: No Room for Complacency, Europe Report No. 149, Skopje and Brussels, 23 October. Available online at: http://www.icg.org/ home/index.cfm?id⫽2329&l⫽1 (accessed 15 October 2004). Institute for Sociological, Political and Juridical Research (2003) Public opinion poll, January, Skopje. —— (2004) Public opinion poll, January, Skopje. Irwin, C. (2002) ‘Peace, stability and elections: an opinion poll and its implications’, The Global Review of Ethnopolitics, 2: 62–74. Jovanovska, S. (2004) , 24 June. Judah, T. (2004) ‘Half-empty or half-full towns?’, Transitions Online. Online. Available online at: http://www.tol.cz (accessed 15 October 2004). Kuzmanovski, S. (2004) Defence and Security Analysis and the Republic of Macedonia, Skopje: Non-Governmental Organisation Democratic Balance. Latifi, V. (2003) Macedonian Unfinished Business: Challenges in the Process of Democratization and Stabilization, Skopje: Konrad Adenauer Stiftung. Lobi (2004) , No. 172, 18 June. Maliqi, N. (2001) Gjurmë politike, Skopje: Nazmi Maliqi. Mehmeti, A. (2004) ‘Mjaft. Duam pajtim gjaqesh’, Fakti, 19 June. Mendelson Forman, J. (2002) ‘Promoting civil society in good governance: lessons for the security sector’, paper prepared for the Workshop ‘Promoting civil society in good governance. Lessons for the security sector’ organized by the Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control of Armed Forces, Prague, Czech Republic, 15–16 April. Ministry of Defence of the Republic of Macedonia (2003) Our Way to NATO, Skopje, December. Online. Available online at: http://www.morm.gov.mk/ Assets/natopub.pdf (accessed 19 October 2004). Mojsovska, S. (2004) Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia’s Economic Arrangements with International Organisations: Gains and Losses, Discussion Paper 29, London: Centre for the Study of Global Governance, London School of Economics. Available online at: http://www.lse.ac.uk/Depts/global/Publications. htm (accessed 15 October 2004). Moore, P. (2002) ‘Shifting responsibility in the Balkans: the EU takes the lead’, The International Spectator, 3: 83–90. Musliu, A. and Ademi, V. (n.d.) ‘Macedonia: micro-credit, poverty and returning ethnic minorities’, Minority Rights Group International in partnership with the Association for Democratic Initiatives. Available online at: http://www.minorityrights.org/Dev/mrg_dev_title3_macedonia/mrg_dev_title3_macedonia_pf.htm (accessed 15 October 2004). Patten, C. (2002) Speech at Western Balkans Democracy Forum, Thessaloniki, 11 April. Available online at: http://europa.eu.int/comm/external_relations/ news/patten/sp02_150.htm (accessed 16 October 2004). Petruseva, A. (2003) ‘Macedonia: gangsters exploit ethnic tensions’, Balkan Crisis Report, No. 438, 17 June. Available online at: http://www.iwpr.net/

Old and new insecurity in the Balkans 69 index.pl?archive/bcr3/bcr3_200306_438_1_eng.txt (accessed 16 October 2004). Phinnemore, D. and Siani-Davies, P. (2003) ‘Beyond intervention? The Balkans, the Stability Pact and the European Union’, in P. Siani-Davies (ed.) International Intervention in the Balkans since 1995, London: Routledge. Piana, C. (2002) ‘The EU’s decision-making process in the Common Foreign and Security Policy: the case of the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia’, European Foreign Affairs Review, 7: 209–26. Politi, A. (2001) ‘The threat of organized crime in the Balkans’, Southeast European and Black Sea Studies, 1: 39–63. Rahik, E. (2004) Member of Parliament of SDSM. Interview, Skopje, May. Ristova-Asterud, K. and Maxhovski, M. (2004) ‘Roli i Komisionit të përhershëm anketues për sigurinë e të drejtave dhe lirive të njeriut në Kuvendin e Repulikës së Maqedonisë në sigurinë e të drejtave dhe lirive të njeriut në situatë konflikti dhe pas konfliktit në Repulikën e Maqedonisë’, in Traumat dhe dukuritë psikologjike si pasojë e konfliktit dhe të drejtat e njeriut, Skopje: Friedrich Ebert Stiftung and Shoqata e intelektualëve shqiptar. Salihu, U. and Ajdini, H. (2004) ‘Të mbretërojnë tolerance dhe falja’, Fakti, 19 June. Sampson, S. (2003) ‘From kanun to capacity-building: the “internationals”, civil society development and security in the Balkans’, in P. Siani-Davies (ed.) International Intervention in the Balkans since 1995, London: Routledge. Simoska, E. (2001) in E. Simoska et al. (eds) . Special Co-ordinator on the Activities of the Stability Pact in 2003 (2003). Annual Report. Available online at: http://www.stabilitypact.org/rt/031205-annualreport.html (15 October 2004). Stefanova, R. (2003) ‘New security challenges in the Balkans’, Security Dialogue, 34: 169–82. Stewart, S. (2004) ‘The role of international and local NGOs in the transformation of the Georgian–Abkhasian conflict’, The Global Review of Ethnopolitics, 3: 3–22. Tegovski, J. (2004) State Advisor for the Relations with the EU. Interview, Skopje, June. Toscano, A. (2001) ‘Clashes on the FYROM border: the regional context and prospects for resolution’, IBRU Boundary and Security Bulletin, 9: 80–92. Triantaphyllou, D. (2003) ‘The Balkans between stabilisation and membership’, in J. Batt, D. Lynch, A. Missiroli, M. Ortega and D. Triantaphyllou (eds) Partners and Neighbours: A CSFP for a Wider Europe, Chaillot Papers No. 64, Paris: ISS. Available online at: http://www.iss-eu.org/chaillot/chai64e.pdf (accessed 16 October 2004). UNDP (United Nations Development Programme) (2001) National Human Development Report 2001: Social Exclusion and Human Insecurity in FYR Macedonia, UNDP. Online. Available online at: http://www.undp.org.mk/nhdr/nhdr2001/ nhdr2001.pdf (accessed 16 October 2004). —— (2003) Early Warning Report, FYR Macedonia, No. 1. Available online at: http://unpan1.un.org/intradoc/groups/public/documents/UNTC/UNPAN01 6469.pdf (accessed 15 October 2004). USAID (2003) ‘OTI Hot Topics: Macedonia’. Available online at:

70 Denisa Kostovicova http://www.usaid.gov/hum_response/oti/country/macedon/hotmac.html (accessed 16 October 2004). Vankovska, B. (2004) Friedrich Ebert Stiftung, , 23 June. van Meurs, W. (2000) The Balkans and New European Responsibilities, strategy paper for the Club of Three and the Balkans, 29–30 June, Brussels. Available online at: http://www.cap.lmu.de/download/2000/balkan1.PDF (accessed 16 October 2004). van Meurs, W. and Weiss, S. (2003) ‘The next Europe: Southeastern Europe after Thessaloniki’, Munich: Centre for Applied Policy Research. Available online at: http://www.cap.uni-muenchen.de/download/2003/2003_next_europe.pdf (accessed 16 October 2004). Vasi´c, M. (2004) ‘Legija i ortaci’, VREME, No. 701, 10 June. Vukadinovic, R. (2002) ‘Southeastern Europe and European security architecture’, Southeast European and Black Sea Studies, 2: 126–50. York Centre for International and Security Studies (2003) Security Sector Reform in South Eastern Europe: An Inventory of Initiatives, York: York University. Available online at: http://ssr.yciss.yorku.ca> (accessed 16 October 2004). Yusufi, I. (2004) ‘Europeanizing the Western Balkans through military and police missions: the cases of Concordia and Proxima in Macedonia’, European Balkan Observer, 2: 8–12. Available online at: http://www.wiiw.ac.at/balkan/files/ EBO%203.pdf (accessed 16 October 2004).

4

The Great Lakes region Security vacuum and European legacy Victoria Brittain and Augusta Conchiglia

Introduction Chronic and long-standing physical and economic insecurity has been the common experience of populations throughout the Great Lakes region of Africa for decades. Foreign military interventions have been frequent, mainly in response to requests from the post-colonial central governments in crisis when they felt themselves insecure and under pressure from popular discontent. These military interventions have involved – besides numerous African ones – the United Nations (in the 1960s, 1990s and early twenty-first century), France (in the 1970s and 1990s), Belgium (1960s and 1990s), the US (1960s and 1970s), and the European Union (2003). The outsiders’ motives have run through the gamut from Cold War confrontations to economic advantage, regional ambitions and geostrategic concerns. The EU’s Operation Artemis in eastern Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) in 2003, however, was different from those that preceded it. It benefited from lessons learned and experimented with providing a possible template for future short-term multinational interventions, including by the EU. It also validated a new concept in European security policy of the viability of short-term EU intervention in response to Africa’s security needs. The military responses to successive political crises have usually been successful in the short term, rescuing shaky governments and in two cases (Uganda in 1979 and the then Zaïre, currently DRC, in 1997) ousting regimes that were making whole regions insecure. But the many millions of needless deaths, and the loss of homes, of land, of incomes, of education and health, and of personal security, particularly for women and girls, have blighted the lives of whole populations, over several generations; and no permanent improvement is in sight. At the beginning of the twenty-first century there is a security vacuum in much of the Great Lakes region. Complex and linked wars, the spread of small arms from poorly trained and ill-fed armies, unsuccessful demobilizations overseen by international agencies, the proliferation of militias as

72 Victoria Brittain and Augusta Conchiglia the politics of the gun became the norm in many countries, most notably in Zaïre (now DRC), leaves civilians to live and die outside any norms of law and justice. In these violent circumstances HIV/Aids is spread fast by the lethal combination of rape, ill-health, a military culture, a brutalized male population, a tradition of powerlessness among women and girls, lack of education, and the paucity of effective anti-HIV programmes (Brittain 2002a). The extent of the pandemic cannot be accurately estimated, but it is an additional factor in the dramatic impoverishment and insecurity of the region. The insecurity has triggered massive movements of population both within and between the core countries of DRC, Rwanda, Burundi and Uganda. Streams of people on foot, with no means of support, have also spilled out into the neighbouring countries of Tanzania, Zambia, Angola, Congo-Brazzaville, Central African Republic and Sudan, causing immediate economic, and in many cases military, insecurity. Migration further afield in Africa and to Europe, including by elites, has impoverished the political culture and, with the growth of criminalized economic networks, including those involved in drug trafficking, has also often become a cause of insecurity in host countries too. The Great Lakes is a prime example of an area left behind as free market liberalization widened the ratio of global inequality through the 1980s and 1990s. The rich-poor divide, both across the world between North and South and within the countries of the South, is likely to persist over the next 30 years and may even widen (Rogers 2000). The links between underdevelopment and violence are evident not only in the often medieval character of the wars around the Great Lakes region, but also in the growing understanding from the experience of Afghanistan – destroyed by dramatic military interventions by both sides in the Cold War and then brought to collapse under the Taliban regime – that ‘failed states’ become a security risk to the world.

Regional overview African powers beyond the immediate Great Lakes, notably South Africa and Angola, have become deeply involved in the regional crisis as important players in peace initiatives internally in DRC and Burundi and between DRC and its hostile neighbours. However, the large states of Sudan and Zimbabwe, both semi-dictatorships and democratically weak and both involved in the major regional wars of the second half of the 1990s, have since been kept on the periphery of developments by their own internal troubles. In Sudan the decades-old civil wars in the south and the Nuba mountains were compounded by the newer rebellions in the west, which spiralled into the Darfur crisis of summer 2004. In Zimbabwe the looming political collapse was only briefly masked by its international role in the DRC war.

Map 4.1 The Great Lakes region.

74 Victoria Brittain and Augusta Conchiglia In 1994 the Great Lakes exploded into international consciousness with the genocide in Rwanda. Around a million people, mainly Tutsis, were killed on the orders of the ruling regime, which defined itself as consolidating ‘Hutu power’. At least 2 million Hutu civilians, as well as armed militias, migrated into DRC and other neighbouring countries during the three months of the genocide, and particularly as the genocide ended with the seizure of power by the Rwanda Patriotic Front (RPF) and the flight of the leaders of the old regime in Kigali to Europe and various African countries. The ethnic tensions in Rwanda in 1994 cannot be separated from the long-running ethnic violence against Zaïre’s indigenous Tutsis in the eastern provinces of the Kivus, where the regime of President Mobutu Sese Seko had systematically excluded most Tutsis from citizenship, local power and, most recently, economic security (though some Kivu Tutsis were used by the central power, and periodically given the right to citizenship). Many Tutsis fled to Rwanda in 1994 when Hutus from Rwanda entered Zaïre and mass killings began there too. But this new crisis in DRC has to be seen in the context of the ‘endless crisis’ of the huge state of Congo since the post-independence period of the 1960s (Lemarchand 2002). Civil disobedience and ethnic violence were already features of Congolese society in the run-up to independence from Belgium, while the Mobutu regime’s manipulation of ethnicity throughout the country, was a key strategy in its survival (Nzongola-Ntalaja 2002: 87). In Burundi too, the most recent waves of ethnic violence since April 1994, when the presidents of Rwanda and Burundi died in an air crash, have sent hundreds of thousands of refugees into Tanzania and displaced hundreds of thousands more as long-standing power struggles based on ethnic division are played out. Burundi’s rebels, like Rwanda’s, have deepened the violence in eastern DRC, becoming part of a tangle of shifting alliances of military groups that live by preying upon civilian populations. In Uganda too, insecurity, with massacres, kidnappings, rape, displacement, loss of land and livelihood, has increased dramatically for the northern population during the 17-year war against the Lord’s Resistance Army. That war has spilled over into southern Sudan, and become linked to that country’s own long civil war, which has also spilled over into DRC. Uganda’s own involvement in the last decade in the wars in DRC has also contributed to economic and political insecurity. Throughout the region, the manipulation of ethnicity during the colonial period, and subsequent Western support for autocratic regimes based on ethnic exclusions and practising serious human rights violations, have prevented the growth of confidence in political and legal norms (Bourque et al. 2003). The violence that so many people are still living with should be treated not as a simple ‘crisis’ solvable by military means, but as a longterm structural regional problem requiring multiple subtle interventions, mainly of resources.

The Great Lakes region 75

Democratic Republic of Congo The history of Congo is one of successive foreign interventions, most of them aimed at imposing a neo-colonial order. The long-lasting autocratic regime of General Mobutu owed its survival to American and French support on the diplomatic, economic and military fronts. The two Shaba wars (1977–8) demonstrated how vital these foreign interventions were for the Mobutu regime. In both cases, Mobutu’s army was actually defeated, without firing a shot, by Katangese rebels from Angola. Contrary to what was written at the time, this rebellion was not supported by the Cuban army then in Angola (Gleijeses 1996) but received rather lukewarm encouragement from the Angolan authorities, who were weary of mercenary attacks and other forms of destabilization perpetrated by Zaïre against the new Angolan republic. In 1978, the Katangese former gendarmes, who created the Front Libération du Congo (FNLC) to fight their old enemy Mobutu, committed themselves to leave Angola for good and launch a long-term ‘popular guerrilla war’ inside the Congo. Their mistake was that, instead, they adopted a blitzkrieg strategy and attacked Kolwezi, the heart of the mining region. This provoked Mobutu’s European allies to immediately intervene with their special troops. Without their help, Mobutu would have lost control of the region and possibly also neighbouring areas such as Kasai (a major diamond source), which were vital for the survival of the central power. More insidious was the foreign support for Mobutu’s strategy at the beginning of the 1990s, of brushing aside the Sovereign National Conference (SNC) resolutions aimed at giving Zaïre a democratic regime after a transitional period. The SNC consensus naming Etienne Tshisekedi as the transitional Prime Minister was opposed by most of Mobutu’s Western allies (Nzongola-Ntalaja 2002: 261), who preferred to support Mobutu in imposing the pro-Western Kengo Wa Dondo as Prime Minister. As a result of this missed chance of democracy, the West became complicit in the subsequent steady decline of the Mobutu regime. After the SNC, Mobutu’s power became purely predatory, neglecting all governmental obligations and management of public affairs. In January 1992, the European Community suspended its official cooperation with the increasingly appalling Mobutu regime. The United States also decided in the early 1990s to cease aiding Kinshasa under pressure from the Congressional black caucus. But this penalized the general population rather then the elite, which had direct access to the national coffers. These measures should have been accompanied by a coherent common strategy aimed at removing Mobutu and his clique from power by favouring the democratic opposition. However, in 1994, for reasons of realpolitik, Mobutu was suddenly rehabilitated in France after he had allowed French troops to establish a base inside Zaïre to carry out Operation Turquoise in Rwanda (see below).

76 Victoria Brittain and Augusta Conchiglia That year, President Mitterrand invited Mobutu to the French African summit, although he had excluded him from the previous summit because of his flagrantly anti-democratic and repressive practices. In his political blindness, weakened by his illness, and perhaps believing he would again be saved by his Western allies, Mobutu underestimated the danger of the eastern rebellion in 1996. When the rebels started their long march towards Kinshasa, with the support of Rwanda, Uganda and Angola, Mobutu was totally vulnerable. His Western allies might then have suggested that he play his last card: appointing Tshisekedi as Prime Minister, which he eventually did. But it was too little and too late to open a dialogue with the rebellion led by Laurent-Désiré Kabila. It was a totally disorganized, impoverished and bankrupt country that Kabila took over on 17 May 1997. Unable to overcome the deep political crisis in the country, unwilling to implement the smallest reform on the internal front, unable to strengthen his relations with some of his most sympathetic allies such as Uganda and Rwanda, Kabila found himself isolated internationally when the second eastern war was launched. His regime was rescued by the Zimbabwean and Angolan military intervention, which generated acute tension in the Southern African Development Community (SADC). Whereas the Angolan decision was mainly dictated by internal security considerations, Zimbabwe acted on its perceived economic advantage (mining concessions to senior military officials). Zimbabwe had been in the forefront of the campaign to integrate DRC in SADC, shortly after Laurent-Désiré Kabila took over in 1997. Kabila survived in power, although at the cost of the country’s partition and an expensive and deadly war which has taken a terrible toll on civilians, especially, though far from exclusively, in the east. The four years of violence that followed could have been avoided if the main political forces in Zaïre had been allowed to continue with the democratic process previously launched by the SNC, finally following the transition path of other African francophone countries, most of which evolved from one-party systems into more or less democratic regimes. (The 2003 Inter-Congolese dialogue finally brought a weak version of this to fruition.) Although mainly motivated by the Congo’s eastern neighbours’ security concerns, the second war displaced the agenda of the non-armed opposition and civil society. However, unlike other African conflicts, where the final settlement was negotiated only among the belligerents (Angola, Sierra Leone), the Inter-Congolese dialogue, strongly supported behind the scenes by the UN, the South African government and some European partners, changed the political dynamic. It may perhaps have given the country a second chance to build a national consensus on movement towards democratic rule. Certainly, a failure of the current transitional process would be catastrophic for the country as well as for the region. For it to succeed, the issue of disarming, demobilizing, reintegrating or

The Great Lakes region 77 repatriating, the Congolese and foreign militia still in the country (IRIN 2004a), and the issue of justice, are key factors. But the weakness of the government, and the fact that warlords were deliberately included in the government, has, as in the better-known case of Afghanistan, pushed these important issues into the background in practical terms. The ambitious Disarmament, Demobilization, Reintegration (DDR) projects of aid donors are exceedingly problematic. But the rule of law cannot be imposed upon this society in a context of total impunity for past crimes. The planned amnesty for acts of war (which all belligerents will enjoy) should not, of course, include the crimes against humanity (massacres of civilians, rapes, kidnapping, use of child soldiers, and so forth). The reintegration of child soldiers into their own families, villages or regions is also extremely complex, and many such projects have failed. Widespread rape of women and girls did not end with the inauguration of the transitional government, according to a recent Joint Initiative on the Fight against Sexual Violence towards Women and Children that brought together UN and other international and local organizations, and government representatives. The Initiative’s first estimates suggested that tens of thousands of women had been raped in recent years, and not only in the provinces affected directly by the war. Gang rapes and rapes of children as young as four and women as old as 80 have been reported in DRC, mirroring the experience of women in Burundi and parts of Uganda, and in Rwanda during the genocide (IRIN 2004a). Behind this sexual violence lies a culture of domination that has taken over in much of DRC, worsening with the spread of militias and with the expectation of impunity whereby perpetrators of sexual violence have gone unpunished. The Joint Initiative is an indication that this issue is being recognized as part of the future security agenda. And a recent public apology to the women of DRC by one of the four vice-presidents suggests a new awareness on the part of DRC politicians. On a recent visit to Europe, President Joseph Kabila clearly indicated his intention to put on trial – possibly in an international court – those responsible for genocide and other crimes against humanity. This initiative is strongly supported by organizations such as Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch as well as by the French government. However, Kabila’s statement (Le Monde 2004) indirectly indicated that some of the main figures now in the transitional government could be among the presumed criminals (for instance, Vice-President Bemba and some members of Rassemblement Congolais pour la Démocratie (RCD)-Goma). This road to justice could be destabilizing, and the attitude of significant external players, such as the EU, will be important. With Operation Artemis the EU has already staked a claim to a say in DRC’s future more significant than that of any individual country. For the first time, with its Resolution of 31 May 2003, the UN Security Council

78 Victoria Brittain and Augusta Conchiglia gave a military mission to the EU, recognizing the EU’s capacity to move on the military and humanitarian fronts with a speed and effectiveness that a real crisis situation demanded (Dallaire 2003). The security situation in the Ituri district in Oriental Province was rapidly deteriorating: various militias, including thousands of young children, were laying waste towns, looting, raping, carrying out massacres, causing tens of thousands of people to flee their homes. The UN forces on the ground were evidently incapable of dealing with the situation. The EU already had a small unit on the ground in Bunia on 5 June as well as ongoing arrangements with DRC’s neighbours and with the Uruguayan UN troops. Before long the force had been assembled and the necessary equipment assessed. This too was unprecedented. So was the clarity about the mission’s short life – to 1 September 2003. By 1 July the bulk of the EU force of over 2,000 men was in Bunia. It was led by the French and included Belgian and British troops, but also other Europeans – Swedes and Germans – with little or no experience in the region. In addition, Canadian, South African and Brazilian troops were invited to participate to give the widest political investment by the international community in the success of the EU intervention. The significance of Artemis was that it both placed the issue of African security needs high on the European agenda and, by getting the mandate of the UN Mission in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (MONUC) changed from Chapter VI to Chapter VII of the UN Charter,1 gave the UN operation a chance of success that it did not have before. In Bunia itself security improved considerably for the population, who saw the possibility of reviving the local economy, restarting schools, reopening clinics, even though the force was confined to the town itself, only over-flying the province. Massacres, however, resumed in later months, though on a smaller scale. The militias’ initial attempts to test MONUC by attacking it immediately after the end of Artemis was met with a rather different self-confidence and success on the part of the reorganized UN troops. The balance of forces in the region had, however, clearly changed, though the major issues of disarming the militias, impunity, reconciliation, training a functioning and disciplined police force, and uniting all combatants in one national army, remain to be solved in the post-Artemis phase, as the crises of 2004 showed only too clearly. The most serious setback for the peace process period was the seizure of Bukavu in North Kivu at the beginning of June 2004 by dissident soldiers of the Congolese Rally for Democracy (RCD). This was another blow for MONUC and discredited afresh the UN force in the eyes of the population. Despite its new mandate allowing the use of force, which had raised the hopes of the local people, UN troops were impotent to stop either the occupation of the town or the looting that followed. The situation in Bukavu returned to normal quite rapidly thanks to a

The Great Lakes region 79 deployment of loyalist police and army. However, the future of the officers who led the mutiny was still problematic two months later. President Kabila and one of his vice-presidents, Azarias Ruberwa, himself from the RCD faction of the government, disagreed on how to handle it. President Kabila wanted the officers punished, as the cabinet had decided collectively on 18 June, but Vice-President Ruberwa believed that only negotiations with the former rebels could lead to a real consensus on the creation of the new army. The incident illustrated perfectly the unresolved tension between justice and stability which has bedevilled so many other transition periods from prolonged war, and not only in Africa. To further complicate the situation, historical animosity meant that most of the government thought they detected the hand of Rwanda behind the Bukavu crisis, as did some, though not all, UN officials. A UN experts’ report concluded that Rwanda was giving logistic support to the rebels, and that ongoing assistance to Rwanda, which included the supply of arms and ammunition, continued to threaten the stability of the DRC transitional government (IRIN 2004b). The army in Rwanda strongly denied any involvement. The destructive power of ethnicity was further illustrated within weeks in an incident with chilling echoes of 1994 in Rwanda. On 13 August at Gatumba in Burundi, over 180 refugees from DRC, mainly women and children, were massacred because they were Tutsis and therefore identified with Rwanda. Leaflets had threatened the camp in the name of Hutu rebels from Burundi, the remnants of the previous Rwandese army and interahamwe, the Hutu extremist militia, as well as Congolese militias (UN Security Council 2004). The tardiness of all sections of the transitional government in carrying out the disarmament of these militias is one of the main causes of the continuing chaos in eastern DRC, which spilled over into Burundi on this occasion. This is likely to continue to be a significant problem in the absence of urgent international funding for disarmament and a more realistic idea of who is to be disarmed. It clearly cannot be left to the transitional government. Reconstruction too requires a substantial and long-term international commitment, but it will become relevant only after disarmament has been completed.

Rwanda Interventions – military and diplomatic, unilateral, regional and international – have been a constant theme in the last 15 years of Rwanda’s history, as the previous 30 years of insecurity, ethnic massacres and mass flights into exile exploded into an internationally recognized crisis. The lessons of success and failure lie at the heart of future policy recommendations for the European Union on security in the region. In July 1992, as a result of pressure on Rwanda’s reluctant government

80 Victoria Brittain and Augusta Conchiglia from regional leaders and European Union delegations (excluding the French ambassador in Kigali) (Prunier 1995), a ceasefire was signed between the hardline Hutu leadership of President Juvenal Habyarimana and the Tutsi-led Rwanda Patriotic Front (RPF), which had been fighting an increasingly successful civil war against the French-backed regime since 1990. Most of the RPF leaders, who launched the invasion from Uganda, were exiles whose families had fled Rwanda in response to the succession of officially organized massacres of Tutsis from 1959. The RPF military leaders were products of the Ugandan armed guerrilla movement that had successfully contested the power of the degraded Ugandan regimes of the second government of President Milton Obote and the military coup leaders, Tito Okello and David Oyite Ojok, who overthrew him. Against a background of rising extremist political violence in Rwanda directed against the government’s concessions, negotiations on an extremely complex power-sharing agreement dragged on for a year, with the key armed forces integration agreement signed only on 3 August 1993. The following day the peace agreement was signed in Arusha at a ceremony attended by the heads of state of the countries in the region – Tanzania, Uganda, Burundi and Rwanda – and the Prime Minister of Zaïre. The region, each country of which was deeply affected by the fascist politics of exclusion practised in Rwanda, was the key to this successful diplomatic intervention. Implementation of the agreement, however, depended on a tricky external condition: the setting up of an international military monitoring force. The RPF wanted the French troops in the country to leave and be replaced by a UN force. (The French military mission ‘Noroit’, or north wind, was a unilateral military intervention to support Habyarimana’s regime in response to the RPF invasion in 1990 (Prunier 1995: 112). It finally left in December 1993. Belgian troops, which came in at the same time, rapidly withdrew before the end of 1990.) A UN monitoring force, United Nations Assistance Mission for Rwanda (UNAMIR), was set up by UN Resolution 872 on 5 October 1993. In December the first UN troops arrived, the key contingents from Belgium, Ghana and Bangladesh, and another 1,000 troops were authorized in January, when the impending threat from extremists refusing to implement Arusha was evident (Brittain 1996). The French-Canadian UN force commander, General Romeo Dallaire, then had 2,519 men under his command, but the UN in New York refused him permission to disarm the extremists and pre-empt the genocide being forecast in Kigali (Dallaire 2003). This was the first of a number of disastrous decisions from New York that have made Rwanda a case history of a failed UN military intervention (Malvern 2000; International Panel of Eminent Persons 2000; African Rights 2001). The well-planned genocide began on the night of 6 April after the shooting down of the President’s plane. After the targeted killing of ten

The Great Lakes region 81 Belgian UN peacekeepers in Kigali, Belgium pushed for a change in the UN mandate to allow the UN military to intervene to stop the killings, and offered to the UN mission the 250 paratroopers flown in on 10 April to save Belgians from the mayhem. But the French refused the change of mandate (Prunier 1995: 234). With Operation Amaryllis – the second French military intervention – on 9 April, 190 French paratroopers flew into Kigali to evacuate only foreign nationals, though they also took out senior members of the Habyarimana regime including the President’s family (Prunier 1995: 234). Then on 21 April the UN, astonishingly, voted to reduce UNAMIR forces by 90 per cent to 270 men. Too few UN troops, appallingly badly equipped, with the wrong mandate, and no political will in Washington to acknowledge that genocide was happening were the key elements of the deepening UN failure. The third of France’s three ill-fated and surprisingly ill-judged military interventions was described as ‘a humanitarian mission’. Operation Turquoise had 2,500 soldiers and 100 armoured vehicles, a battery of 120 mm mortars, helicopters, fighter bombers, ground attack planes and four Mirage reconnaissance planes (Prunier 1995: 282, 291).2 Turquoise occupied a swathe of the country from 23 June to 21 August 1994. The operation briefly blocked the RPF from taking full power, while providing cover for the génocidaires retreating into Zaïre. The record of French soldiers ignoring pleas for help from terrified survivors is still today a living memory (Brittain 2004; African Rights 1998), with implications for future EU interventions. (The fact that some French officials still maintain today that Operation Turquoise was a humanitarian initiative is an indication of how extremely difficult it is to arrange a meeting of EU minds in this area.) In the chaos of 1994, RPF leaders identified two key strands of future policy to end insecurity and rebuild a completely fractured society. They were the linked themes of justice and reconciliation, as well as reintegration. External interventions have not made a generous enough contribution to either, and the present stability – the UN has dropped the security risk assessment from 3 to 0 – is attributable to the creation of the Rwandese government and its home-grown solutions. Justice is a key theme in a context where the entire justice system had been destroyed and, uniquely, the vast majority of the population had been participants in horrendous campaigns of death, rape, destruction and looting, carried out as ‘work’ under the orders of the regime’s leaders. Survivors in general, and in particular the large numbers of widows – many of them HIV positive through rape during the genocide – are a particular target group for intervention. Justice for them, especially if known to be funded and backed by outsiders such as the EU, could be a key to stability in rural areas inevitably dominated by génocidaires. Women survivors, even when in failing health, typically look after numerous

82 Victoria Brittain and Augusta Conchiglia orphaned survivors (a dozen is not unusual), feel desperately insecure personally, and find it hard to forgive the government for not taking more special care of them. The killing of such women witnesses has indicated the acuteness of their personal insecurity in the last decade. The International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR) was set up in 1994 by the Western powers, which were full of guilt about their failure to stop the genocide and sceptical about Rwanda’s capacity to handle its obvious justice needs. Placing it over the border in Arusha reflected that scepticism, but has been a major mistake by making it too distant to be a key element in demonstrating justice to Rwanda’s people – suspects and survivors alike. The failure by the international community adequately to protect women witnesses has been a mark of the Tribunal’s insensitivity to the importance of gender justice in re-establishing security across the region. The ICTR is trying major genocide suspects, but has been plagued by internal bickering and inefficiency, and acknowledges it will be unable to complete the trials of the 49 suspects now under arrest before it ends in 2008. Its squandered annual budget of $180 million could have transformed Rwanda’s own justice system. Rwanda went ahead with its own solution to the problem of the 120,000-plus genocide suspects, releasing the very young and very old, and beginning a traditional gacaca local court system for the rest. Though very far from perfect, gacaca represents the only solution; it deserves less scepticism from outsiders and more financial support for its logistics if its ambitions are to be realized (Kagame 2003; Brittain 2003). Intimidation of witnesses, and some killings, as gacaca got under way underline how entrenched historical attitudes are, and how fragile reconciliation is, despite a decade of political education on the subject. The second key is recognition of the need for a massive repatriation of refugees and demobilization of génocidaires, militias, child soldiers and leading military opponents (Brittain 1999, 2004). Their reintegration into a society sufficiently transformed by imposed new norms of ethnic tolerance (such as new identity cards which do not note ethnicity) to prevent a risk of a new genocide is a massive, and sensitive, endeavour. Two million peasants walked home from Zaïre in 1996 when the RPF military forcibly closed the UN-run refugee camps where arming and training for a new genocide was going on under the noses of international aid agencies. They were resettled, many in newly built villages, with assistance from UNHCR, the World Bank, and especially the EU. Even more crucial was the gradual bringing back of tens of thousands of the armed men who threatened the regime, destabilized the seven neighbouring countries where they had been located in recent years, and continue to destabilize DRC. The Rwanda Demobilization and Reintegration Commission (RDRC) is supported by the UNDP trust fund and a World Bank loan, but needs more support and less scepticism from outsiders. In the last four years 46,000 ex-combatants from different groups, including the

The Great Lakes region 83 Rwanda Defence Force, have been reintegrated in civilian life by an efficient commission given high-level political support and staffed by welleducated graduates (ReliefWeb 2004). The impressively run RDRC ‘solidarity camp’ of Mutobo, and the nearby facility for child soldiers at Ruhengiri, provide examples of good practice in successful demobilization and reintegration, in contrast to the shambolic earlier examples familiar from Angola and DRC, for instance. International organizations’ interventions have had major responsibilities in those failed examples. Here the Rwandese have run the operation themselves – with the Rwandese Red Cross, the Ministry of Local Government and Community Development Committees playing an important role in the logistics of reuniting families and reintegrating people at village level (IRIN 2004c). Poor relations between the government in Kigali and many donors has led to much misunderstanding and sharply opposed views of these programmes and their success.

Uganda President Idi Amin of Uganda was ousted on 11 April 1979 by a Tanzanian military intervention, accompanied by Ugandan rebels. It was the end of a regime that had lost all semblance of legitimacy and was held in place by brute force, dependent on men from Amin’s own ethnic, language and religious groups (Omara-Otunnu 1987), and where the insecurity of the population was complete. Tanzania’s lone action was triggered by Amin’s military adventure annexing the Kagera salient from Tanzania in October 1978, which he embarked on as a diversion from serious unrest at home, including within his own power base in the military. But President Julius Nyerere took a decision to use his army not just to push the Ugandans out of Kagera, but also to help a weak and disorganized rebel movement seize power in Kampala, in order to remove a regime that was causing regional insecurity as well as chronic insecurity for Ugandans. It was in some ways a precedent for the Rwandan army’s march on Kinshasa and the installation of President Laurent-Désiré Kabila to replace Mobutu on 17 May 1997. (There are also parallels with the exasperation and mistrust of the protégés by their sponsors in Tanzania and Rwanda.) Amin’s use of ethnicity to keep control of Uganda notably included the seizure of Asian assets and the expulsion of Ugandan Asians, but it otherwise followed the pattern of both the British colonial period and Milton Obote’s first government, overthrown by Amin’s coup in 1971. The British took the lead in recognizing Amin’s military coup and drumming up world support for it, looking to retain the influential role they had lost with Uganda’s independence. But the time Yoweri Museveni’s National Resistance Movement (NRM) fought its way to power on 25 January 1986, the country had been riven

84 Victoria Brittain and Augusta Conchiglia with insecurity since independence: two civil wars, two military coups, massive repression, tens of thousands of political and ethnic murders, hundreds of thousands exiled, and a stolen election accepted by the international community. The seeds of autocratic militarized leadership were thus sown, with economic and democratic implications which surfaced with Uganda’s over-ambitious regional role in the DRC wars of the 1990s, with serious corruption within the previously austere military, and with the failure of the NRM to transform itself into a credible political force open to new leadership and pluralism. And the acute sense of deprivation among the ethnic groups of the north was not seriously addressed by the NRM. This is the context of the 17-year-long war of the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) which has long had a base in the contested remote bushland of southern Sudan and is characterized by its extreme brutality against civilians. Successive Sudanese governments have played a deeply irresponsible role in, at least partially, supporting the rebels in a bid to force the Ugandan government to cut its ties with the southern Sudanese rebels of the Sudan People’s Liberation Front. In northern Uganda acute insecurity has driven the people off their land and brought about the collapse of the local economy and of education and health care. As throughout the region, women have been the most victimized. Systematic rape of young girls forced into sexual slavery has been a hallmark of the LRA. Much of the brutality is carried out by children, kidnapped and forced into inhuman, taboo-breaking acts that serve to separate them from their past and their community, even if they are captured by the Ugandan government military or manage to escape. There are many parallels here with the brutalized child soldiers used by the armies of the DRC, and with the acute security needs of the next generation across the region. The magnitude of the need for education for this generation cannot be overestimated.

Burundi3 Ever since the assassination of the elected president, Melchior Ndadaye, in 1993, Burundi has been in the grip of a civil war with appalling consequences for the security of the population: more than 300,000 deaths, 25,000 war orphans, 5,000 street children, and a quarter of the population in exile or in camps for displaced people. Per capita GNP has dropped from $240 in 1992 to $110 in 2003, and life expectancy is down from 53.5 years to 43.7. Today only 20 per cent of the population has access to primary health care, and there is one doctor for 20,400 people when previously this country had a doctor for every 15,000 (UNICEF 2003). And 80 per cent of doctors, and 50 per cent of nurses, are in the capital, Bujumbura, when 90 per cent of the population lives in rural areas. The incomes of the middle class, which should be the motor of development, barely

The Great Lakes region 85 cover their rent. How has Burundi come to this situation in which political violence and structural violence feed each other in a vicious circle? Belgian colonial policy was: divide and rule. It laid the foundations of ethnic ideology in Burundi. Historians agree that pre-colonial conflicts were generally based on border disputes between rival princes, and not between ethnic groups (Chrétien 2003; Centre de Civilisation Burundaise 1981). On 13 October 1960 the assassination of the nationalist leader, Rwangasore, weakened the broad nationalist strand of the independence movement, leaving the field open to sectarian groups. Ethnic massacres and political crimes in 1972, 1988 and 1994 went unpunished, creating a culture of impunity. Blood feuds and the lack of justice stoked the fires of ethnic fundamentalism, which also profited from the weakness of democratic movements and groupings. In 1995, Tanzanian President Julius Nyerere took the lead in an attempted mediation backed by the region and the international community, following the pattern in Rwanda in the early 1990s. In 2000, with former South African President Nelson Mandela having replaced Nyerere as mediator after the latter’s death in 1999, another Arusha peace agreement was signed. Three years later, the transitional government signed a peace agreement with three armed groups, including the National Council for Defence of Democracy (FDD-CNDD). The massacre of Gatumba by the National Liberation Forces (FNL), the remaining rebel group, where more than 160 Congolese Tutsi – banyamulenge – were killed on 13 September 2004, has reinforced the opposition of the Burundian government and the region to pursue discussion with such a movement which continues to target the civilian population. However, without substantial funds for demobilization, integration, and the return of refugees, the risk of insecurity is not lifted (IRIN 2004c). And, with continuing or worsening insecurity in eastern DRC, that area would again be a base for rebel movements against Burundi. The ideological closeness and the existing links between Burundi’s rebel movements, especially FNL, and Rwanda’s former Rwandese Armed Forces (FAR) and interahamwe mean that the population will always be the first targets in the event of any further crisis. Pressure for elections in November (premature as in DRC) while demobilization and the integration of rebels in the army has not really started, could also spark violence again. In Burundi as elsewhere in the Great Lakes, it is clear that there will be no durable peace and no security for the population without real and sustainable development. Misery lies behind violence, and political opportunism thrives on it. Burundi’s people accepted the arrival of foreign troops with great reluctance. But pressure from the rebels and from the international community left the government no choice but to agree to it. However, minor demonstrations were held against their arrival in Bujumbura. The South Africans were accepted as the least bad option and as a way of avoid-

86 Victoria Brittain and Augusta Conchiglia ing the presence of troops from the region who could have been accused – rightly or wrongly – of playing a part in Burundi’s civil war. Because of the presence of rebel forces in Tanzania, the government of that country could never be viewed as impartial in Bujumbura. But Mandela’s image as man of peace and above geo-strategic role-playing, and the general comportment of the South African troops, has contributed to a climate of confidence. The very limited role of the South Africans – protection of top personalities returned from exile – and their confinement to the cantonment of returned rebels keeps them out of politics. In any event, as elsewhere across the region, this kind of military response in Burundi will be worthwhile only if it opens a space that allows a transition towards a society with institutions that transcend political and structural violence.

Future policy The burden of colonial and post-colonial history in the Great Lakes leaves several of the EU countries with a high level of individual responsibility for the present situation of regional insecurity. However, their individual relations with the various countries in the region are so problematic that actions taken at the EU level, rather than by individual member states, are much more likely to be effective and acceptable in central Africa. The present and future threats to international security are well recognized, not least by the EU (Council of the European Union 2003), as coming from a wide range of problems, including: environment; climate change; a generation whose schooling has been minimal because of the disruptions of war, with tens of thousands of child soldiers and hundreds of thousands of refugee children; health, especially HIV/Aids; trade; arms trafficking; development – closing the ‘grotesquely excessive’ gap between rich and poor (Rogers 2000); and the exodus of the region’s intellectuals. All these factors pose chronic threats in the Great Lakes. There are two factors which weigh especially heavily in local perceptions – particularly of women in rural areas, who form the backbone of these countries – of what would make their situation more secure: action on the generation of children traumatized by lives as child soldiers, stripped of education and community values, knowing nothing but the logic of violence; and a popular passion to see an end to impunity, with justice done, at both national and international levels. The evolution of an EU security policy that addresses these concerns is particularly necessary as a counterweight to a US currently characterized by ‘aggressive isolationism’ (Rogers 2000) and obsessed with the manifestations of terrorism, not its root causes. The importance of human security as the basic need in the Great Lakes, both now and in particular for the future security for the region and beyond, has been accepted, theoretically at any rate across the board, by donors, international agencies, local civil society groupings and governments. The challenge for the EU is to be the motor that moves this accep-

The Great Lakes region 87 tance from theory to practice and, by tackling the huge agenda outlined in this chapter, to make ‘soft power’ so effective in prevention that ‘hard power’ is used only as a fall-back. There are three underlying principles for all such interventions, both military and ‘soft power’: • • •

recognize that the problems are long-term; do no harm; and use local capacity and knowledge.

As this chapter has demonstrated, some common lessons can be learned from the country case studies about military interventions in the last 20 years of the twentieth century and for the current period in this region: 1

2 3

4

Such interventions are usually initially popular with at least some ordinary citizens of the state in crisis, who see strong outsiders as offering them a chance of escape from the ongoing dynamic of violence in which they are powerless. The interventions very soon become deeply unpopular with the population. The interventions are likely, against the apparent military odds, to be successful in the short term in containing violence in a degraded state where the military are in disarray or against militias with no command structures. The interventions are impotent to deal with the political issues underlying the violence.

The last point is particularly relevant to a consideration of the EU’s Operation Artemis, which successfully enhanced MONUC’s capacity to operate in the chronic insecurity in Ituri. It was Artemis that secured the change in MONUC’s mandate from Chapter VI to Chapter VII, and this is likely to be the lesson learned for future interventions, as is the multinational nature of Artemis, especially with the importance given to South African troops. But recent events show how relatively powerless MONUC remains. The impact of foreign troops, including UN troops, on the immediate security of the population, especially women and girls, is now well understood to have negative as well as positive aspects, especially after their initial arrival. With few exceptions, they have done serious harm: sexual violence from peacekeepers is well documented. The resulting ongoing trauma, as well as the HIV/Aids threat, leaves serious long-term social problems that need to be prioritized (United Nations 2002; Rehn and Johnson Sirleaf 2002; Brittain 2002b). Recent EU guidelines for the military on trafficking of women and girls recognize the seriousness of this issue and the need for zero tolerance by European authorities of military rape and sexual slavery, which has not been exercised in the past.

88 Victoria Brittain and Augusta Conchiglia We recommend to the EU seven initiatives for societal and regional transformation from insecurity, related mostly to soft power. First should be the creation, with guaranteed long-term funding, of a regional institution staffed by the intellectuals of the region, focusing on training in conflict resolution and development, and aiming at attracting back and keeping at home the intellectuals and the national middle classes that have fled to Europe and the US. Second is prioritizing justice – especially gender justice – and ending impunity, as key to the transition from insecurity to security. ‘We must insist with quiet resolve on a firm policy of undoing the continuing effects of the past’, wrote Nelson Mandela as South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) got under way (Asmal et al. 1996; Krog 1998). The depredations of the warlords and former politicians of the Great Lakes, like those of apartheid’s perpetrators, will similarly have to be known and judged by the victims and by outsiders before there can be security in the region. Though generally understood now as being a far from totally successful panacea, the TRC process undoubtedly contributed significantly to South Africa’s stability. However, the outside world understood apartheid much better than the complex patterns behind human rights violations in the Great Lakes. The old outsiders’ explanation of ‘black on black violence’, which was cited to obscure the realities of the liberation struggle in South Africa, is popular again in the idea that ‘traditional tribal violence’ is the explanation for the killings in the Great Lakes. Supporting local justice initiatives is obviously related to this. In both Rwanda and Burundi, the traditional local court systems of gacaca and ubushigantahe, which bear some resemblance to the TRC process, are being used to confront the past. (In the DRC some civil society groups would welcome a TRC, though social and political conditions render such a move infeasible.) These local initiatives can be the basis of an EUsupported commitment to justice that recognizes the shortcomings of the ICTR (discussed above), and instead backs the initiatives in preparation by local and international NGOs in DRC to bring cases against powerful leaders to the International Criminal Court (ICC), as the Ugandan government has already done in the case of the LRA. Third is massive EU funding for education as the essential commitment to a different future in which the people would reject primitive fascism and there would be a hope for democracy. Fourth is EU leadership in the fight against the plague of HIV/Aids, which again needs massive funding research into vaccines, and slashing of drug costs. Fifth is active EU support for the return of armed groups to their home countries and their reintegration in society. The DDR programme across the region has been a priority in donors’ and the UN’s vision of the future. But the results have been disappointing, with the partial exception

The Great Lakes region 89 of Rwanda. The success of the programme has been hampered by the lack of capacity of the governments of DRC, Burundi and Uganda (IRIN 2004c) and of MONUC. The EU could make it a higher priority. The strengthening of the EU’s commitment to excluding fascist organizations – such as the interahamwe – from all contacts as well as arms sales would also contribute to this programme. Sixth is EU funding, training and logistics for African Union military interventions. One new thread to be considered in reference to EU security policy in this region is South Africa’s continental and regional ambitions, which mesh with the African Union’s Common African Security and Defence Policy (CASDP). Human security is the basis of the AU’s conception of CASDP, as affirmed as policy by African defence officials and some francophone European regional specialists.4 A radical rethink of EU security policy would suggest on the military side support for an improvement in the AU’s military effectiveness, with funding, training and logistics, as an alternative to the deployment of EU forces in the region. The recent refusal by South Africa to cooperate with Belgium in DRC military training is a signal of current attitudes. It had nothing to do with the South Africans’ sharp appreciation of the vast training needs of the DRC army, and much to do with perceptions of how colonial and post-colonial history was likely to make the initiative a failure, certainly in the medium or long term. Might Pretoria have cooperated with an EU initiative? The EU could signal new directions in military cooperation by expanding current Dutch and German initiatives that involve training Rwandese officers. Seventh, even beyond the military question, improved EU cooperation with regional organizations and a commitment to strengthening them are clearly imperative. Finally, the issues of democracy and the redistribution of wealth are, as all the case studies have shown, fundamental to future security in the region. A close and responsible partner such as the EU cannot avoid this issue, and can contribute to building security by supporting education, health, housing, modest poverty reduction projects for targeted groups – such as demobilized soldiers, children, child-headed households, and widows – as part of security policy. A long-term perspective is imperative if the key elements are to be tackled: justice, poverty, the position of women. Rwanda, with the impetus of its history of genocide, has the highest proportion of women in parliament in the world, and has made these three areas a priority. It is not coincidental that Rwanda is the most secure country in the region today, as registered by its fall in the UN’s security rating from 3 to 0.5 The broad regional conference due to be held in 2005 with the backing of all major donors including the EU, which is intended to consolidate peace and mobilize funds for regional reconstruction, will provide an opportunity to escape from clichés and lip-service. The EU must set an

90 Victoria Brittain and Augusta Conchiglia agenda that prioritizes these issues, so vital to human security, secures the pledging of long-term support led by the EU, and demands that the regional powers show genuine political will to provide security, which is still in serious doubt in some areas. The EU could also use the conference to strengthen the New Partnership for Africa’s Development (NEPAD) with a radical new commitment to encourage the extraction of regional riches in a way that benefits the populations of Africa, as well of often foreign corporations.

Populations Burundi: DRC: Rwanda: Uganda:

6,096,156 56,625,039 7,810,056 25,632,794

Notes 1 The UN Security Council Resolution 1493, 28 July 2003, has given MONUC the right to act under Chapter VII of the UN Charter that allows the use of force (UN Security Council 2003). 2 Prunier is particularly useful on this period as, to his astonishment, he, an academic with a very different vision of the Rwanda crisis from that of most French officials, was invited to be part of Operation Turquoise. 3 The authors would like to thank the Burundian researcher Nestor Bidadanure for his extensive input into this section. 4 Interviews with Ministry of Defence and other officials in Paris, Johannesburg and Kigali February–March 2004. 5 UN coordinator in Kigali, January 2004.

References African Rights (1998) Resisting Genocide: Bisesero, April–June 1994, Kigali and London: African Rights. —— (2001) Left to Die at Eto and Nyanza: The Stories of Rwandese Civilians Abandoned by UN Troops on 11 April 1994, Kigali and London: African Rights. Asmal, K., Asmal, L. and Roberts, R. (1996) Reconciliation through Truth: A Reckoning of Apartheid’s Criminal Governance, Cape Town: David Philip Publishers. Bourque, A., Lindiro Kabirigi, J.-P., Brittain, V. and Tshionza, G. (2003) ‘Civil society, a factor for peace in DRC’, unpublished manuscript. Brittain, V. (1996) ‘Chronicle of genocide foretold’, Guardian, 13 March. —— (1999) ‘Hope in the heart of darkness’, The Guardian Weekend, 3 April. Available online at: http://www.guardian.co.uk/weekend/story/0,3605,307030,00. html (accessed 12 October 2004). —— (2002a) ‘Calvary of the women of eastern DRC’, Review of African Political Economy, 29/93–4: 595–601. —— (2002b) Women in War and Crisis Zones: One Key to Africa’s Wars of Underdevelopment, Working Paper No. 21, London: Development Research Centre, LSE.

The Great Lakes region 91 Available online at: http://www.crisisstates.com/download/wp/WP21VB.pdf> (accessed 12 October 2004). —— (2003) ‘Letter from Rwanda’, The Nation, 1–8 September. Available online at: http://www.thirdworldtraveler.com/Africa/Letter_Rwanda.html (accessed 12 October 2004). —— (2004) ‘The homecoming’, Guardian, 20 March. Available online at: http://www.guardian.co.uk/rwanda/story/0,14451,1183898,00.html (accessed 12 October 2004). Centre de Civilisation Burundaise (1981) La civilisation ancienne des peuples des Grands Lacs: Colloque de Bujumbura (4–10 septembre 1979), Paris: Karthala–CCB. Chrétien, J.-P. (2003) L’Afrique des Grands Lacs: 2000 ans d’histoire, Paris: Flammarion. Council of the European Union (2003) A Secure Europe in a Better World: European Security Strategy, Brussels, 12 December. Available online at: http://www. ueitalia2003.it/NR/rdonlyres/994663FB-368F-4562-9BF0-C7FE46E66F4C/0/ 1212DocSolanaStrategiaEuropea_en.pdf (accessed 29 September 2004). Dallaire, R. (2003) Shake Hands with the Devil: The Failure of Humanity in Rwanda, Toronto: Random House. Gleijeses, P. (1996) ‘Truth or credibility: Castro, Carter, and the invasions of Shaba’, International History Review, 18: 70–103. International Panel of Eminent Persons (2000) Rwanda: The Preventable Genocide, OAU. Available online at: http://www.visiontv.ca/RememberRwanda/ Report.pdf (accessible 12 October 2004). IRIN (Integrated Regional Information Network) (2004a) ‘DRC: Focus on rampant rape, despite end of war’, 8 March. Available online at: http://www.aegis.com/news/irin/2004/IR040313.html (accessed 12 October 2004). —— (2004b) ‘Great Lakes: Rwanda backed dissident troops in DRC – UN panel’, 21 July (accessed 21 October 2004). Available online at: http://www.irinnews.org/report.asp?ReportID⫽42300&SelectRegion⫽East_Afri ca,%20Great_Lakes&SelectCountry⫽GREAT%20LAKES> (accessed 21 October 2004). —— (2004c) ‘DRC: disarmament programme gathers momentum’, 27 February. Available online at: http://www.irinnews.org/report.asp?ReportID⫽39725 &SelectRegion⫽Great_Lakes&SelectCountry⫽DRC (accessed 21 October 2004). Kagame, P. (2003) ‘The Arusha tribunal costs too much for very few results: an interview with Victoria Brittain’, African Geopolitics, 11. Available online at: http://www.african-geopolitics.org/home_english.htm (accessed 12 October 2004). Krog, A. (1998) Country of My Skull, London: Jonathan Cape. Lemarchand, R. (2002) ‘The tunnel at the end of the light’, Review of African Political Economy, 29/93–4: 389–98. Le Monde (2004) ‘Il faut juger les commanditaires de la guerre en RDC’, 3 February. Malvern, L. (2000) A People Betrayed: The Role of the West in Rwanda’s Genocide, London: Zed Books. Nzongola-Ntalaja, G. (2002) The Congo from Leopold to Kabila: A People’s History, London: Zed Books.

92 Victoria Brittain and Augusta Conchiglia Omara-Otunnu, A. (1987) Politics and the Military in Uganda 1890–1985, London: Macmillan. Prunier, G. (1995) History of a Genocide, 1959–94, London: Hurst. Rehn, E. and Johnson Sirleaf, E. (2002) Women, War and Peace: The Independent Experts’ Assessment on the Impact of Armed Conflict on Women and Women’s Role in Peace Building, New York: Unifem. Available online at: http://www.parliament.gov.za/pls/portal30/docs/FOLDER/PARLIAMENTARY_INFORMATION/ PUBLICATIONS/UNIFEM/INDEX.HTM (accessed 12 October 2004). ReliefWeb (2004) ‘DfID background briefing: UK support to Rwanda’, 20 July. Available online at: http://www.reliefweb.int/w/rwb.nsf/0/098f8607a6a10e2a 85256ed7005a95db?OpenDocument (accessed 21 October 2004). Rogers, P. (2000) Losing Control: Global Security in the Twenty-First Century, London: Pluto Press. UNICEF (2003) Ligue des droits de la personne dans la région des Grands Lacs (LDGL), Kigali, May. United Nations (2002) Women, Peace and Security, New York: United Nations. Available online at: http://www.un.org/womenwatch/daw/public/ eWPS.pdf (accessed 12 October 2004). UN Security Council (2003) Resolution 1493, adopted 28 July 2003. Available online at: http://www.monuc.org/downloads/N0344315.pdf (accessed 21 October 2004). —— (2004) First Report of the Secretary-General on the United Nations Operation in Burundi, S/2004/ 682 of 25 August.

5

Sierra Leone’s war in a regional context Lessons from interventions David Keen

Introduction A number of wars in West Africa have been closely connected. War in Liberia has proved to be a persistent cause of conflict not only in Sierra Leone but also in Guinea and Côte d’Ivoire. Here, I examine the war in Sierra Leone, which lasted from 1991 to 2002. The case of Sierra Leone illustrates the importance of country-specific factors as well as the importance of the regional context.

The war The war in Sierra Leone began in March 1991 when rebel Revolutionary United Front (RUF) forces entered the country from Liberia. The incursion was sponsored by Liberian rebel (later President) Charles Taylor. Refugee movements from Liberia into Sierra Leone provided good cover for the incursion. The rebels numbered only a few hundred at this stage. But they were able to wreak massive suffering and destruction and to displace roughly two-thirds of the country’s population. This was possible in part because of the RUF’s terror tactics. But rebel violence was crucially supplemented and assisted by so-called sobels – government soldiers who very often refused to fight the rebels, usually preferring to attack and loot civilians and to engage in their own illegal diamond-mining. Some sobels even went so far as to coordinate movements with rebel forces and to sell arms to the rebels. Soldiers were usually underpaid and under-trained; frequently they were also under-aged. The twin threat of rebels and government troops encouraged the formation (through the early to the mid-1990s) of the civil defence forces (CDF), based on traditional hunting societies often known as ‘kamajors’. Together with the South African mercenary organization Executive Outcomes, the civil defence forces were eventually able to obtain a degree of control over rebel forces and rogue government soldiers – allowing the creation of a democratic government under Tejan Kabbah in 1996. A peace agreement was reached at Abidjan in the same year. However, with

94 David Keen military rations having been drastically cut and the military facing the threat of drastic downsizing, a junior officers’ military coup overthrew the Kabbah government in May 1997. The coup-makers were rapidly joined in Freetown by RUF leaders and rank and file, some of whom shared the soldiers’ fears that democratic government would challenge lucrative economic systems and bring a threat of legal accountability. The new regime was known as the Armed Forces Revolutionary Council (AFRC). The suddenness of this reconciliation between former enemies was more apparent than real, since RUF fighters and sobel elements had long been collaborating up-country. After strong military action by the Economic Community of West African States Cease-Fire Monitoring Group (ECOMOG), with its mostly Nigerian forces, Kabbah was reinstated as President in March 1998. However, the AFRC regained strength with the assistance of Liberia in particular. In January 1999, rebels and sobels launched a devastating attack on Freetown that left more then 6,000 dead. Sobels seem to have been in the majority. ECOMOG, suffering heavy casualties and embarrassed by its failure to prevent the attack, was looking to withdraw. Kabbah came under strong pressure from Nigeria (and also from Ghana and Guinea) to open a dialogue with the rebels. Meanwhile, the UK and the US – alarmed by the events of January 1999 and embarrassed by media coverage of the attack – were also pushing for some kind of deal with the RUF. The US State Department and Congress, actively lobbied by RUF officials and sympathizers as well as pro-government Sierra Leoneans, sent strong signals to Kabbah to take the path of dialogue. The agreement signed on 7 July 1999 saw the RUF pariahs brought inside the government. RUF leader Foday Sankoh was made head of a new mineral resources commission and given the office of Vice-President. The RUF leaders were offered immunity from prosecution for war crimes (echoing similar amnesty provisions under the Abidjan agreement). Many rogue government soldiers were left out in the cold. Sankoh continued to obstruct disarmament, demobilization and reintegration (DDR) and in May 2000 rebels captured some 500 UN peacekeepers – a major setback to DDR and another major embarrassment for the international community. Guinea was increasingly being drawn into the conflict. Mid-2000 saw attacks on Taylor’s forces that seem likely to have had tacit support from Britain or the US as well as Guinea itself (Patel 2002: 26). Taylor was anxious for revenge on Guinean President Lansana Conteh, and Guinea was soon accusing Liberia of supporting incursions into Guinea by the RUF and Guinean insurgents (EIU 2001: 31; SLNA 2001). Guinea bombarded villages on both sides of the Sierra Leone border, believing them to be bases used by RUF fighters in coalition with Guinean dissidents (SLNA 2000).1 Guinea made extensive use of gunboats bought from the Ukraine, inflicting heavy casualties on RUF fighters as well as civilians, including inside Sierra Leone (Patel 2002: 32–3). The Guineans were also

Sierra Leone’s war in a regional context 95 training kamajors (in this case Donsos) among the refugee population, who launched attacks back into Sierra Leone – in Kambia and Kono. The combined assault from Guinean forces and Sierra Leonean civil defence forces dealt a severe blow to the RUF. In January 2002 the UN’s disarmament programme was announced to have been completed successfully, and President Tejun Kabbah declared the long and bitter war to be over. A number of factors helped make peace possible. One was the British military intervention (beginning in May 2000 after the capture of the UN peacekeepers), which sent a powerful signal to the RUF that the war was not winnable, while at the same time boosting the morale and discipline of government soldiers. A second was the assault by Guinean forces on the RUF. A third (reflecting not least the Guinean assault) was a growing war-weariness in the rebel ranks, creating a new willingness to accept UN peacekeeping forces. A fourth was the bolstering of the UN force after the May 2000 debacle. A fifth was the partially effective attempts to control the diamond trade that had helped to support the violence. A sixth was increased diplomatic pressure on the Liberian government, a key supporter of the RUF.

Causes and functions of the war The proximate cause of war in Sierra Leone was the incursion from Liberia. Liberian rebel Charles Taylor had been angered by Sierra Leone’s support for the ECOMOG forces that were preventing him from taking over the Liberian capital, Monrovia. Indeed, ECOMOG bombers were using Sierra Leone as a base. Moreover, Taylor seems to have looked to Sierra Leone as an outlet for the energies (and abuses) of some of his more restless and volatile forces. He also coveted Sierra Leone’s diamonds. The internal causes of Sierra Leone’s war were complicated. The most important seems to have been a progressive collapse of governance in Sierra Leone, including a collapse in health and educational services and a weakening of the legitimacy of local chiefs. If outside actors had made a systematic attempt to maintain the integrity and quality of these services and offices, much of the violence might have been prevented. In the event, over-hasty programmes of ‘structural adjustment’ in the 1980s (including privatization and a drastic devaluation of Sierra Leone’s currency, the leone) created rapid inflation and narrowed the opportunities for rent-seeking without providing a counterbalancing boost to production and exports. Part of the problem was that inefficient and exploitative state-owned companies were replaced not with a free market but with a series of oligopolies, and President Siaka Stevens distributed state assets to himself and a small group of political clients (see Reno 1995 in particular). Another problem was that, with credit systems and infrastructure very poorly developed, it was difficult for small farmers to afford increasingly

96 David Keen expensive inputs or to access regional markets in a way that could have allowed them to respond to the improved terms of trade that devaluation was ostensibly intended to promote. Meanwhile, civil service salaries fell sharply in real terms as prices shot up, and corruption was thereby encouraged. At the chiefdom level, collapsing salaries encouraged an escalation in arbitrary fines as chiefs and chiefdom officials tried to make good the shortfall.2 This fuelled a lot of anger among young people. Diamond-mining offered an outlet for youth discontent, but stocks were diminishing and a shortage of capital exposed young miners to a variety of exploitative mechanisms, which made them surrender most of the value of any diamonds they found to those ‘tributors’ – usually Lebanese – who loaned them the means to mine. It is particularly important to understand why Sierra Leone’s counterinsurgency imploded into looting, illegal mining and the abuse of civilians. This was in many ways a variation of peacetime practices, whereby underpaid and under-motivated state officials (including civil servants, police and soldiers) had repeatedly failed to confront Sierra Leone’s illegal mining industry, often participating in the activities they were supposed to be suppressing. The advent of civil war saw the dispatch of underpaid and under-motivated soldiers to areas rich in natural resources that were tied into international trading networks. Long-standing habits of corruption saw senior military officers siphoning off a large proportion of the funds allocated to the army, fuelling abuses by soldiers who felt neglected in the face of an unpredictable and elusive rebel enemy. The army was increasingly implicated in the illegal activities it was supposed to be suppressing, including both diamond-mining and the rebellion that such mining was sustaining. In effect, a poorly funded state sector was being sent to confront a highly lucrative illegal economy: collusion was a predictable result in both peace and war.

Lack of international engagement and lack of attention to government forces The single biggest positive contribution that outside actors could have made as the war developed in the early and mid-1990s would have been to prevent the collapse of Sierra Leone’s counter-insurgency by ensuring proper training and supplies for the Sierra Leonean military, by publicly criticizing soldiers’ abuses, and by linking aid and loans to improvements in the government’s human rights record. In the event, international governments and UN agencies were remarkably silent about abuses by government forces. The most significant exception to diplomatic quietude was the German ambassador, Karl Prinz, whose public criticism of the excesses of the military government, the National Provisional Ruling Council (NPRC), prompted the Sierra Leonean government to expel him from the country. The national and international vilification of the RUF

Sierra Leone’s war in a regional context 97 (understandable, given the RUF’s abuses) created opportunities for many other actors (most notably government soldiers) to engage in their own abuses under the cover of ‘the rebel war’. The willingness of the NPRC to implement structural adjustment measures – and particularly its success in bringing down inflation in the early 1990s – encouraged international governments and international financial organizations to look favourably on NPRC requests for aid, for loans and for debt-rescheduling. Paradoxically, the NPRC’s very success in bringing down inflation owed something to the ‘self-funding’ (and abusive) nature of the counter-insurgency. As late as February 1996, the London-based newsletter Focus on Sierra Leone criticized the ‘diplomatic silence’ that was being maintained in the face of violence by government troops. Quite apart from enhancing the impunity of these troops, this silence was seen as impeding negotiations with the RUF: The absence of even-handedness, in apportioning culpability for these atrocities, by the international community – Amnesty International being the sole exception – is losing it the confidence it needs from all sides if it is to play the roles of facilitation and mediation in this conflict. (Focus on Sierra Leone 1996) In general, emergency aid seems to have served as a substitute for effective diplomatic action to address the humanitarian crisis (which was, at root, a human rights crisis). Relief operations under the NPRC were themselves inhibited by lack of funding from donors (leading to small allocations) and by a variety of distribution problems (including poor security). The potential for remedying these problems (including the possibility of pressure on the NPRC in relation to diversion of aid) appears to have been reduced by the habitual deference to the NPRC government. Belated international pressures on the NPRC in 1995–6 did play a significant part in its removal and in the advent of a democratic government under Tejan Kabbah. While peace was agreed in November 1996 at Abidjan, international support for the implementation of the agreement was weak. A key problem was that Sierra Leone – never a major story in the media even in the worst days of the NPRC – had moved further away from the international spotlight under Kabbah. Foreign diplomats privately reported that their governments did not care a great deal about the implementation of the Abidjan agreement. Disarmament, Demobilize and Reintegrate (DDR) was very poorly funded. There was insufficient attention to the abuses of the kamajors (who were not part of the DDR) and to kamajor attacks on rebels, which contravened the peace agreement. Prior to the May 1997 coup, IMF pressures to cut public spending in general and military spending in particular had led to rice rations being

98 David Keen reduced by half, contributing to discontent in the army. Reductions in military spending were in line with the IMF’s ‘anti-poverty’ programme. But, given the impoverishment still being caused by war, it was not clear that the IMF’s anti-poverty programme was pushing in the right direction. Significantly, Kabbah had received a minimal response from Britain and the US when he requested help with training the national army (Kabbah 2003). After the AFRC junta seized power in May 1997, much of the international opposition to it focused on sanctions. The UK Department for International Development (DFID) decided to cancel most of the funding it was directing at Sierra Leone through British NGOs. On 11 July 1997 Sierra Leone was suspended from the Commonwealth. The European Union also suspended development aid (Gberie 1997: 163). After years of quietude on the evolving RUF–army alliance, aid was now being explicitly linked to human rights. In August 1997, the AFRC announced what it called a four-year programme for a return to civilian rule. The leisurely time-frame made it clear that existing international pressures for a speedy end to the AFRC–RUF junta were insufficient. At this point, member states of the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) officially mandated ECOMOG to enforce sanctions on the junta and to enforce law and order (Levitt 1999: 12–13). On 8 October the UN Security Council imposed its own mandatory sanctions on Sierra Leone, including an embargo on arms and oil imports. Invoking the UN Charter’s Chapter VII (governing enforcement) and Chapter VIII (governing regional arrangements), the Security Council also formally empowered ECOWAS to enforce the embargo and to halt ships for inspection (Gberie 1997: 166). In addition, members of the junta and their immediate families were banned from foreign travel by the UN Security Council (Gberie 1997: 167). However, the Security Council did not impose comprehensive trade sanctions, nor did it freeze financial assets (Cortright et al. 2000: 171). A wide range of Sierra Leoneans, both inside and outside the country, appeared agreed on the need for a package of strong measures to help restore democracy. But many argued that ‘selective sanctions’ – those aimed at key AFRC individuals – were preferable to wider sanctions that could affect humanitarian aid, damage the whole population, and even feed into increased levels of violence (Gberie 1997: 163). In practice, humanitarian aid was severely restricted, with damaging consequences. The NGO Action Contre la Faim found a big rise in malnutrition in many districts (OCHA 1998). Many aid workers said donors’ hostility to the junta was being allowed to undermine the right to humanitarian relief (for example, Lefort and Littell 1998: 11). In her report on this issue, Philippa Atkinson (1998: 3) commented: In practice, humanitarian aid became part of the sanctions. The cancellation by DFID of the majority of its funding to British NGOs, the

Sierra Leone’s war in a regional context 99 restriction of UN operations by a top security rating, and holding up of cross-border deliveries of relief goods due to ‘administrative’ difficulties, demonstrate the united stance of the international community on this issue. It was ECOMOG military action rather than sanctions which ousted the junta in 1998. The January 1999 attack on Freetown showed that the international community was still unable to provide protection for civilians, and international lack of interest encouraged the attempt to appease the RUF with the July 1999 Lomé agreement. Apart from rewarding RUF violence, another major problem with Lomé was the lack of consideration of the AFRC/ex-Sierra Leone Army, omitted from both the negotiations and the agreement itself and at the same time effectively barred from rejoining the army. As with the initial escalation of sobel abuses in the early 1990s, and as with the January 1999 attack, the pivotal role of rogue soldiers was not being sufficiently heeded by international policy-makers. Indeed, access to DDR seems to have been limited – at least initially – to those soldiers who had officially been members of the army prior to the 1997 coup (Patel 2002: 20). Weak international support for DDR helped to undermine Lomé (as it had the Abidjan agreement). Low spending on DDR contrasted with the huge sums (estimated at $US692 million in 2002) eventually spent on UN peacekeeping operations that an adequate DDR might have rendered unnecessary (Porter 2003: 7). By December 1999 international donors and multilateral agencies had pledged only half of the $50 million required, and much of the pledged money had not yet reached the field (US Committee for Refugees 1999). Kosovo and East Timor were attracting a lot of resources and attention (Hirsch 2001: 86). Most NGOs seem to have been wary of involvement in DDR. Critically, the weak support for DDR reduced the opportunities for weaning Sankoh’s increasingly warweary followers away from violence. Ex-combatants were increasingly unhappy about the demobilization process. Demobilization centres were slow to be established and insufficient in number. A senior UN worker reported that demobilization had been staggered because of financial constraints. Conditions in those centres that were set up were usually poor. Encampment was streamlined from 90 days to between six and eight weeks, and in April 2000 the period of encampment was shortened to only three weeks. Long-term economic alternatives were also poorly provided for, with little attention being given to reintegrating fighters into society (something that had already proved a stumbling block in the Liberian peace process). The kamajors were a growing problem in their own right, and a significant reason why rebels did not want to disarm. This was largely missed by all the international attention to the RUF. But the Relief and Rehabilitation Commission (RRC), a European Community-funded body, played a

100 David Keen significant role in documenting kamajor abuses and in pressing for improvements. As earlier in the war, the failure to rein in soldiers’ abuses was helping Sankoh to keep control of his own fighters. Human Rights Watch expressed grave concern about what it said were credible reports that ‘government-allied forces in Sierra Leone were torturing and executing suspected RUF members’ (McGreal and Norton-Taylor 2000).

Neglect of the regional dimension As Sierra Leone’s conflict deepened through the early to mid-1990s, a major problem arose from the fact that the British government was backing the NPRC in Sierra Leone while the French government was reluctant to criticize either Taylor or his allies in Burkina Faso and Côte d’Ivoire. Many aid agency sources in Sierra Leone were angry at the French government’s role in particular. More ‘joined-up thinking’, particularly within the context of a coherent EU foreign policy, could usefully have exerted pressure on both the Sierra Leonean government and on Charles Taylor, encouraging them to rein in abuses. The need for a joint approach was underlined not only by Taylor’s role in destabilizing Sierra Leone but also by the fact that the anti-Taylor militia group United Liberation Movement for Democracy in Liberia (ULIMO) – formed and nurtured in Sierra Leone – was being cited by Taylor as a reason why he could not disarm inside Liberia.3 However, no such lead came from the EU. One official from the European Commission’s Humanitarian Aid Office (ECHO) described Sierra Leone as ‘a forgotten little place’ where the US Office of Foreign and Disaster Assistance (OFDA) and ECHO representatives could ‘do what we like’ without much interference from headquarters (Sommers 2000: 36). Significantly, the RUF received renewed support from Liberia, where Charles Taylor had been installed as President in July 1997. While it was well known in diplomatic circles that Liberia, Burkina Faso and Libya were supporting the AFRC–RUF junta, little action was taken against them.4 Of course, Liberia and Burkina Faso were themselves members of ECOWAS. Immediately after ECOMOG seized control of Freetown from the junta in 1998 (paving the way for Kabbah’s restoration), RUF field commander Bockarie seems to have been summoned by President Charles Taylor and given assurances of support. Junta forces made a steady and rapid advance towards the capital in the latter part of the year. Following a visit to Sierra Leone and Liberia in December 1998, the chairman of the UN Security Council sanctions committee on Sierra Leone reported that arms and ammunition were crossing from neighbouring countries, including Liberia, in violation of a June 1998 Security Council resolution prohibiting the sale and supply of arms to non-governmental forces in Sierra Leone (Amnesty International 1999: 3). UN Security Council Resolution 1171 of June 1998 reimposed a travel ban and an arms embargo on the

Sierra Leone’s war in a regional context 101 RUF and members of the former junta, but it does not seem to have severely impeded access to arms in practice. Many small arms were also coming in from Bulgaria or Ukraine through Libya, Liberia and Burkina Faso, for delivery to the rebels just across the Liberia–Sierra Leone border. Ukrainian and South African mercenaries were reportedly reequipping and retraining both AFRC and RUF fighters prior to the October 1998 attack on Kono. Behind them there seems to have been a rival consortium of Israeli, eastern European and South African ‘rogue’ business elements looking to revoke kimberlite diamond concessions granted to rivals favoured by Kabbah (Richards 2001: 45–6). This strong external support meant the RUF could take on an increasingly distracted ECOMOG force in the east. Vital to the successful implementation of Lomé was Taylor’s adherence to his express commitment to play an active role in getting the RUF to disarm and to leave Sierra Leone’s diamond fields peacefully. Yet Taylor did not keep his promises (Africa Confidential 2000b: 1). The Liberian government continued to support the RUF, providing arms and purchasing diamonds: significantly, while Liberia’s diamond production was estimated to amount to roughly one-fifth of Sierra Leone’s, diamond exports from Liberia in 1999 were almost ten times as high (Africa Confidential 2000a: 2). In practice, international pressures on Taylor remained inadequate and the US ambassador to Sierra Leone from 1995 to 1998 later recalled that key governments consistently failed to take a sufficiently regional approach to the Sierra Leone war (Hirsch 2001). The continuing support for the RUF from Liberia and the continued access to diamond resources contrasted with the international isolation of Renamo in Mozambique, where the conversion of the rebels into a political party had offered something of a model for the Lomé agreement (see for example Clapham 2003: 28). Almost a year after Lomé, on 13 June 2000 British Foreign Secretary Robin Cook unveiled an intelligence dossier detailing Taylor’s military support for the RUF and the flow of diamonds from RUF-controlled areas to Liberia (Africa Confidential 2000b: 2).5 Some said Taylor and Burkinabe President Blaise Compaore were now providing assistance to both RUF leader Sankoh and RUF ‘number 2’ Sam ‘Mosquito’ Bockarie (who were increasingly at loggerheads), apparently trying to maximize their leverage over diamond revenues. In the absence of significant pressure from Liberia, Sankoh seems to have had few incentives for compliance with Lomé, which itself failed to contain penalties for non-compliance (Nzongola-Ntalaja 2000: 8). Sankoh appears to have calculated that the demobilization of the RUF would take away his claim to power and any insurance against prosecution. He and other RUF commanders blocked the DDR process and effectively barred the United Nations Mission in Sierra Leone (UNAMSIL) from their strongholds in the east.

102 David Keen After the January 1999 attack on Freetown, pressure for a deal increased. Despite France’s weak stance in relation to Taylor in Liberia and Compaore in Burkina Faso, these leaders too were coming under considerable international pressure designed to push the rebel alliance into negotiations (see for example Rashid 2000: 28).6 While Taylor still had some allies in the US Democratic Party, growing evidence of his support for the RUF was becoming very embarrassing for the Clinton administration (Richards 2001: 47). Support for possible sanctions against Liberia was gaining ground. Nigeria was particularly anxious to put pressure on Taylor and Compaore to bring the RUF around, and in April 1999 ECOMOG’s commander actually threatened to launch air strikes into Liberia and Burkina Faso if the flow of arms from these countries into Sierra Leone was not stemmed immediately (Pratt 1999: 20). The various international pressures on Taylor do seem to have led him to press for a deal (Nzongolo-Ntalaja 2000: 5; Rashid 2000). Again, Liberia’s influence was important. Taylor and his cabal were still benefiting economically from the arms trade with the RUF and from the purchase from the RUF of cheap diamonds, many of which ended up in Belgium or Israel. Taylor also appears to have feared that if Sierra Leonean forces or Nigerian troops took control of eastern Sierra Leone, they would let Liberian dissidents attack across the border (just as Taylor had himself helped Sierra Leonean dissidents). Moreover, demobilized rebels carried risks for Taylor: Liberians were reported to have become a significant part of RUF field commander Sam Bockarie’s forces in southern Sierra Leone; any demobilization of these fighters would have compounded the existing political threat to Taylor from discontented demobilized soldiers in Liberia (Rupert and Farah 2000; Sherwell 2000; UN Panel of Experts 2000). Many observers continued to express the view that France should have been more involved in the search for peace – for example, by persuading Senegal and/or Benin to send troops to Sierra Leone or, more fundamentally, by using its influence to curb Liberian and Burkinabe support for the rebels (Pratt 1999: 32). One potential means of exerting pressure on Taylor was Liberia’s lucrative export trade in timber, which was being used to fund arms imports (UN Panel of Experts 2000). Liberian logging companies were themselves involved in arms imports (Global Witness 2003: 6). Commercial interests in France – a major buyer – were keen to maintain the timber trade, however. France also seemed to be drawn to Taylor as a result of its traditional rivalry with Nigeria in West Africa (Adebajo 2002). Particularly following the May 2000 humiliation of the UN, Liberia came under increasing international pressure to end its support for the RUF. European Union officials froze a two-year $65 million development aid programme for Liberia (Africa Confidential 2000b: 2). In January 2001, the US introduced a motion in the UN Security Council to impose sanc-

Sierra Leone’s war in a regional context 103 tions on the Liberian government for its support for the RUF and for rebel groups in Guinea – charges the Liberian government unconvincingly denied. These sanctions, implemented in March 2001, included a ban on Liberian diamond exports and a travel ban on senior Liberian officials, as well as a strengthening of the existing arms embargo and a grounding of Liberian-registered aircraft. Liberia was clearly alarmed by the US initiative, and was now trying to distance itself from RUF hardliner Bockarie and, more generally, from the accusation of fuelling war in Sierra Leone (SLNA 2001). Officials from Sierra Leone’s National Commission for Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration (NCDDR) who were monitoring Kailahun District reported in September 2001 that rebel supplies from Liberia were drying up.7 Part of the blockage came from anti-Taylor forces in the region bordering Kailahun District. Britain’s growing antipathy to Taylor was no doubt increased by the dangers to its own troops from the RUF. Meanwhile, France’s long-standing patience with Taylor and Burkinabe President Blaise Compaore was reported to be wearing thin. Although large numbers of diamonds continued to be exported from RUF areas via Sierra Leonean government channels, the growing difficulty of trading with Liberia appears to have significantly reduced rebel profits from the diamond trade.

Pros and cons of regional forces In Liberia’s civil war, ECOMOG’s early intervention brought some measure of stability at least to the capital, Monrovia. However, this intervention also played a part in destabilizing the region. If the backing and personnel for peacekeeping in Liberia had come from outside the region, it seems possible that Sierra Leone would have been spared Taylor’s (successful) attempt to destabilize it, angered as he was by the use of Sierra Leone as a base for ECOMOG operations in Liberia. In terms of their role in Sierra Leone, ECOMOG troops had been quickly dispatched to reinforce the Sierra Leonean government soon after the war began in 1991, although they were largely restricted to the capital, Freetown, and the second biggest town of Bo. Nigeria was keen to protect Freetown against the RUF, and Nigeria’s dominant role in ECOMOG in Liberia made it particularly ill-disposed towards the RUF–Taylor axis. Despite the geographical limitations in ECOMOG’s deployment, in the early and mid-1990s many Sierra Leoneans expressed more faith in the protection offered by ECOMOG than in that offered by Sierra Leone’s government soldiers. ECOMOG also was instrumental in bringing pressure to bear (including decisive military pressure) on the corrupt and abusive 1997–8 junta. One of the doubts surrounding the role of ECOWAS in Sierra Leone was the vexed question of sanctions and their humanitarian impact. Whereas in theory ECOWAS was exempting humanitarian aid from its

104 David Keen sanctions, it actually did not have the capacity to administer the embargo exemptions, and in practice food aid was being blocked (Lefort and Littell 1998; OCHA 1998; ECHO 1997).8 In February 1997, the UN’s Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA: 1998) reported that medicine had in effect been blockaded during what was a major health crisis. UN operations were restricted by a ‘top security’ rating, prohibiting the presence of expatriate personnel in the field (Atkinson 1998: 3). UN sources told researcher Toby Porter (2003: 19) that, while the ECOWAS sanctions supposedly excluded emergency assistance, humanitarian assistance was in practice the one commodity that did not get across the Guinean border. One former worker with the Department of Humanitarian Affairs (from which OCHA took over in January 1998) said: ‘We all knew that while our aid convoys were held at the border, there was a bush road open five kilometres away, where traders’ trucks were pouring over en masse, going in with lorries loaded with oil and weapons, and coming out with palm oil’ (see also Lefort and Little 1998: 9; Cortright et al. 2000: 173). Cortright et al. (2000: 167) argue that the sanctions had little positive impact on the conflict. As noted, it was military intervention rather than sanctions which eventually ousted the junta. Ghana and Côte d’Ivoire in particular were wary of military intervention by ECOMOG’s mostly Nigerian forces (Hirsch 2001: 61). In the face of the junta’s intransigence, ECOMOG’s mandate was changed from sanction-enforcement to actual military intervention, and in February 1998 ECOMOG forced the AFRC–RUF out of Freetown in a fierce, prolonged battle. Fighting alongside ECOMOG were the kamajors. A Nigerian Alpha jet operating from Lungi airport bombed strategic sites, some in civilian areas. On the ground, ECOMOG appeared to work responsibly to prevent reprisal killings, and Human Rights Watch noted: ‘ECOMOG has been widely praised for ousting the AFRC/RUF and conducting itself with greater discipline than was the case in Liberia’ (HRW 1998). Nigeria’s motives for intervention were not entirely clear: many questioned President Abacha’s sincerity in wishing to restore democracy in Sierra Leone, given that he was not unduly anxious to restore it at home in Nigeria. Some felt Sierra Leone was useful in diverting criticism of his regime. One drawback of regional peacekeeping was that progress in one country might sometimes be achieved at the expense of (tolerated) repression in another. Some felt intervention in Sierra Leone served the purpose of occupying (and rewarding) potentially restive soldiers, especially now that the cessation of fighting in Liberia had ‘freed up’ a lot of Nigerian soldiers (see, for example, Alao 1998; Musah 2000: 103–4). Other analysts emphasized Nigeria’s self-image as a regional hegemon and the economic interests of generals diverting ECOMOG funds at source (Adebajo 2002). Meanwhile, the junta itself claimed to be defending the sovereignty of Sierra Leone against foreign interests in the shape of ECOMOG.

Sierra Leone’s war in a regional context 105 After Kabbah was reinstated in March 1998, ECOMOG became the dominant force in Sierra Leone. In the next few months ECOMOG reestablished control over roughly two-thirds of the country including all regional capitals (HRW 1999: 2), with rebels and sobels continuing to make sporadic attacks on the periphery of this zone. This was the high point of regional peacekeeping. ECOMOG succeeded in pushing the junta forces out of Makeni and even won partial, tentative control of the diamond district of Kono. Brigadier-General Mitikishe Maxwell Khobe, a Nigerian, became Kabbah’s Chief of Defence Staff. In April 1998 Kabbah announced that the civil defence forces had been placed under the authority of ECOMOG (Hirsch 2001: 123). Kabbah took steps towards the demobilization of the army and the creation of a new, slimmed-down force. ECOMOG’s reputation diminished after Kabbah’s restoration in early 1998. In part, this reflected mounting allegations that its soldiers were becoming involved in illegal diamond-mining and even embracing tacit deals with the RUF. A second problem was ECOMOG’s failure to prevent the advance towards Freetown of RUF–sobel forces in late 1998 and the devastating attack by these forces on Freetown itself in January 1999. ECOMOG was widely held to have ‘taken its eye off the ball’ in this period. A third problem was the abuses by ECOMOG forces themselves, notably against civilians who were held to have collaborated with the RUF–sobel forces in January 1999. Human Rights Watch documented 180 executions of RUF prisoners and suspected sympathizers, attributing them to ECOMOG and, to a lesser extent, the kamajors and police (HRW 1999: summary; Amnesty International 1999: 3). As with Sierra Leonean soldiers, the poor conditions faced by ECOMOG soldiers – including delays in payment of wages – seem to have contributed to abuses. Even so, it was ECOMOG that saved Freetown from a more lasting catastrophe by ejecting the rebels. The rebels were not able to take the westernmost part of the capital, where ECOMOG had its headquarters. Eventually, over a period of three weeks, ECOMOG succeeded in ejecting the rebels from the eastern suburbs of Freetown. Support for ECOMOG from outside the region was never very great, with potential donors like the US and the UK wary of widespread reports of diversion of funding within ECOMOG as well as of the undemocratic nature of Nigeria’s own government. Support for ECOMOG from West African countries other than Nigeria was also rather weak, and subregional rivalries were proving a persistent obstacle to a lasting peace (Adebajo 2002: 90). Nigeria was providing about 90 per cent of ECOMOG troops in Sierra Leone (Adebajo 2002: 91).9 Many of ECOMOG’s subregional critics refused to contribute troops that could have diluted Nigeria’s influence. Benin, Côte d’Ivoire, Gambia and Niger all promised troops that never arrived (Adebajo 2002: 89).

106 David Keen There were also domestic constraints within Nigeria: after the January 1999 attack, pressure mounted within Nigeria – as democracy took more of a hold there – for ECOMOG’s withdrawal from Sierra Leone. By the end of May 1999, the war had claimed the lives of over 800 regional peacekeepers, most of them Nigerian (Rashid 2000: 27). The UN has not been prepared to sustain anything like this level of casualties. The SLA–RUF attack on Freetown in January 1999 was a horrifying illustration of the security vacuum in Sierra Leone, with neither the new army nor the kamajors nor ECOMOG able to defend the capital. The morale of ECOMOG – the only external security organization to have shown any degree of staying power in Sierra Leone – was shaken by the killing of its soldiers and by publicity surrounding its own abuses. This paved the way for capitulation to the RUF at Lomé in July 1999.

Non-governmental actors Women’s organizations played a key role in pressing for peace and democracy in late 1995 and 1996. However, during the negotiations leading up to the Abidjan agreement in 1996, and again during the negotiations before the Lomé peace agreement in 1999, women’s organizations were largely excluded. These were major missed opportunities for integrating a major impulse for peace – and a major source of wisdom – into the peace process. The mid-1990s saw significant ‘diplomatic’ activity by International Alert, a London-based NGO whose representative established contact with Sankoh in 1995. International Alert helped bring attention to the continued existence of the RUF and to its grievances, but it was accused of obstructing UN overtures to the RUF delegation in Abidjan and of misguidedly opposing the holding of elections before a peace agreement. An important external non-governmental actor in the war was Executive Outcomes, a South African mercenary company which fought (on both sides) in the Angolan civil war and drew many of its personnel from participants in the wars to defend South African apartheid. During 1995–6, Executive Outcomes acted in concert with Sierra Leone’s civil defence forces to weaken the RUF and sobel forces, helping to make possible both the election of Tejan Kabbah in early 1996 and the Abidjan peace agreement in November 1996. Apart from maintaining its own presence up-country and cooperating with the civil defence, Executive Outcomes was helping to train and reorganize the Sierra Leonean army, with Nigerian and American advisers also involved. RUF leader Foday Sankoh demanded at Abidjan that Executive Outcomes be withdrawn, and at this point the International Monetary Fund was in any case pressing for a drastic reduction in government spending on this mercenary outfit. Executive Outcomes was withdrawn and shortly afterwards, in May 1997, a military coup by discontented junior officers ousted Kabbah. The security

Sierra Leone’s war in a regional context 107 vacuum created by the departure of Executive Outcomes was particularly serious, given the absence of UN peacekeepers in the country. Despite having contributed to the Abidjan agreement through its presence (and to the May 1997 coup through its absence), the intervention of Executive Outcomes can hardly be considered an example of ‘good practice’. One problem was that the protection the company offered was largely concentrated on areas rich in diamonds or other minerals. A second problem was that the exploitative extraction of minerals – one of the causes of Sierra Leone’s wars – was likely to be exacerbated in the long term by arrangements between mercenary companies and diamond companies (who were able to secure lucrative deals due to their ability to offer ‘security’). A third problem was that the civil defence forces’ alliance with Executive Outcomes had also been a humiliation for the army: in effect, the prominence of both groups was a very public recognition that the army could not do its job; in many ways this seems to have fed into soldiers’ sense of neglect and betrayal and into sobel abuses. A fourth problem was that employees of mercenary companies proved predictably fickle in their loyalties, particularly once Executive Outcomes had been ‘released’ by the Sierra Leonean government. Mercenaries, including some of those working for Executive Outcomes, were later observed to be assisting the rebels. Sandline, which drew many personnel from Executive Outcomes, seems to have played some advisory and logistical role in overthrowing the junta: giving advice on air strikes, providing tactical intelligence and ancillary equipment, ferrying troops and weapons by helicopter (Francis 1999: 328). It also seems to have helped train and equip some kamajors (Musah 2000: 98). Sandline’s lawyers said it was operating with the full knowledge and approval of the British government. According to the British government’s official inquiry (the Legg Report), British High Commissioner Peter Penfold gave Sandline’s plan to ship arms to Sierra Leone ‘a degree of approval’, though he did not realize it was illegal. Other British officials were also aware of Sandline’s plan, the Legg report said, and there was ‘no attempt to hide information from Ministers’; on the other hand, no Minister had ‘effective knowledge’ of the plan – at least this was the form of words settled on by Legg and Ibbs (1998: 3). In general, the prominent and controversial role of key nongovernmental actors in Sierra Leone reflects the lack of sustained governmental, bilateral or multilateral engagement.

The United Nations According to the World Food Programme’s own evaluation (1996: 13) of assistance to the region (also including Liberia and refugee populations in Guinea and Côte d’Ivoire): ‘while the UN has spent over half a billion dollars on its humanitarian response, its diplomatic efforts have been

108 David Keen characterised by a lack of understanding and commitment, and have, thus far, had very little impact on conflict resolution’. A particular problem was the role of UNDP. As a development agency, UNDP was used to working through the government and this was the approach adopted in relation to Sierra Leone’s emergency (Sommers 2000: 23–4). The approach seems to have involved declining to negotiate with the RUF for fear of alienating the government (Sommers 2000: 24). In general, UN agencies contributed very little worthwhile analysis of the conflict.10 In late 1996 and early 1997, RUF leader Foday Sankoh had been allowed to stall the dispatch of UN peacekeepers to support the Abidjan peace process and associated DDR. While the UN Secretary-General’s plan made provision for some 720 troops and 60 military observers at an estimated cost of $55 million, Sankoh said he wanted just 60 observers. In effect, he was allowed to stymie the deployment. Indeed, rather than spurring the deployment of peacekeepers, violations at Abidjan by government soldiers and the RUF were being used as justification for nondeployment (Reno 1997: 227). Secretary-General Annan was pushing for peacekeepers, but open-ended UN missions were particularly unpopular with the US and other major powers at this time – a caution that was linked with a desire to save money and an aversion to casualties, particularly in the wake of the humiliation experienced by US–UN forces in Somalia in 1992 (Shearer 1997: 855). Right in the middle of the Rwandan genocide, Clinton’s administration issued a directive tying US participation in UN peacekeeping to finite operations where US interests or international security were clearly under threat. John Hirsch, US ambassador to Sierra Leone in 1995–8, observed later, ‘The US decision enshrined in Presidential Decision Directive (PDD) 25 to virtually withdraw from United Nations peacekeeping operations had dissipated what little political will there was for US engagement in Africa’ (Hirsch 2001: 63). Security Council members also appear to have seen the Sierra Leone mission as something of a lost cause, believing the Clinton administration would be reluctant to embark on a new UN mission when in delicate negotiations with Congress on the approximately $1 billion in arrears that the US owed the UN (Tran and McElroy 1997). When the May 1997 coup took place, many senior diplomats at the UN were left seething with frustration that the Security Council had not backed Annan on the provision of UN peacekeepers. As junta forces approached Freetown in late December 1998, the UN was still not providing any significant protection. Plans to provide peacekeepers in support of the Abidjan agreement were still stalled, and the UN and other international agencies and foreign governments began withdrawing their staff from the country. The United Nations Observer Mission in Sierra Leone (UNOMSIL) completed its evacuation on 6 January (HRW 1999: VII). Even as foreign staff were being withdrawn, senior UN officials continued to express the damaging over-optimism that

Sierra Leone’s war in a regional context 109 had earlier been evident in relation to government soldiers’ abuses. Just before the devastating attack, Francis Okelo, UN Special Representative to the UN Secretary-General, said on 3 January 1999: ‘The situation in Sierra Leone is improving steadily, due mainly to the rapid action taken by the Sierra Leone government, ECOMOG, and its allies, the CDF, and civilian alertness to reinforce the efforts of the armed forces’ (SLNA 1999). After the January 1999 attack, the international community remained unwilling to commit to a robust UN peacekeeping operation that would aim to protect civilians (see for example Africa Confidential 1999). In these circumstances (and given the pressure on ECOMOG to withdraw), while the January 1999 attack naturally deepened anger and hostility towards ‘the rebels’ (still a hazy concept), it also tended to produce a new mood of appeasement, both within the national government and internationally. Apart from Sankoh’s continuing obstructionism and Liberia’s continuing support for the RUF, a key reason for the unravelling of Lomé was the weakness of the peacekeeping efforts. This compounded combatants’ anxieties about demobilization. It was not until 22 October 1999 that the Security Council adopted a resolution establishing UNAMSIL and authorizing a force of 6,000 (including 260 military observers) ‘to monitor adherence to the ceasefire’ (UN Security Council 1999). It took a further four months for all the troops to arrive. The UN Secretary-General’s report of March 2000 acknowledged that demobilization had been delayed by obstacles to the deployment of UNAMSIL (UN Security Council 2000a).11 In February, the strength was authorized to rise to 11,100, and by the end of April 2000 the number of UN soldiers had reached 8,700 (HRW 2000: 5). The UN force was a motley, multinational army – arriving bit by bit, underfunded, and lacking the necessary equipment. Within the UN peace monitoring team based in Bo, there were some 27 different nationalities (MacAskill 2000). As in most UN peacekeeping operations, those countries contributing troops tended to be those where the UN pay per soldier was higher than their own costs per soldier (Patel 2002: 21; Polman 2004). The lightly armed peacekeepers from Zambia, Kenya, Jordan, India, Pakistan and elsewhere were out of their depth in an unfamiliar terrain. UNAMSIL commander Vijay Jetley himself said that some contingents ‘did not come up to the mark and were an embarrassment both to the countries and to the UNAMSIL’ (Indian Express 2000).12 Observers said the deployment of UNAMSIL was far too patchy to be effective, many troops were inexperienced and not motivated, logistics were poor and even maps were out-of-date. There was a pressing need for countries with wellequipped and well-trained forces to make contributions to UNAMSIL forces (Usborne and Marshall 2000). The weakness of international peacekeeping was made dramatically evident in May 2000, when ECOMOG passed its mantle to UN forces and UNAMSIL commander Jetley declared that his forces would soon disarm

110 David Keen the RUF in Kono District in the east. About 100 RUF fighters surrounded the demobilization centre at Makeni, and within a week UNAMSIL was reporting that ‘close to 500’ UN peacekeepers had been detained by the RUF, including an entire Zambian battalion (Africa Confidential 2000a). RUF fighters thereupon marched towards the capital but were stopped by civil defence fighters and SLA (Sierra Leone Army) fighters, mostly under former 1997–8 junta leader Johnny Paul Koroma. After the RUF severely embarrassed the UN by seizing the 500 peacekeepers in May 2000, UNAMSIL was revamped with a new, more robust mandate. By the end of March 2002, there were 17,455 peacekeepers in Sierra Leone. UNAMSIL was not only the world’s largest but also the most expensive peacekeeping mission, costing some $US700 million annually. Though criticized by many for failing to fulfil its mandate to protect the civilian population (for example, HRW 2003: 71), the UN peacekeeping mission was increasingly hailed as a success. One former RUF combatant who had been with the RUF in Makeni in 2000 said: ‘No sooner they changed the command structure in UNAMSIL, the whole situation changed. They tried to understand the situation on the ground. The RUF is cooperating fully with them.’13 This increased strength of UNAMSIL was being matched by gestures of trust. UNAMSIL commander Daniel Opande, a Kenyan general who took over in November 2000, stressed his confidence in the rebels and travelled widely in the country (Patel 2002: 34). UNAMSIL helped build confidence through practical measures like a polio vaccination campaign and filling potholes; bridge-building also had a literal meaning (Patel 2002: 36). Given the resentment in the RUF at being killed, stigmatized or rejected, this confidence-building was important (see for example Doyle 2001). Such initiatives also appear to have encouraged many RUF combatants to see the beefed-up UN force as a source of security rather than a threat, a change already encouraged by the prospect that peacekeepers would give protection from Guinean forces and allied civil defence fighters. After being suspended in May, the DDR officially resumed in August 2000. The presence of UN troops reportedly helped give confidence to rebels who were considering demobilizing (Doyle 2001). In these circumstances, the planned phasing out of UNAMSIL risked creating a dangerous security vacuum (ICG 2003). Many in Sierra Leone anticipated a return to war with the removal of UNAMSIL. Yet some observers felt the UN Security Council was anxious to declare Sierra Leone a success and concentrate on other problems (ICG 2003: 6).

Coordination The period of AFRC junta rule in 1997–8 illustrated some of the problems of coordination within the international intervention in Sierra Leone. In an informative study, Marc Sommers (2000: 31) notes that the inter-

Sierra Leone’s war in a regional context 111 national humanitarian community was divided into two factions. The first consisted of UNDP, the Secretary-General’s Special Representative Francis Okello, British High Commissioner Peter Penfold and Kabbah himself, and they operated mainly out of Conakry in Guinea. They stressed that Sierra Leone was far too dangerous for relief operations, and directed a lot of their attention to Freetown, which was indeed very insecure. They also stressed that delivery of aid supported the junta, particularly if the agency was based inside Sierra Leone (Sommers 2000: 32, 70). This position was also supported by ECOWAS officials. The second faction consisted of the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) and a mainly European group of NGOs operating inside Sierra Leone. This group reported a high level of safety in rural areas, stressing that the potential for delivering humanitarian aid outside the capital was better than for many years (2000: 31–2). In this stand-off, the role of the UN’s Department of Humanitarian Affairs (DHA) as an advocate for humanitarianism was being inhibited by its formal subordination to UNDP in Sierra Leone (Atkinson 1998: 4). This period before the January 1999 attack further illustrated some of the problems of coordination among intervening parties. At this time, there seem to have been two different information communities among the international humanitarians (corresponding fairly closely to the divisions under the 1997–8 junta). One consisted of the office of the Special Representative of the Secretary-General, UNOMSIL and ECOMOG; the other consisted of UN agencies other than UNOMSIL, together with the ICRC and those NGOs that had remained inside Sierra Leone during the AFRC–RUF junta (Sommers 2000: 68). Marc Sommers noted, ‘In the fall of 1998, the government, UNOMSIL and ECOMOG officials believed that the RUF was no longer attacking but had instead assumed a defensive posture’ (2000: 71). A donor official in Freetown said, ‘UNOMSIL doesn’t want to give out bad news’, preferring to give a rosy picture of the war situation. ECOMOG was believed by aid workers to share a similar perspective – as one aid worker put it, ‘because security is their responsibility’ (Sommers 2000: 71). Many humanitarian workers took a different view. Intelligence reports and persistent rumours also suggested the likelihood of an attack on Freetown, according to a European Community-sponsored body monitoring the south (RRC 1999: 2). The January 1999 attack showed that ‘the security concerns voiced by the ICRC/NGO/UK agency group in 1988 had been accurate’ (1999: 71).

The British intervention The British government rejected pleas from Sierra Leone to commit troops to the UN peacekeeping force (Norton-Taylor and McGreal 2000a). Instead, Britain sent troops under its own command, the first arriving on 8 May. The initial British aim was to evacuate British nationals

112 David Keen and non-essential staff. The mandate was extended to protecting and bolstering UN troops and providing an extra security apparatus for Sierra Leonean government soldiers (CDD 2000; HRW 2000: 6). Several RUF leaders, including Sankoh, were arrested in Freetown. The intervention shifted the balance of power in favour of Kabbah and government forces (CDD 2000). At one point, 1,200 British troops were in Sierra Leone. British troops helped to protect Freetown and sent a resolute signal to the RUF.14 British forces’ destruction of the West Side Boys, a rogue faction of soldiers and youths denied entry or re-entry into the Sierra Leonean army, sent a particularly strong signal. However, Britain for the most part limited its activities to the Freetown area and was willing to fight only when the position of its military personnel were threatened. For its part, UNAMSIL fell into internal wrangling, with Jetley accusing Nigerian soldiers of diamond-mining and taking money from the RUF. Britain made a systematic attempt to improve training and conditions in the Sierra Leone army and set up the International Military Advisory Training Team (IMATT) to push this through. Britain was also heavily involved in improving training and conditions in the Sierra Leone police force. The reform of the army in particular played a significant part in facilitating peace. However, the army still contains elements whose loyalty to the government is doubtful. Reports of diversion of salaries continue to be heard; and the army’s performance in confronting Liberian rebels in January 2003 was a cause for concern, as soldiers fled and Liberian rebels were able to obtain their weapons and radios.

Sexual exploitation International intervention brought unaccompanied young men with money in their pockets. Meanwhile, the poverty exacerbated by war meant many local people were taking desperate measures to survive. The combination was very damaging. One resident of central Freetown said: ‘Girl pekins [children] may not have money for school or find their school or college is closed and they go to UNAMSIL, ECOMOG, RUF – anyone with money. It’s very sad!’15 The number of young women wearing short skirts and standing in the rain outside UNAMSIL in Freetown told its own story.16 Anthropologist Richard Wilson later noted bluntly: ‘UN peacekeepers, and not only the soldiers but the educated white collar staff too, have generated an entire fuck economy in the country.’ One study reported, ‘Girls told us that UN troops are main customers of prostitution’ (Women’s Commission for Refugee Women and Children 2002). An official from the military hospital said ECOMOG officers had been abusing girls, and blamed this on mothers who sold their children for money (Campaign for Good Governance 2000: 5). Prostitution among boys had also increased sharply. Human Rights Watch documented several cases of sexual violence by peacekeepers with UNAMSIL, including the rape of a

Sierra Leone’s war in a regional context 113 12-year-old girl in Bo by a soldier of the Guinean contingent and the gang rape of a woman by two Ukrainian soldiers near Kenema, and went on to note a reluctance to investigate (HRW 2003: 4). Any EU intervention would have to take steps to avoid similar problems.

Diamonds Another factor weakening the RUF, as noted, was the increased international pressure for controlling the diamond trade. The RUF uprising of May 2000 and the British intervention had raised the country’s profile and highlighted the need for international interventions. The role of international trade in fuelling conflicts was receiving increased attention, including NGO advocacy on ‘conflict diamonds’, which were increasingly seen as fuelling wars in Sierra Leone, Angola, Congo and elsewhere. At the end of May 2000, De Beers’s London-based Central Selling Organisation said it would no longer be mopping up spare diamonds around the world in order to hold up prices. In June 2000, the UN passed a resolution demanding that all states take measures to prohibit the direct or indirect import of rough diamonds from Sierra Leone, and requiring the government of Sierra Leone to implement a certificate-of-origin system for diamond exports so that diamonds from RUF areas could be distinguished from others (UN Security Council 2000b). Official diamond exports from Sierra Leone were suspended (resuming in October) while the certification scheme was put in place. Adding to international resolve were apparent links between Sierra Leone’s diamonds and international terrorism. In November 2001, a Washington Post scoop revealed that the international terrorist group Al-Qaeda, believed to be responsible for the September 11 attacks in the US, had obtained millions of dollars in the previous three years from the purchase of RUF diamonds (see notably Farah 2001). Even with peace declared in 2002, low pay for state employees continued to impede attempts to rein in (and tax) Sierra Leone’s illicit economy. The UN’s diamond export-certification scheme had a positive impact, with recorded diamond exports rising to $US27.9 million in 2001, compared with $10.1 million in 2000 and $1.2 million in 1999 (IMF 2002). A UN ban on diamond exports from Liberia also helped. But poor remuneration for state officials continued to encourage widespread smuggling. While a DFID-funded study suggested that the value of diamond exports could increase to $180 million by 2006 (Pugh et al. 2004: 118), the World Bank (2002: 3) noted that more than half of all diamond exports remained outside official channels covered by the diamond certification scheme. Traders have continued to bribe underpaid government officials and to smuggle diamonds illegally out of the country. Moreover, the quality of diamonds going through the official system has been lower than average for Sierra Leone, suggesting that better stones are still being

114 David Keen smuggled. Some reports claimed that Charles Taylor was still buying Sierra Leonean diamonds (Pugh et al. 2004: 119). Mine monitors, who have often shared police fear of powerful illicit miners, were scarcer than before the war and they remain underpaid (Pugh et al. 2004: 120). Allowing the Sierra Leonean state to tax its diamond wealth will not be easy; there is also a danger that equating the war with ‘conflict diamonds’ disguises the manifold political, economic and social grievances that fed into the conflict and will feed into future conflicts unless they are tackled.

Concluding remarks In the early and mid-1990s, international donors missed an opportunity to counteract the collapse of Sierra Leone’s counter-insurgency by ensuring proper training and supplies for the Sierra Leonean military, by publicly criticizing soldiers’ abuses, and by using aid and loans as a way to press for improvements in the government’s human rights record. International governments and international financial organizations seem to have been overly impressed by the financial record of the abusive military government at this time. When peace agreements were reached, the DDR programmes were consistently underfunded, at least until the relatively successful DDR in 2001. So too were humanitarian programmes, throughout the entire war. The EU should look very seriously at these shortcomings and at securing a more substantial role in funding DDR and humanitarian assistance, as well as supporting UN and ECOMOG peacekeeping operations. Major opportunities were missed for the EU to encourage more ‘joined-up thinking’ on the regional conflict, notably by exerting simultaneous pressure both on the Sierra Leonean government and on Charles Taylor to rein in abuses. The economic dimension of the war was insufficiently examined through most of the 1990s, and coordination among donors was poor. France’s economic interests in Liberia were one significant factor impeding adequate pressure on Taylor. For many years, regional peacekeeping forces made a much more substantial impact on the Sierra Leonean conflict than the UN. The UN failed in particular in not dispatching peacekeepers after the 1996 Abidjan peace agreement, when rebel leader Sankoh was effectively allowed to veto deployment. UN peacekeeping efforts were also weak in the aftermath of the 1999 Lomé peace agreement, leading to a major crisis in May 2000 and the capture of some 500 UN peacekeepers. Peacekeepers were under-trained and underpaid, with industrialized nations severely underrepresented. This prompted significant reinforcement of UN forces, with a positive effect on the conflict. Some of the impact of regional peacekeepers was positive. However, it was Sierra Leone’s role in ECOMOG that played a significant part in encouraging Taylor to sponsor attacks on Sierra Leone in the first place. Moreover, towards the end of the 1990s ECOMOG forces were increas-

Sierra Leone’s war in a regional context 115 ingly implicated in abuse of civilians and illegal mining, and in January 1999 they were unable to prevent a devastating attack on Freetown. Peace in Sierra Leone is fragile. In 2003, unemployed ex-combatants from all fighting factions continued to pose a challenge to stability (ICG 2003: 11). Perhaps 45 per cent of ex-combatants found employment and some 28 per cent of those in sectors for which they had been trained (ICG 2003: 16, citing DFID and World Bank studies). But ex-combatants had expected more from the government (ICG 2003: 15). A major study of adolescents, including many ex-combatants, concluded, ‘Although no victor was declared, young people on all sides of the conflict feel that they are the vanquished. They see themselves as victimized by a peace that misrepresented itself and is not substantially improving their lives.’ Adolescents saw themselves as manipulated and felt they had been turned against each other by adults. Some even remembered having received ‘a level of respect and sustenance within the RUF’ (Women’s Commission for Refugee Women and Children 2002). Many kamajors felt their leaders had cheated them out of disarmament and reintegration benefits – perhaps explaining a lack of desire to fight for kamajor leader Hinga Norman, also indicted by the special court (ICG 2003: 14). In the aftermath of war, it will be vital for donors to give proper attention to the funding of education and health services, as well as security services. Sierra Leone is also crying out for a coordinated attempt to promote growth (including agricultural growth) that does not simply rely on the tried-and-no-longer-trusted solutions of privatization and liberalization. A sustained attack on corruption will be needed if Sierra Leone is to tap its own resources for development, and this requires above all that donors ensure adequate pay levels for state employees. Maintaining a regional approach to the promotion of security will also be vital.

Notes 1 The crisis left some 180,000 Sierra Leonean and Liberian refugees and 70,000 displaced Guineans stranded in the volatile ‘parrot’s peak’ region along the Guinean border with Sierra Leone. Trapped by fighting between the Guinean army, rebel forces, and various militia groups, these people were also cut off from supplies of food and medicine as well as protection (SLNA 2001). Fearful that the refugees would harbour dissidents among them, the Guinean government for a long time resisted attempts by UNHCR to move refugees away from the border area. 2 On tensions at chiefdom level, see particularly Archibald and Richards (2002a, 2002b) and Fanthorpe (2001, 2003). 3 On Liberia, see Kieh (1994: 102). 4 There was a considerable arms trade from China through Burkina Faso (Conciliation Resources 1997). 5 By this time, detailed evidence of Taylor’s support for the RUF was becoming more plentiful, not least because, with British troops at risk in Sierra Leone, Britain had stepped up its efforts to track the RUF and its allies. 6 Even France may have been swayed by economic interests in Nigeria, by

116 David Keen

7 8 9

10

11 12 13 14

15 16

Taylor’s links to UNITA in Angola (where France also has important economic interests), and by the talk in Côte d’Ivoire of following Taylor’s example. Interview, September 2001. Letter from a range of civil society representatives to General Sani Abacha, Chairman of ECOWAS, 10 August 1997; my interviews with aid workers. When Côte d’Ivoire foreign minister Amara Essy made a trip to Freetown in January 1999, Nigeria’s foreign minister Ignatus Olisemeka said he saw no reason why Ivorians should adopt such a high-profile diplomatic role when Côte d’Ivoire had no troops in Sierra Leone (Adebajo 2002: 90). Meanwhile, Nigerian officers in Freetown were angry that Ghanaian troops withdrew in January 1999 without fighting (Adebajo 2002: 91). Meanwhile, for all the numerous World Bank research papers that were to discuss the problem of local ‘greed’, it is difficult to find from international financial institutions any coherent evaluation of their own impact on the war, either before or during. UNAMSIL human rights workers found that the human rights situation tended to improve in those areas where UN troops and military observers had been deployed (UN Security Council 2000a: 6). He added, ‘Despite the RUF’s immature attitude, UNAMSIL wants a peaceful solution’ (16 July 2000). Interview, September 2001. Britain agreed to provide 10,000 self-loading rifles to the government army (Norton-Taylor and McGreal 2000b). Some British arms ended up with the West Side Boys; some children in the Sierra Leone army were carrying Britishgiven arms (Renton 2000). Interview, September 2001. Author’s observation, August 2001. HRW (2003: 4) later noted: ‘Both ECOMOG and UNAMSIL peacekeepers have sexually exploited women, including the solicitation of child prostitutes, whilst deployed in Sierra Leone.’

References Adebajo, A. (2002) Building Peace in West Africa: Liberia, Sierra Leone and GuineaBissau. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner; New York: International Peace Academy. Africa Confidential (1999) ‘Sierra Leone: problematic peace’, Africa Confidential, 40/16: 3, 6 August. —— (2000a) ‘The battle for Freetown’, Africa Confidential, 41/10: 1–2, 12 May. —— (2000b) ‘Liberia/Sierra Leone: godfather to the rebels’, Africa Confidential, 41/13: 1–8, 23 June. Alao, A. (1998) ‘Sierra Leone: tracing the genesis of a controversy’, Briefing no. 50, London: Royal Institute of International Affairs. Amnesty International (1999) ‘Sierra Leone: recommendations to the international contact group on Sierra Leone, New York, 19 April 1999’, April. Available online at: http://web.amnesty.org/library/Index/ENGAFR510051999? open&of⫽ENG-2F5 (accessed 26 October 2004). Archibald, S. and Richards, P. (2002a) ‘Seeds and rights: new approaches to postwar agricultural rehabilitation in Sierra Leone’, Disasters, 26: 356–67. —— (2002b) ‘Conversion to human rights? Popular debate about war and justice in central Sierra Leone’, Africa, 72: 339–67. Atkinson, P. (1998) ‘Sierra Leone: an attack on humanitarianism’, Relief and Rehabilitation Network Newsletter, 10 February.

Sierra Leone’s war in a regional context 117 Campaign for Good Governance (2000) Sexual Violence against Minors: A TwoDay Workshop Organized by SOS-Women, Freetown. CDD (Centre for Democracy and Development) (2000) Sierra Leone – One Year after Lome, CDD Strategy Planning Series No. 5, London: CDD. Clapham, C. (2003) Sierra Leone: The Political Economy of Internal Conflict, Working Paper 20, The Hague: Conflict Research Unit, Netherlands Institute of International Relations ‘Clingendael’. Available online at: http://www.clingendael. nl/cru/pdf/working_paper_20.pdf (accessed 26 October 2004). Conciliation Resources (1997) ‘Resources, primary industry and conflict in Sierra Leone’, September/October. Available online at: http://www.cr.org/pubs/ occ_papers/briefing3.shtml (accessed 26 October 2004). Cortright, D., Lopez, G. and Conroy, R. (2000) Sierra Leone: the failure of regional and national sanctions’, in D. Cortright and G. Lopez, The Sanctions Decade: Assessing UN Strategies in the 1990s, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Doyle, M. (2001) ‘Sierra Leone road trip: Freetown to Masiaka’, BBC News, August. Available online at: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/1478041.stm (accessed 25 October 2004). ECHO (European Commission’s Humanitarian Aid Office) (1997) ‘Sierra Leone’, Brussels, 10 October. EIU (Economist Intelligence Unit) (2001) Country Report – Sierra Leone, London: EIU. Fanthorpe, R. (2001) ‘Neither citizen nor subject? “Lumpen” agency and the legacy of native administration in Sierra Leone’, African Affairs, 100: 363–86. —— (2003) Humanitarian aid in post-war Sierra Leone: the politics of moral economy, Background Research for HPG Report 13, London: Overseas Development Institute. Available online at: http://www.odi.org.uk/hpg/papers/bkground_ sierra_leone.pdf (accessed 26 October 2004). Farah, D. (2001) ‘Al Qaeda cash tied to diamond trade’, Washington Post, 2 November. Available online at: http://www.washingtonpost.com/ac2/wp-dyn?pagename⫽article&node⫽&contentId⫽A27281-2001Nov1¬Found⫽true (accessed 26 October 2004). Focus on Sierra Leone (1996) ‘The international community is failing Sierra Leone’, Focus on Sierra Leone, 2(2). Available online at: http://www.focus-on-sierraleone.co.uk/Vol2_2.html (accessed 26 October 2004). Francis, D. (1999) ‘Mercenary intervention in Sierra Leone: providing national security or international exploitation?’, Third World Quarterly, 20: 319–38. Gberie, L. (1997) ‘The May 25 coup d’état in Sierra Leone: a militariat revolt?’, Africa Development, 22/3–4. Global Witness (2003) The Usual Suspects: Liberia’s Weapons and Mercenaries in Cote d’Ivoire and Sierra Leone, London: Global Witness. Available online at: http://www.globalwitness.org/reports/download.php/00068 (accessed 26 October 2004). Hirsch, J. (2001) Sierra Leone: Diamonds and the Struggle for Democracy, International Peace Academy Occasional Paper, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. HRW (Human Rights Watch) (1998) ‘Sowing terror: atrocities against civilians in Sierra Leone’, Human Rights Watch, 10/3. Available online at: http://www.hrw.org/reports98/sierra/Sier988-01.htm#P88_2258 (accessed 25 October 2004). —— (1999) ‘Getting away with murder, mutilation, rape: new testimony from

118 David Keen Sierra Leone’, Human Rights Watch, 11/3A. Available online at: http://www.hrw.org/reports/1999/sierra/ (accessed 26 October 2004). —— (2000) Sierra Leone: Priorities for the International Community, 11 November, New York: Human Rights Watch. Available online at: http://www.hrw.org/ press/2000/06/secmem0620.htm (accessed 26 October 2004). —— (2003) ‘ “We’ll kill you if you cry”: sexual violence in the Sierra Leone conflict’, Human Rights Watch, 15/1. Available online at: http://www.hrw.org/ reports/2003/sierraleone/ (accessed 26 October 2004). ICG (International Crisis Group) (2003) Sierra Leone: The State of Security and Governance, ICG Africa Report No. 67, Freetown/Brussels: ICG. Available online at: http://www.reliefweb.int/library/documents/2003/icg-sle-02sep.pdf (accessed 26 October 2004). IMF (International Monetary Fund) (2002) ‘Sierra Leone staff report for the 2001 Article 1V consultation’, 13 February, Freetown/Washington. Indian Express (2000) Interview with UNAMSIL commander Vijay Jetley, 16 July. Kabbah, T. (2003) ‘A statement by his Excellency the President Alhaji Dr. Ahmad Tejan Kabbah made before the Truth and Reconciliation Commission on Tuesday 5th August, 2003’, Sierra Leone Web. Available online at: http://www.sierra-leone.org/kabbah080503.html (accessed 25 October 2004). Kieh, G. Jr (1994) ‘The obstacles to the peaceful resolution of the Liberian civil conflict’, Studies in Conflict and Terrorism, 17: 97–108. Lefort, P. and Littell, J. (1998) ‘Food and terror in Sierra Leone’, mimeo, Paris: Action Contre La Faim. Legg, T. and Ibbs, R. (1998) Report of the Sierra Leone Arms Investigation, London, The Stationery Office. Available online at: http://www.fco.gov.uk/Files/ kfile/report.pdf (accessed 25 October 2004). Levitt, J. (1999) ‘Pre-intervention trust-building, African states and enforcing the peace: the case of ECOWAS in Liberia and Sierra Leone’, Liberian Studies Journal, 24: 1–26. MacAskill, E. (2000) ‘Badly trained, ill-defined and underfunded – UN peacekeepers endure humiliation’, Guardian, 11 May: 4. Available online at: http://www. unmikonline.org/press/wire/imsl110500.html (accessed 26 October 2004). McGreal, C. and Norton-Taylor, R. (2000) ‘British forces keep up pressure on rebels’, Guardian, 19 May. Available online at: http://www.guardian. co.uk/ international/story/0,3604,222472,00.html (accessed 25 October 2004). Musah, A.-F. (2000) ‘A country under siege: state decay and corporate military intervention in Sierra Leone’, in A.-F. Musah and J. ‘Kayode Fayemi (eds) Mercenaries: An African Security Dilemma, London: Pluto. Norton-Taylor, R. and McGreal, C. (2000a) Guardian, 11 May: 1. —— (2000b) ‘Sierra Leone children carry British guns’, Guardian, 25 May: 15. Available online at: http://www.guardian.co.uk/international/story/ 0,3604,265470,00.html (accessed 26 October 2004). Nzongola-Ntalaja, G. (2000) ‘Unpacking the Lome Peace Accord’, in Centre for Democracy and Development, Sierra Leone – One Year after Lome, CDD Strategy Planning Series No. 5, London: CDD. OCHA (UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs) (1998) Inter-agency Assessment Mission to Sierra Leone: Interim Report, S/1998/155 of 20 February. Available online at: http://wwww.reliefweb.int/w/rwb.nsf/s/ 24E4C76312E16F2EC12565AF002A0933 (accessed 3 November 2004).

Sierra Leone’s war in a regional context 119 Patel, R. (2002) ‘Sierra Leone’s uncivil war and the unlimited intervention that ended it. Case-study for the Carr Center for Human Rights Policy’, mimeo, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University. Polman, L. (2004) ‘Blue helmets as cannon fodder’, Guardian, 17 February. Available online at: http://209.157.64.200/focus/f-news/1079482/posts (accessed 26 October 2004). Porter, T. (2003) The Interaction between Political and Humanitarian Action in Sierra Leone, 1995 to 2002. Geneva: Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue. Available online at: http://www.reliefweb.int/library/documents/2003/hdc2-sil-19mar.pdf (accessed 26 October 2004). Pratt, D. (1999) Sierra Leone: The Forgotten Crisis, report to the Canadian Minister of Foreign Affairs, 23 April. Available online at: http://www.sierraleone.org/pratt042399.htm (accessed 3 November 2004). Pugh, M., Cooper, N. and Goodhand, J. (2004) War Economies in a Regional Context: The Challenge of Transformation, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Rashid, I. (2000) ‘The Lome peace negotiations’, in D. Lord (ed.) ‘Paying the price: the Sierra Leone peace process’, Accord: An International Review of Peace Initiatives, 9: 26–33. Available online at: http://www.c-r.org/accord/s-leone/ accord9 (accessed 3 November 2004). Reno, W. (1995) Corruption and State Politics in Sierra Leone, Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. —— (1997) ‘Privatizing war in Sierra Leone’, Current History, 96: 227–30. Renton, A. (2000) ‘Our guns arm the children’, Evening Standard, 24 May: 1. Richards, P. (2001) ‘War and peace in Sierra Leone’, The Fletcher Forum of World Affairs, 25/2: 41–50. RRC (Relief and Rehabilitation Commission) (1999) ‘Situation report for August to November 1999’, Freetown: RRC. Rupert, J. and Farah, D. (2000), ‘Charles Taylor – the man in the middle’, Washington Post Foreign Service, 30 May. Shearer, D. (1997) ‘Exploring the limits of consent: conflict resolution in Sierra Leone’, Millennium: Journal of International Studies, 26: 845–60. Sherwell, P. (2000) ‘Liberia chief fuels “diamond war”: the president is flying out gems on Libyan jets to fund the conflict in Sierra Leone’, Sunday Telegraph, 28 May. SLNA (Sierra Leone News Archives) (1999). 3 January. Available online at: http://www.sierra-leone.org/slnews0199.html (accessed 25 October 2004). —— (2000) 9 November. Available online at: http://www.sierra-leone.org/ slnews1100.html (accessed 25 October 2004). —— (2001) January. Available online at: http://www.sierra-%09leone.org/ slnews0101.html (accessed 25 October 2004). Sommers, M. (2000) The Dynamics of Coordination, Occasional Paper 40, Providence, RI: Watson Institute for International Studies. Available online at: http://www.watsoninstitute.org/pub/OP40.pdf (accessed 26 October 2004). Tran, M. and McElroy, C. (1997) ‘UN failure in Sierra Leone feeds recriminations’, Guardian, 29 May: 15. UN Panel of Experts (2000) Report of the Panel of Experts, Appointed Pursuant to UN Security Council Resolution 1306 (2000), Paragraph. 19, in relation to Sierra Leone. S/2000/1195 of 20 December. Available online at: http://www.globalpolicy.org/ security/issues/sierra/report/001220.htm (accessed 26 October 2004).

120 David Keen UN Security Council (1999) Resolution 1270 (1999), S/RES/1270 (1999) of 22 October 1999. Available online at: http://www.hri.ca/fortherecord1999/ documentation/security/s-res-1270.htm (accessed 26 October 2004). —— (2000a) Third Report of the Secretary-General on the United Nations Mission in Sierra Leone, S/2000/186 of 7 March. Available online at: http://157.150.184.6/ osrsgcaac/VirtualLibrary/Docs/SC/Reports/S-2000-186e.pdf (accessed 26 October 2004). —— (2000b) Resolution 1306 (2000), S/RES/1306 (2000) of 5 July 2000. Available online at: http://www.un.int/usa/sres1306.htm (accessed 2 November 2004). US Committee for Refugees (1999) ‘Sierra Leone’s path to peace: key issues at year’s end’, press release, 15 December, Washington. Usborne, D. and Marshall, A. (2000) ‘UN vows: “We will not withdraw” as rebels circle’, The Independent, 11 May: 13. Women’s Commission for Refugee Women and Children (2002) Precious Resources: Adolescents in the Reconstruction of Sierra Leone, New York. Available online at: http://www.reliefweb.int/library/documents/2002/wcrwc-sie-31oct.pdf (accessed 26 October 2004). World Bank (2002) Transitional Support Strategy for The Republic of Sierra Leone, Africa Region, Washington, DC: World Bank. World Food Programme (1996) Protracted Emergency Humanitarian Relief Food Aid: Toward ‘Productive Relief’: Programme Policy Evaluation of the 1990–1995 period of WFP-assisted refugee and displaced persons operations in Liberia, Sierra Leone, Guinea and Côte d’Ivoire, Mission Report, vol. 1 (main report) and vol. 2 (technical reports/tables), Rome: WFP.

6

Human security in the South Caucasus Mient Jan Faber and Mary Kaldor

Introduction In the 1994 Human Development Report, security was redefined to include ‘safety from chronic threats such as hunger, disease and repression’ and ‘protection from sudden and harmful disruptions in the patterns of daily life’ (UNDP 1994: 23).1 Human beings need basic subsistence in addition to freedom from persecution and harm in order to be secure. In order words, the two key elements of human security are freedom from want and freedom from fear. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, people living in the South Caucasus have experienced war, displacement, massive violations of human rights, as well as poverty and pervasive criminality. Perhaps the most telling numbers are those that indicate the decline in the population in all three countries, by approximately 20 per cent in all three countries (EIU 2003a, 2003b, 2004a, 2004b). This is partly because of migration – people have fled wars or gone in search of jobs in other countries, especially Russia. And it is partly because of a declining birth rate and rising mortality, both effects of wars and poverty. Our chapter is about the human security situation in the South Caucasus with a focus on freedom from fear, although of course it is sometimes difficult to disentangle fear and want, especially in the secessionist states/entities of the South Caucasus – Nagorno Karabakh, Abkhazia and South Ossetia. We describe the security issues that most affect the people living in the region. Wherever relevant, we focus on individuals and the way they feel about and deal with their security. Human security presupposes that individual human beings are made visible and are not kept hidden behind numbers that are often too large, shocking and abstract for us to be able to absorb their meaning, although where possible we will give numbers too. By introducing the concept of human security, the UN called for a broader view of security, focused on the individual or community and distinct from the security of the state. Human security is supposed to complement state security, which basically deals with external threats and

122 Mient Jan Faber and Mary Kaldor territorial integrity.2 But this is not the case in the South Caucasus, where states are both weak and authoritarian, and state security concerns have a negative impact on the human security needs of some groups in society and indeed directly contribute to human insecurity. In this chapter, we focus on the human security problems that arise from weak or authoritarian states and from the conflicts of the region, which, in turn, are related to the character of local state institutions. These conflicts remain unresolved and continue to fester, infecting everyday lives with insecurity. In the concluding sections, we describe the role of international institutions and argue that a human security approach is needed if the EU and other institutions are to act more effectively.

Failing states as a source of insecurity All three former Soviet republics in the South Caucasus – Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Georgia – are simultaneously weak and authoritarian. That is to say, they are too weak to protect borders and uphold a rule of law, and at the same time they use the security services to protect the regime rather than citizens. They could be described as ‘post-totalitarian’ countries where the leadership tries to control every aspect of society and economy through patronage or nomenklatura networks, but they are less successful than formerly because they lack resources. In all three countries, despite their efforts the governments are unable to exercise complete control either over territory or over armed groups. And in all three countries, tax revenue is extremely low, having declined from 50 per cent of national income in Soviet times to approximately 15 per cent today. Consequently, revenue is inadequate to fund public services or security forces (IMF 2001, 2002). Only in Georgia, after the ‘Rose Revolution’, when, after unfair elections, pressure from civil society led to the resignation of Eduard Shevardnadze, is there some hope of breaking out of this predicament (HRW 2004a; ICG 2003). Especially in Armenia and Azerbaijan governments have a distant relationship to their populations, and they tend to rule through patronage networks. A position in government becomes an opportunity to raise income rather than to provide a public service; moreover, it is often necessary to pay to obtain such a position. These networks are sometimes described as ‘clans’ but they are not throwbacks to the past, to ancient tribal or ethnic formations. Rather, they constitute alliances consisting of nomenklatura networks from Soviet times, extended families and criminal groups that emerged in the latter days of the Soviet Union (see Kechichian and Karasik 1995). In Armenia and Azerbaijan, the governments are dependent on one or two sources of income – oil in the case of Azerbaijan and a combination of Russian military assistance and diaspora support in the case of Armenia. This external dependence is reflected in internal structures. Thus, in Azerbaijan, the state oil company SOCAR is

Human security in the South Caucasus 123 directly under the control of the President and is an important instrument of political control. In Armenia, the Ministry of Defence, controlled by the former Minister of Defence of Nagorno Karabakh, plays a similar role.3 Typical features of the new post-totalitarian dictatorships are: dominant leaders who establish or maintain their positions through some kind of electoral process and control the main political institutions; control over the electronic media, especially television; widespread bribery and corruption; widespread human rights violations; and strong but ineffective security measures. Independent-minded observers sometimes argue that the situation in these societies is worse than in Communist times. On the one hand, it is certainly true that material conditions for the mass of the population are much worse; inequality, increases in mortality, unemployment and lack of public services are all visible aspects of everyday life. On the other hand, although governments, ruling parties and security services try to control all aspects of social life, increased openness, international liberalization and outside pressure for democratization, as well as the weakness of the state, mean that NGOs, independent media and critical intellectuals survive, albeit precariously (see Eurasianet URL; ICG 2004a, 2004b, 2004c; HRW 2004b). In all three countries, populist nationalist leaders came to power after the collapse of the Soviet Union (Elchibey in Azerbaijan, Ter Petrossian in Armenia, and Gamsakhurdia in Georgia). The loss of territory in the conflicts in Azerbaijan and Georgia and the ensuing instability were important factors which in both countries led to coups that restored former Communist leaders to power – Heidar Aliyev in Azerbaijan and Eduard Shevardnadze in Georgia. It was they who brought the militias and gangs under some control, although the fragmentation of security services, especially in Georgia, and the personalization of power meant that the security services effectively became privatized instruments in the hands of political leaders. In the case of Armenia, Ter Petrossian remained in power after the Armenian or Karabakh victory at the end of the war with Azerbaijan in 1992–3, but the militarization of society and the sanctions imposed by Azerbaijan and Turkey have ensured that Armenian society has suffered perhaps the most from the consequences of war. When Ter Petrossian tried to make peace with Azerbaijan in 1997, he was ousted by the socalled Karabakh party, led by the former Prime Minister of Nagorno Karabakh, Robert Kocharian, who remains President of Armenia. Presidential elections were held in all three countries in 2003. All were characterized by fraud and intimidation. But the international community was muted in its criticisms of the elections in Armenia and Azerbaijan, even though in both cases demonstrations led to severe repression in which many were injured, some were killed and hundreds of opposition leaders were arrested. Heidar Aliyev died in December 2003 and the elections were ‘won’ by his son Ilham. In the case of Georgia, massive demonstrations protesting at the illegality of the elections led to the Rose

124 Mient Jan Faber and Mary Kaldor Revolution and the resignation of Shevardnadze. The difference is mainly to be explained by the strength of civil society and the opposition in Georgia, although the differential behaviour of outside powers was also a factor (Freizer 2003, 2004). The military in Armenia and the secret services in Azerbaijan provide two examples of the way state security services impinge on human security. We deal with each in turn. Armenia: the military From a series of meetings with journalists, research institutions, human rights organizations, governmental bodies, soldiers and other persons involved,4 we have obtained a picture of the army that can be summarized as follows. The army is everywhere; one in every 40 citizens of Armenia is in the army. The war in Nagorno Karabakh and the border war with Azerbaijan have transformed relations within the army. Those who fought in the Karabakh war claim the right to dictate orders; newcomers are often harassed, as was the case in Soviet times. Interpersonal relations in the army are different from those in the wider society. Human rights are violated, often with impunity, especially in the border regions. The army is a closed institution composed of informal networks. It can be likened to a set of street gangs, each with its own code of behaviour. Crimes committed in the army are rarely followed up. Even worse, innocent boys are arrested and forced to confess. The most vulnerable group in the army is the conscripts. They have often no other choice than to join a ‘street gang’ or create a new one with some ‘friends’, thus perpetuating the gang system. Central command structures are weak. Many officers are illiterate, having acquired their status during the war, when they excelled as merciless fighters. Beatings of conscripts are common, and even murders inside army units are not exceptional. Beating is not considered a crime. Arayik Avetissian was a graduate of the Theology Department of the Yerevan State University and drafted into the army in May 2000. He was killed on 30 October 2001, with a single gunshot, in the office of the chief of staff of the 3rd battalion in Vayk. The next day Private Karen Sargsian was charged with killing Avetissian by firing an accidental gunshot. Testimony was given by some eyewitnesses, among whom was Private Artyom Khachatrian. The mother of Arayik challenged the preliminary conclusions and argued that it was the battalion commander Mher Stepanian who intentionally killed her son. Stepanian was known as a sadistic officer with a habit of beating soldiers. From the very beginning he had displayed a malevolent and cruel attitude towards Arayik. On 20 October Stepanian sent Arayik home for five days leave and asked him to bring back $100 and a few litres of home-brewed vodka. While at home, Arayik unsuccessfully tried to collect the required sum. His aunt promised him her last savings of $20 as soon as she could get hold of the

Human security in the South Caucasus 125 money. Arayik waited for a few extra days but decided to go back to his unit on 28 October. Two days later he was killed. On 29 January 2002, Private Khachatrian gave additional testimony. He confessed that he had been afraid to tell the truth, but that indeed Arayik had been killed by Stepanian who was furious because Arayik did not bring him the money and had told him that he would pay dearly for cheating an officer. Then he shot him. As yet, the court has not dealt with the case. In 2003, 65 murders were counted in the army, according to the military prosecutor whom we interviewed. (The official statistics list only 50 murders in 2003.) The number of murders is probably bigger than officially announced. Officials are inclined to play number games. Indeed, different people (prosecutor, minister, president) work with different numbers. For example, incidents in which several soldiers were killed are often counted as one murder. Soldiers or their families sometimes lodge a complaint after their son has been demobilized. The prosecutor’s office then investigates the complaint in order to establish whether it was an accident or a crime. In most cases, the conclusion reads that it was not a crime but an accident. Indeed, according to the official statistics the total number of incidents is rather stable, but the number of crimes goes down while the number of accidents grows. In Yerevan we met with some mothers of victimized soldiers. They had organized themselves in the Soldiers and Human Rights association but were hesitant to ask for official registration. One of the mothers informed us about the killing of her son who served in a military unit in Karabakh. His body was brought to his mother, after he was killed, and she noticed tens of bullet holes. She fears he had been executed. The trial took place in Stepanakert and hence she could not attend. Some minority groups, especially the Yezidis, are often used as scapegoats. It is a custom in the Yezidi community when the son is taken to the army that his family observes the ritual mourning procedures. More and more, parents have initiated their own investigations. Although soldiers are very reluctant to testify before court, judges sometimes conclude that a crime (murder) has been committed. Also, doctors are afraid to help soldiers after they are beaten up. It is normal not to register soldiers when they are brought to hospital. A young couple from Armenia managed to flee the country and now reside in an asylum centre in the Netherlands. They are Yezidis, a Kurdish sect identified by their religion . . . Although they should not be confused with Zoroastrians, they also worship the sun. In Armenia they are a minority of around 60,000 people, many of them illiterate. Their main source of income comes from being shepherds. As a minority, they are quite isolated in Armenia and,

126 Mient Jan Faber and Mary Kaldor despite good intentions and some measures taken by the Department for National Minorities and Religious Affairs, it remains difficult to integrate them. The husband, Zjora, was recruited into the army. He and his halfbrother were brought to a military camp where they were separated from the rest of the recruits and forced to do the dirty jobs (toilet cleaning, etc.). They were regularly beaten up by some officers and the father of the boys was called to visit the camp several times and had to pay bribes to the officers in order to prevent them from beating his sons to death. Nevertheless, one day Zjora was beaten so heavily that he lost consciousness, and his bother was beaten to death. Zjora was brought to a normal hospital in Massis, outside the military compound. However, he was not registered as a patient. Ten days later he left the hospital on his own initiative and together with his wife he fled to Georgia and then to the Netherlands. The Dutch authorities were puzzled by the story. If it was true then there was every reason to provide asylum to the couple. But Zjora had only his personal story and no documents which could prove that he was speaking the truth. Therefore, the Dutch took the decision to investigate the situation. The Armenian authorities were approached and Zjora’s father was visited by one of the leading figures in his village, Hovtashat. This man is a member of the army lobbying group, Soldiers’ Mothers, and is known in the village as Goebbels. The father was accused of being a traitor and beaten up. He was told that the Armenian authorities would confirm his son’s story to the Dutch provided he paid a large sum of money. The father refused. Based on the report received from Yerevan, the Dutch authorities concluded in written form that Zjora and his family had left Hovtashat some years ago, that Zjora had never been in the army, and that he was not nursed in the hospital of Massis We visited Hovtashat and found that the family of Zjora was still living there. They were very nervous and hardly dared to receive us in their house for fear of reprisals. But it was possible to obtain documents from them, including one from the municipality showing that the family was indeed living at the address where we had met them, and another one from a nurse at the hospital of Massis confirming that she had seen how Zjora was brought in the hospital. The case is now going to be reopened. Morale is low in the army. A new law on alternative service has been adopted, though it is not yet in force. It is considered a ‘punishment law’ since those who invoke it are ‘punished’ by having to do the dirtiest jobs (like cleaning toilets) in the army. It is also said that soldiers have been used to influence the outcomes of elections. They are told for whom to vote and are controlled in various ways, for instance by the use of special pens or through voting in the presence of a superior. Also, corruption in the army is pervasive. Soldiers or their families have to pay bribes to get permission for a short leave. There is no address where soldiers can lodge their complaints. The ombudsman is a nominee of the president. All of this explains why in Armenia the main reason for emigration is to avoid military service.

Human security in the South Caucasus 127 The international community has not reacted to the abuses in the army. Armenia has signed a Partnership for Peace (PfP) contract with NATO but it remains mainly paperwork, although there are common training programmes with the Greek army. The army is promoting itself through the organization ‘Soldiers’ Mothers’, a propaganda instrument sponsored by the government and linked to the Ministry of Defence. It is quite the opposite of the organization of the same name in Russia. There are no contacts with military prosecutors of NATO countries. Azerbaijan: secret services 5 Before the collapse of the Soviet Union, Heidar Aliyev had been the Secretary-General of the Azeri Communist Party and chief of the KGB. He became President of Azerbaijan in 1993. He was faced with a dramatically unstable situation. Hundreds of thousands of Azeri refugees and displaced persons had arrived in the country from Armenia and Nagorno Karabakh and a similar number of ethnic Armenians had fled from Azerbaijan. One president after another had been replaced by a people’s revolt or a military coup. Paramilitary units were roaming the country under the command of (former) officers from the army and other mafia types. Socalled separatists were using the occasion of the breakup of the Soviet Union to declare autonomy (the Tallish minority, for example, led by Aliakram Humbatov) or even independence (Karabakh Armenians, led by Robert Kocharyan) for their own region. And the war over Nagorno Karabakh was becoming a disaster for Azerbaijan. In short, Azerbaijan was a country on the brink of collapse. When units of the popular young General Surat Husseinov, a hero during the Karabakh war, peacefully marched on Baku and the nationalist President Elchibey was forced to resign, Heidar Aliyev, then the leader of the isolated province of Nakhichevan, and the former party boss, was asked by his political network to come to Baku. The KGB, renamed the MNV, became the main body protecting the regime and suppressing or eliminating the widespread opposition, often organized alongside the old competitors of Aliyev. Thus, Azerbaijan was converted into a two-tier society. On the surface, a semi-authoritarian regime was established, allowing limited space for democracy and individual freedoms. Underneath, in the dark, the KGB ruled, accountable to the President only, creating human security problems for numerous people. Surat Husseinov was appointed Prime Minister by Aliyev in 1993. But he ran into problems with the President after taking sides with the leader of the military police (OMON) when Aliyev wanted to dissolve it. Sitting in his office and watching television, Husseinov saw the President making an announcement that the Prime Minister had become a state security risk. The same day Aliyev and Husseinov had held a regular meeting where the issue was not even mentioned. Husseinov immediately left the country,

128 Mient Jan Faber and Mary Kaldor seeking refuge in Moscow. When Azerbaijan asked Russia to extradite him, he was sent back to Baku and after a show trial he received a life sentence. Husseinov’s driver, Polad Mamedov, was born in Gjandzja, the home town of Surat Husseinov. After Husseinov’s successful march on Baku, in 1993, which led to the overthrow of the government of Elchibey and the rise to power of Heydar Aliyev, Polad became the personal driver of Prime Minister Husseinov. When Husseinov fell out of favour with Aliyev, members of his entourage were raided by the KGB and the police. Polad managed to escape and hid in a small village, Baskal. On 16 November 1996 he went to see a medical doctor in Baku and used the opportunity to visit a former close colleague of Husseinov. There he was arrested and thrown in prison for one year and three months. He was heavily tortured; one of his ears was cut with a knife, his heel was broken, his arm was burnt. Nevertheless, he refused to answer any questions regarding Husseinov. Probably due to the intervention of a famous artist, Toegroel Neriman Beyov, he was released in February 1998. Again in 1999, he was arrested two times and held in prison for a few weeks. His father-in-law paid $3,000 to get him out. On 31 December 2000, Polad rang Husseinov’s mother-in-law to wish her a happy new year. She told him that Husseinov had been moved to the Qobustan prison, 70 km outside Baku. He needed some clothes and she asked Polad to drive her to Qobustan. On 4 January they went together to Qobustan. He waited outside while she went in. Afterwards he brought her back home. Then, a hundred metres from her house, his car was crashed by another car. Three persons jumped out of the car and started to beat him up, shouting that he was still working for Husseinov. Polad ran away leaving his car behind. The next morning he went to the police to give notice of the incident. He also contacted some lawyers, but they told him that justice would not be done in his case. For his own well-being he and his family should leave the country, the sooner the better. In December 2003, we visited the Qobustan prison, 70 km outside Baku, in the middle of nowhere. We had asked the Minister of Justice, Fikret Mammadov, for permission to meet with Surat Husseinov. A high-ranking official of the ministry accompanied us to the prison. There, we were invited by the director to his room and Husseinov was brought in by a prison guard. We introduced ourselves and Husseinov used the opportunity to tell us everything about his arrest and trial. Interestingly enough, the prison director and the official from the Ministry of Justice joined in the discussion, and together the three of them addressed a series of absurd events (fake accusations, hired witnesses, etc.) that had taken place. When we asked them if it was all true that the trial against Husseinov was largely fabricated, they confirmed without hesitation. This story is a perfect illustration of the dark side of life in Azerbaijan. Making use of the mood of the moment, we asked Husseinov to sign a document in which he stated that Polad Mamedov had been his personal driver. The driver and his family needed such a declaration in order to claim asylum in another

Human security in the South Caucasus 129 country. Husseinov signed the document and neither the official from the Ministry of Justice nor the director of the prison intervened. In meetings with the Minister of Justice, we found out that, despite his readiness to help, it was impossible for him to provide us with any information about people who had apparently fallen into the hands of the KGB. State security issues are beyond the competence of the Minister of Justice. Thus in Azerbaijan it is not the army but the KGB/MNV that behaves as a state within a state. Human rights organizations in the country have tried to draw the attention of the international community to this phenomenon, with limited results. Due to the intervention of the Council of Europe (COE), some well-known political prisoners have been pardoned, including Humbatov and Husseinov, but many unknown ordinary people who for one reason or another are considered security risks continue to suffer. Teymur Gullidzjinski was arrested by the KGB, in Baku, on 18 November 1995. He is an engineer, a modest man not engaged in political activities. But he happened to know the ‘wrong’ people. On that day, the KGB accused him of being engaged in money laundering on behalf of sympathizers of Ayaz Mutalibov, the last President of Soviet Azerbaijan and the first President of the independent Republic of Azerbaijan. In 1992 Mutalibov was removed from office and fled to Moscow. Several times he has been accused by the Azeri government of preparing coups, the last time in 2001. Gullidzjinski was never brought to court, but he was kept in prison for one and a half years. Then he was set free upon conditions. He and his wife had to sign a paper promising not to leave the country nor even the town where he lives. He was denied a passport and all other citizenship rights and the case against him was not suspended but remained pending. In the years following his release from prison in 1997, he was repeatedly arrested, mostly for 24 hours, just to keep up the pressure. His mother-in-law was also interrogated and even his housing association was visited and interviewed about him. In May 2000, the General Prosecutor of Azerbaijan was sacked and replaced by a new one, who announced on television that he was going to reopen all pending cases. Seriously frightened, Gullidzjinski went to the office of the Helsinki Citizens’ Assembly (hCa) in Baku and told them that he was facing a real human security problem. The hCa advised him to leave the country as soon as he could, because inside Azerbaijan there was no authority able to protect him against the KGB.

Conflicts as a source of insecurity During and after the breakup of the Soviet Union, the Caucasus was torn apart. Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan declared themselves independ-

130 Mient Jan Faber and Mary Kaldor ent, while Nagorno Karabakh seceded from Azerbaijan, South Ossetia and Abkhazia from Georgia (and Chechnya from Russia). Adjaria, a region in Georgia, also refused to recognize the authority of the Georgian government, although there was no war. Although numerous attempts have been made to find a compromise between the parties involved, success has been very limited. Most of these conflicts are usually described as ‘frozen’. In reality they are better described as festering wounds that do not heal and that get worse from time to time. (For background to the conflicts, see Suny 1996; De Waal 2003; Melander 2001.) The main fighting took place in 1991–2 in South Ossetia, 1992–4 in Nagorno Karabakh and 1992–3 in Abkhazia. In the case of Abkhazia, fighting broke out again in 1998 and in 2001. Some one thousand lives were lost in South Ossetia and 15,000–20,000 in Nagorno Karabakh. By the time the ceasefires were arranged, all three regions were de facto independent and, in the case of Nagorno Karabakh, a further 20 per cent of Azerbaijani territory had been captured by the Karabakh forces. The ceasefires were brokered by Russia. There are Russian peacekeeping troops in Abkhazia and South Ossetia, monitored by the UN and the OSCE respectively. The main victims of the conflicts are the refugees and displaced persons. Ethnic cleansing took place on a large scale. Although tens of

Map 6.1 The Caucasus and its contested territories.

Human security in the South Caucasus 131 thousands of Mingrelians returned to their homes in the Gali region in southern Abkhazia, only a handful of Georgians were allowed or dared to stay in the rest of Abkhazia and South Ossetia, and all Azeris left or were forced to leave Nagorno Karabakh including the huge ‘buffer zone’ around it. Armenians were forced to leave Azerbaijan. Altogether some 2 million people were forced to flee their homes, and today refugees and displaced persons account for about 10 per cent of the entire population of the region (Herzig 1999). But those living in the separatist territories also lack human security. All three areas are extremely isolated – Ossetia perhaps less than Nagorno Karabakh or Abkhazia. In all three cases, the population has declined even more dramatically than in the region as a whole. In Nagorno Karabakh, for example, perhaps as many as half the Armenian population has left, over and above the forced departure of Azeris during the war. Estimates of the remaining population vary. In Azerbaijan, it is widely claimed that only 40,000 people are left. The OSCE estimates between 60,000 and 100,000. Before the war, the population was 140,000, of which one third were Azeri. Abkhazia had a population of 535,000 in 1992. Now, the UN estimates that only between 180,000 and 220,000 are left. And in Ossetia, the population is estimated at 50,000; some 40,000 have fled.6 In what follows, we describe the human security problems caused by each of the conflicts. Abkhazia and South Ossetia After the Rose Revolution, one of the new President Sakaashvili’s first acts was to take back control of Adjaria, which he did through a combination of military pressure and popular mobilization, especially among students and young people living in Adjaria. They were supported by the Georgian youth movement Kmara,7 which had also played an important role in bringing Sakaashvili himself to power in Tbilisi. Now the Georgian government is turning its attention to South Ossetia and Abkhazia. The new Minister for Conflict Resolution, a film-maker called Georgi Khaindrava, who played an active role in the Rose Revolution, hopes to use the same strategy. Like everyone else in the Georgian government, he says he is determined to avoid armed confrontation, but he hopes that a mixture of sticks (pressure on these two breakaway regimes) and carrots (offers of economic assistance and normalization to the local population) will have the same miraculous effect as in Adjaria. Already, Georgia has closed the Ergeneti market, a centre for trade in contraband goods, on the border with South Ossetia, and has confiscated Russian vehicles carrying weapons into South Ossetia. There is also talk of establishing a customs point with EU help at the entrance to the tunnel that connects North Ossetia (Russia) and South Ossetia (Georgia), through which currently all kinds of illegal trade, including weapons,

132 Mient Jan Faber and Mary Kaldor passes. At the same time Georgia has offered humanitarian assistance to South Ossetia, which has been refused by the de facto government of South Ossetia. Indeed, the effect of these steps has been to increase tension. When we talked to displaced persons on the Georgian side of the border with South Ossetia, they told us they had heard gunfire every night for the last two months and that Russian weapons were being distributed inside South Ossetia. At present, it is impossible for NGOs, let alone the Georgian government, to distribute assistance. South Ossetia and Abkhazia are different from Adjaria because they went through wars and there is therefore a strong ethnic component to the conflicts. As one NGO activist put it, ‘in Adjaria, the conflict was between Georgia and Abashidze. In Tskhinvali [South Ossetia] and Sukhumi [Abkhazia], it is between Ossetians and Georgians or between Abkhazians and Georgians’. The sense of ethnic identity was cemented by the wars, which created ethnic enmities where they had hardly existed before and which could be legitimized only through lofty sentiments about self-determination.8 In both regions there was large-scale ethnic cleansing. Subsequent isolation only strengthened this ethnic tension. Hence, a strategy of trying to win over the local population is likely to be much harder to implement in South Ossetia and Abkhazia. ‘Our Ossetian acquaintances said they would rather die of hunger than rejoin Georgia’, Georgian displaced women told us. And similar sentiments were expressed by Abkhazians we met when we visited Sukhumi, the capital of Abkhazia. For the Georgian authorities and the public at large, Russia is the main obstacle to a solution. Step by step, South Ossetia and Abkhazia are being incorporated into Russia. Many of the inhabitants of both entities have received Russian passports, which means that they are considered Russian citizens. The borders with Russia are open and there are no Georgian border police. In both areas, there are Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) peacekeepers monitoring the ceasefires – Russian in the case of Abkhazia and combined Russian, Ossetian and Georgian in the case of South Ossetia. The Russian peacekeeping forces are accountable only to Moscow. Moreover, the Ossetian component of the peacekeeping force in South Ossetia is increasingly composed of soldiers and officers from North Ossetia, which is part of the Russian Federation. Certainly, from a Russian strategic point of view Abkhazia is much more important than South Ossetia because of its access to the sea and its resources. That is probably why the official strategy of Sakaashvili is to solve the problem of South Ossetia first. But there are no signs so far that Russia is willing to respond to Sakaashvili’s strategy. Abkhazia and South Ossetia are, in effect, pariah states. They offer a potential safe haven for an underworld of terrorists, criminals, drugs dealers, traffickers, and so forth, with declining populations and few legitimate sources of income. It is clear that the people of those regions

Human security in the South Caucasus 133 crave normality. Even though they insist on their right to independence and refuse to contemplate a full-scale return of displaced people, they want recognition, passports, trade and democracy. Increasingly the local authorities are forced into some semblance of nation-building. Sukhumi, the capital of Abkhazia, is a sad place. It was once a paradise on the edge of the Black Sea, where the Russian nobility built grand houses and the Soviet elite spent their holidays. Now most of the buildings are derelict, destroyed by war or lack of habitation because so few people live there. Although the Georgian majority of the inhabitants of Abkhazia were expelled or fled the country during the war, the ethnic Abkhaz are still a minority in their own entity. The remaining population is made up of different ethnic groups, like Russians, Armenians, Poles, Ukrainians, Turks, Jews, Greeks and others. But power is in the hands of the Abkhaz minority. Their main objective is independence from both the Georgians and the Russians, based on what they claim is a deep conviction about their unique Abkhaz cultural identity. The main legitimate sources of income are agricultural production, especially in the Gali region (which is why displaced persons are allowed to return there) and tourism. At present, contraband trade is probably the main source of income. Although some (Russian) tourists have come back, the Georgian authorities patrol the coastal waters, preventing ships from entering the harbour of Sukhumi and warning potential tourists about the risks of a holiday by the beautiful Abkhaz seaside. The clan system is still very powerful and many disputes are settled at that level, in particular revenge killings. There is a lot of internal tension, mainly over democratic development and how to deal with the clan system. The current ‘government’ is under strong challenge from opposition parties, particularly Amshara, which is composed largely of former military commanders and which won the recent elections. The foreign ministry says that ‘Europe’ is the model and first priority for Abkhazia and that the EU should send monitors to follow and stimulate democratic developments.9 There is no readiness whatsoever in Abkhazia to reopen discussion on the international status (independence) of the entity. Between 1993 and 1996, the Abkhazians put forward proposals for the creation of a federation or a common state. The Georgian reaction did not satisfy them. In 1999 a referendum was held in which over 90 per cent of the population voted for full independence. Since then the Abkhaz authorities claim that the issue of independence is settled. They say they are ready to accept the return of Georgian refugees or internally displaced persons (IDPs) provided they did not commit war crimes. So there is a right of return, but the Abkhaz authorities will reserve the right to determine who is eligible, when return can take place, and where the returnees will be resettled. Spontaneous return to the Gali region has been taking place since the end of the war. Before the war, the Gali region was occupied only by

134 Mient Jan Faber and Mary Kaldor Mingrelians, who consider themselves Georgian. In 1997–8, Georgian partisans began to enter the region as well, and started to build military outposts and trenches around some villages which were declared liberated territories. Although the Russian peacekeepers had prohibited the Abkhaz militia from entering the Gali region, they did not stop the militias when, in May 1998, they forcibly removed 40,000 Georgians from the region for the second time. Since 1999, spontaneous return has been controlled by the Abkhaz militia and, to a certain extent, regulated by the Abkhaz authorities. When asked about the return of refugees, the Abkhaz authorities talk about the right of return for the Abkhaz diaspora. They claim there are 700,000 Abkhaz living in Turkey, Jordan and Syria. They have offered $2,000 to each returnee. Officially, the regular army of Abkhazia has 3,000 soldiers. Another 20,000 are reservists. However, the law in Abkhazia permits every family to keep weapons at home. So the army is supplemented by a system of territorial defence; families (men and women) train and exercise regularly. In addition, the Abkhaz authorities can count on numerous militia units, regular and irregular. The Abkhaz also expect Russian assistance in the event of another war since they are mostly Russian citizens. The three breakaway regions of the South Caucasus have signed a mutual defence pact; recently delegations from Abkhazia and Nagorno Karabakh visited South Ossetia to express support in the event of a Georgian attack. Militarization and interventions by neighbours, however, only add to the tension and fear. In Abkhazia, taking up domestic human rights cases is considered an act of betrayal since they will be used by Georgia in its efforts to demonize the Abkhaz authorities. However, there are several human rights organizations whose main preoccupation is the violation of the human rights of the Abkhaz people by the international community in not recognizing Abkhazia and not helping Abkhazia to raise its standard of living. At a meeting with NGOs, we were told that what matters in Abkhazia is state security, not human security. We don’t want to talk about our personal positions because our human security depends on state security. The best thing the EU could do would be to recognize non-recognized states so that they could help with democratic development and send observers to the elections. We want freedom of movement. Our passports aren’t recognized. We have no access to Internet and education is very expensive and there’s not enough education in foreign languages. It’s our rights that are violated. South Ossetia faces a rather different situation.10 There is permanent interaction with Georgia proper at all levels. There are official contacts and talks between the authorities, no matter how frustrating the results;

Human security in the South Caucasus 135 spontaneous return is tolerated under certain conditions; and people-topeople contacts are officially encouraged. Of course, in all these situations it is the underground activities that are best placed to cross borders; smuggling and contraband trade are daily activities and frequent infiltrations from inside (partisans, terrorists) and outside (Russia) are taking place. The international presence (OSCE and humanitarian agencies) is more substantial in South Ossetia and this increases the transparency of borders. The big risk at the moment is that continuing violent incidents might trigger an all-out war. The main victims of these two conflicts, of course, are the refugees and displaced persons. Between 200,000 and 300,000 IDPs from Abkhazia and South Ossetia live in Georgia, according to government statistics. Tens of thousands have spontaneously returned, although the majority are ‘daylight returnees’; in the evenings they come back to their refugee camps or to Georgian neighbourhoods where they live with their families. Going back to South Ossetia or Abkhazia is still considered a realistic option, and the authorities in Georgia, Abkhazia and South Ossetia are well aware of this. They prepare for the moment and make political use of the IDPs in different ways. The result is that the IDPs face permanent human security problems. ‘It’s the great irony of my life that I would give everything to return to Sukhumi, the city I spurned in my youth’, Marina Pochkhua said. She finds herself dreaming all the time about Sukhumi. It is the home of her heart. When war broke out, in 1992, many thought they should stay and that everything would return to normal quite quickly. On 27 September, Sukhumi was handed over to the Abkhaz authorities and the next day the Georgians were told to leave. ‘We were on foot and seven elderly people were with us’, Marina remembered. ‘Along the road some people tried to help us. They even gave us horses. Others robbed us. It rained constantly. Still, we figured it would only last a few weeks.’ But when Marina arrived in Tbilisi, she discovered that her sister Lika had died in childbirth, leaving behind a little baby-Lika. Since then, Marina has been taking care of the little girl and she tells her endless stories about Sukhumi. Marina became a member of a women’s humanitarian organization aimed at helping and bring relief to people of the area. She is working day and night now. And waiting for the day of return to Sukhumi. Julia Karashvili is the founder of the IDP women’s association Consent, a humanitarian organization. She oversees psychological rehabilitation programmes and also coordinates children’s peace camps in Georgia, Bulgaria and Crimea to foster understanding between young people of different backgrounds. For the past eight years she has been the editor of White Crane, a magazine dedicated to IDP children. Julia is also an IDP from Sukhumi. She told us that her house was on Trash Street right across from the railway station. Before the war, it was an international street; Georgians, Abkhaz, Greeks,

136 Mient Jan Faber and Mary Kaldor Armenians and Russians lived amicably side by side. During the war, the men of Trash Street walked a beat every night defending the people against marauders. She also dreams of going back to Sukhumi. The IDPs from South Ossetia and Abkhazia are manipulated by both sides. At present, the Georgian authorities are downplaying the number of IDPs, possibly with a view to a compromise with South Ossetia and Abkhazia. New restrictions have been introduced, which make it more difficult on the one hand to integrate into Georgian society and on the other hand to campaign for equal rights in Abkhazia. IDP status is linked to financial assistance; when IDPs find other sources of income, they often lose their status. This is especially important for IDPs working abroad, in Russia or Turkey, who may find it difficult to return to Georgia and rejoin their families. Another big problem is property. It is almost impossible to get compensation for lost property. Hotels where IDPs are based are being privatized and no alternatives have been offered. Elderly IDPs face growing difficulties to receive care and special housing. As long as the territorial problems are not solved, the fate of the IDPs is hanging in the balance. It creates a serious human security problem, for now and probably also for the future. Nagorno Karabakh As in Abkhazia and South Ossetia, human security problems in Nagorno Karabakh are subordinate to the ‘national’ security situation.11 Civil society is underdeveloped in Nagorno Karabakh. There are around 80 NGOs, but only a handful are active. There is no real space for people to protect their own rights. There are no strong human rights organizations and the courts are not independent. A recently conducted opinion poll showed that a substantial majority of the people would not dare to lodge a complaint with the court even though there are many reasons to complain. Between 1992 and 1996 many people lost their houses without any compensation, and since 1996 arbitrary firings of employees have become almost normal. The crime rates in Nagorno Karabakh are relatively low, however. According to the General Prosecutor, whom we interviewed, only 1 per cent of the crimes occur in the army. In the first half of 2004 the total number of crimes was 281, down from 335 in the second half of 2003. But robberies, mainly in shops and private houses, have increased by 18–24 per cent. Nagorno Karabakh, like the other unrecognized states, suffers from a war syndrome. Demobilized soldiers claim the right to control public life as well as the local business community. However, the Karabakh authorities have made efforts to remove the military from public life. A turning point came after the civil authorities reacted strongly to what they described as a terrorist attack in 1999, committed by the then Minister of

Human security in the South Caucasus 137 Defence. Since that time the situation has improved and progress has been made towards a democratic constitution. In a way, Nagorno Karabakh is better off than South Ossetia and Abkhazia. It is well-protected by the large buffer zone, which it occupied during the war and which is now depopulated. Therefore, it has had more time to address domestic problems, including organized crime. Of course, economic development is a precondition for a real democracy. But this is very difficult given the isolation of Nagorno Karabakh, which is under embargo from Azerbaijan and Turkey. No international organizations are ready to come to Nagorno Karabakh, even to monitor the situation. Most income comes from the diaspora via Armenia. When foreign companies propose to invest in Nagorno Karabakh, for example telecommunications and banks, the Azerbaijani authorities protest vigorously. Despite all this, foreign investment is growing slightly in Nagorno Karabakh. In 1999 it was still zero, but in 2003 it reached $40 million. The authorities offer extremely favourable terms to foreign investors. The developments in Georgia are followed with great concern. The incidents in South Ossetia and Abkhazia are used as an argument for strong defences. In Nagorno Karabakh, the army is 20,000 strong and patrols the borders – although it mostly consists of Armenians from Armenia. According to the Ministry of Defence, they are ‘volunteers’ and receive $100 a month. Yet soldiers will tell you that regular Armenian units composed of conscripts are being sent to Nagorno Karabakh. They receive $2 a month. However, the Karabakh authorities argue that they are in a stronger bargaining position than either Abkhazia or South Ossetia. As they put it, the Abkhaz conflict is mainly about refugees or IDPs, while the Karabakh conflict is also about Nagorno Karabakh’s territorial integrity. The Karabakh authorities claim that the northern part of Nagorno Karabakh is still occupied by Azerbaijan, while at the same time parts of Azerbaijan are occupied by Karabakh. As in Abkhazia and South Ossetia, the main victims of the Karabakh conflict are the refugees and IDPs. Over the whole period 1989–94, some 200,000 Armenians fled Azerbaijan, mostly to Armenia and Nagorno Karabakh but some 45,000 to Russia; 185,000 Azeris and 11,000 Muslim Kurds were forced to leave Armenia; 47,000 Azeris were forced to leave Nagorno Karabakh; and 500,000–600,000 Azeris were expelled from the occupied territories (Herzig 1999) Both sides manipulate the refugees and IDPs for political purposes. On the Armenian side, it is argued that Armenians from Azerbaijan are refugees, as are Azerbaijanis from Nagorno Karabakh. But Azeris from the occupied territories are displaced persons since Armenia recognizes that the occupied territories are part of Azerbaijan to be returned as part of a settlement in which the independence of Nagorno Karabakh is recognized. On this line of thought, refugees should be integrated into their

138 Mient Jan Faber and Mary Kaldor host societies and only IDPs (Azeris from the occupied territories) should be allowed to return after a settlement. Within Armenia, the strategy has been forcible integration as though there never was an Armenian community in Azerbaijan. This has included, on occasion, forced conscription, something forbidden according to the Geneva Conventions. Even so, the degree of integration tends to be used for political purposes. Thus, refugees were encouraged to vote in the referendum on independence but were not allowed to vote in the 1996 elections when it was feared they would vote against the ruling party. On the Azerbaijani side, the opposite approach has been adopted. The continued existence of large numbers of displaced persons, living in tragic conditions – at least half are in refugee camps – provides a constant reminder of the occupation of Azerbaijani territory and the possibility of a future war of liberation. Very little is done to help the IDPs; indeed, humanitarian assistance from international organizations is creamed off or ‘taxed’. Unlike in Abkhazia and South Ossetia, there is very little selforganization. We visited a refugee camp near Sabirabad, where the refugees have lived in tents and mud houses for many years now. The day we visited it was 45 degrees Celsius and the tents were boiling hot, even at night. ‘You are the 61st delegation that came to visit us, but we have never seen any improvement.’ For them it was clear: the world has sided with Armenia. Over and over again, they have been taught that President Aliyev is the only person who cares about them. As one person said to us: ‘Tell Aliyev that thanks to his love, we are dying.’ Food and health care are provided by the Red Cross and the Red Crescent. Because of growing donor fatigue and because oil revenues are coming on-stream, humanitarian aid is expected to diminish by at least 50 per cent. The IDPs each receive 4 kg of flour every two months. They are encouraged to grow vegetables and fruit around their mud houses inside the camp, and to look for (non-existent) jobs outside, but there is no visible improvement in their situation. Their main activity is to wait for the day of return to their homes. Integration in the rest of Azerbaijan is for most of them out of the question, because they don’t want it (the authorities claim) or because they are needed as a symbol of despair.

Current human security efforts Under the present circumstances it is hard to imagine a solution to any of the conflicts that bridges the two opposite positions: independence (the ethnic-separatist position) and territorial integrity (the Georgian and Azeri state position). Neither Russia nor Armenia seems willing to put pressure on the authorities in the three conflict zones. In all three conflicts, there is a strong ethnic component arising out of the experience of

Human security in the South Caucasus 139 war and solidified by isolation. A decade of unsuccessful negotiations offers a lot of evidence as to why traditional methods of conflict resolution fail in these situations. Nevertheless, in the South Caucasus and especially in Georgia (Abkhazia and South Ossetia), the subject of ‘conflictology’ is still very fashionable among NGOs and academics who are engaged in a variety of conflict-resolution initiatives with active assistance from international NGOs like the UK-based Conciliation Resources and International Alert (see for example Cohen 1999; European Centre for Conflict Prevention 2004; Killick 2002). Conciliation Resources in particular has done a great deal to bring together the relevant parties to the conflict in Abkhazia on a regular basis. And there have been similar efforts in relation to South Ossetia. Indeed, a new Conflict Centre is to be set up within the Ministry for Conflict Resolution to advise the minister. Typically, the mechanisms of this art of conflictology tend to focus exclusively on peace at the expense of human security and human rights. The main aim is to bring the parties of the conflict together and to reach some kind of agreement. However, the official parties to the conflict are usually the ruling groups, who express rather extreme positions. Under these circumstances, not only are compromises very difficult to find but the proposals that are floating around are based on what is possible, not what is just. The losers tend to be the refugees or displaced persons who are usually excluded from the discussions. Currently, detailed proposals are being circulated about how to solve the Abkhaz problem. After three years of frequent meetings between NGOs from Georgia and Abkhazia, the National Security Council of Georgia before the Rose Revolution requested that the NGOs responsible for organizing these meetings draw up a concrete proposal for solving the conflict. The proposal was published in a Georgian newspaper, although the new government has not yet reacted. Under the proposal, Abkhazia would achieve unprecedented autonomy, just short of independence. The IDPs will be allowed to return but the Abkhaz minority would be constitutionally guaranteed a controlling role in all the organs of government. Conflict resolution is typical of the top-down approach to security. International organizations in the South Caucasus, such as the UN, the OSCE and the COE, whose mandate is to contribute to more security and arouse expectations among ordinary citizens that these organizations are also there to protect human beings, and thereby to solve their human security needs. However, the mandates of these international organizations are not at all dovetailed with the needs of the local civilians. On the contrary, they are based on state security issues, on international compromises and, last but not least, on the security needs of those organizations themselves. The main international organizations that are supposed to address human security needs are the United Nations (Abkhazia), the OSCE (South Ossetia and Nagorno Karabakh), and the COE.

140 Mient Jan Faber and Mary Kaldor The United Nations In 1993, the UN Security Council decided to establish the United Nations Observer Mission in Georgia (UNOMIG). After the ceasefire in 1994, it was mandated to observe the implementation of the ceasefire agreement, including the operation of the CIS peacekeeping force, the control of heavy military equipment, and the withdrawal of Georgian troops, as well as keeping in contact with the parties to the agreement and helping to create the conditions for the return of refugees. But UNOMIG has a very small military contingent, and its mandate does not allow the mission to intervene when the ceasefire is violated. Indeed, UNOMIG has suspended its patrolling operations whenever it has come under attack. The first time this happened was in September 1993, when an initial ceasefire broke down. It happened also just before the fighting that broke out in 1998. At that time, we interviewed the Pakistani UNOMIG commander. He stressed that his people were field-hardened soldiers and that they were the eyes and ears of the United Nations. He proved (by what mathematicians call ‘negative demonstration’) the effectiveness of UNOMIG; it was after UNOMIG had suspended its operations because four of its men had been taken hostage that hostilities broke out in the Gali region in May 1998. According to the commander, both sides had tried to take advantage of the absence of UNOMIG. When asked whether the logical response to the hostage-taking should not have been a strengthening of UNOMIG instead of suspension, he replied that the sending nations would not allow this level of risk to its personnel. UNOMIG has recently made some modest improvements. Georgians are again returning to the Gali region and UNOMIG has sent a small number of civil police to help the Abkhaz authorities with law enforcement. Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe Since 1992, the OSCE has been responsible for negotiations over Nagorno Karabakh through the so-called Minsk Process, co-chaired by France, Russia and the United States. The negotiations have gone through different phases, without concrete results so far – only the truce of 1994 that brought about a ceasefire is still holding. After seven years in which international mediators presented numerous, mostly unsuccessful, peace plans to the parties, a new approach was adopted. Starting in April 1999, the co-chairs of the Minsk group organized a series of bilateral meetings between the Presidents of Armenia and Azerbaijan, Robert Kocharian and Heidar Aliyev, mostly sponsored by the USA. After the last meeting in Key West (USA) in April 2001, the co-chairs expressed the feeling that the parties were very close to a final settlement of the conflict. But it did not materialize. The reasons an agreement could not be reached have to do with the top-down approach. The international facilitators conducted closed-door

Human security in the South Caucasus 141 negotiations with the leaders of Armenia and Azerbaijan. Instead of mobilizing public support for peace, this approach had the opposite effect, fuelling the rise of militant groups and marginalizing the moderates. Indeed, people were prepared for the worst. Nobody knew whether or not territorial integrity would be respected, whether IDPs and refugees would be allowed to return home and what role the international community would be expected to play. The result was that public debate became more and more heated. Virulent newspaper articles were calling for war. The moderates were sidelined and often accused of high treason. The climate that was cultivated did not allow any constructive discussion on a possible compromise. In effect, the OSCE neglected the human security needs of the local population. Had the talks succeeded, the resulting agreement would have legitimized the anti-democratic positions of the two leaders, who would have become increasingly dependent on the international community. Given the lack of trust, this could easily have undermined the success of the agreement. Since then the peace process has come to a halt. Azerbaijan has signalled that it is in favour of a limited deal that would involve Armenian withdrawal from part of the buffer zone around Nagorno Karabakh in return for reopening the railroad from Baku to Yerevan (and Tbilisi). But Armenia is interested only in a package deal. On the other hand, Nagorno Karabakh has signalled that it would be ready to construct a common water system which would greatly help Azerbaijan. At present the water which streams down from the Karabakh mountains is simply wasted. Baku has refused any kind of cooperation. As well as Nagorno Karabakh, the OSCE is responsible for negotiations over South Ossetia. A Mission of Long Duration was established in 1992 with the task of encouraging dialogue, identifying and eliminating the sources of tension and monitoring the Joint Peacekeeping Force. A draft agreement was reached in 2000, but it turned out to be very difficult to implement despite many confidence-building measures (road and rail links, economic cooperation, and the like) and despite the spontaneous return of refugees and IDPs. Since then there has been a renewed military build-up with Russian support. The OSCE is also responsible for other tasks in the region. It undertakes border monitoring as well as assistance with the conversion of military bases and combating organized crime. The OSCE also has offices in all three countries, with responsibility for democratization. The OSCE’s failure to criticize the elections in 2003 has had a detrimental effect on its public reputation. In Armenia recently the new Russian Head of Mission said that Armenia was making good progress towards democracy and gave a positive assessment of the country’s media and electoral process, despite the flawed nature of the elections and despite the fact that the only independent television station is still off the air. Moreover, there is no cooperation between the OSCE offices. Cross-border activities are forbidden. Confidence-building

142 Mient Jan Faber and Mary Kaldor measures (CBMs) between the people of the two countries cannot be encouraged, let alone undertaken by the OSCE. As a consequence, the OSCE offices can work only in an environment which is poisoned by an atmosphere of hatred that reflects the unresolved conflicts. Indeed, it can be argued that the OSCE, which claims to work for security and cooperation, will remain a lame duck so as long as it is unable to match its practice with its mandate. The Council of Europe The three South Caucasus countries have all become members of the Council of Europe. Since the COE considers itself the main guarantor of the dominant value system in Europe, it functions as a watchdog vis-à-vis its member states to assess whether the rule of law and democratic regulations are in line with European standards and well respected. Its progress reports have been rather critical of the developments in the three countries, although much progress has been reported in Georgia since the Rose Revolution. In March 2004 the COE Secretary-General, Walter Schwimmer, warmly welcomed the decision of the new President of Azerbaijan, Ilham Aliyev, to release or retry all individuals considered to be political prisoners by the COE. In May 2004 President Ilham Aliyev pardoned 363 prisoners, seven of whom were on a COE priority list of eleven political prisoners. Due to continuous pressure from the families of political prisoners and human rights organizations in Azerbaijan, which resulted in several resolutions12 of the parliamentary assembly of the COE, the Council took up the issue and made Azerbaijan’s membership conditional on the release of political prisoners. However, in discussions with the Azeri authorities it was ready to compromise; it agreed that the Azeri authorities could either release or retry political prisoners. Some retrials took place, for instance of the Tallish leader Aliakram Humbatov, but once again the trial turned out to be a total sham, according to independent observers such as monitors from the Azerbaijan Helsinki Citizens’ Assembly. Furthermore, President Aliyev did not release political prisoners but pardoned them after they had signed a letter in which they promised to cease their engagement in politics. Instead of political prisoners, they have become political outcasts.

A human security approach for the European Union An important aim of a human security policy for the EU should be to fill the existing gap between the security problems of human beings and the role of international organizations. Such a policy is different from, but could also be complementary to, the policies so far conducted by international organizations like the OSCE and the UN. The OSCE and the UN

Human security in the South Caucasus 143 have restricted themselves to policies accepted by the parties in conflict. Those policies have failed to solve the conflicts for more than a decade, and there is little reason to assume that it is just a matter of time before they succeed. What the EU needs to do as part of its neighbourhood policy is to find ways to export the European integration model to the South Caucasus. (For discussion of current EU approaches, see Lynch 2003.) Rather than focusing on negotiations about status, as in the conflict-resolution approach, the aim would be to bring people together to develop ways to improve the lives of individuals. In general, we propose that the EU start with a human security approach aimed at improving everyday living conditions in the South Caucasus by encouraging an integration process from below. Eventually, this might also open up new political possibilities for solving the conflicts, although the primary purpose is to help individual people now. For such a strategy, the EU needs people on the ground, initially for monitoring purposes and for concrete humanitarian, legal, and other forms of assistance to people with human security problems. Eventually it might also need effective security forces to prevent the outbreak of new wars, to protect refugees and IDPs and to contribute to the implementation of agreements. It also needs to commit additional resources to rehabilitation projects. In our view, the real issue is not how to find a modus vivendi between the parties but how to find a strategy that meets the needs of individual human beings, and in particular the main victims, who are the refugees and IDPs. Indeed, human security is about protection of individuals and seeking ways in which individual lives can be helped. Such a strategy might include the following: 1

2

3

A monitoring mission could be dispatched to the South Caucasus,13 including the breakaway regions, with the task of closely following political developments, in particular the human rights situation and the position of IDPs and refugees. The isolation of the breakaway regions has not brought the underlying conflicts any closer to a solution and leads to a stigmatization of those regions, which by itself is an obstacle to any solution. There should be an EU presence on the ground designed to engage in ongoing interactions with those who feel most insecure. We propose that the EU set up a number of EU law shops all over the South Caucasus, where people with human security problems can receive advice and assistance on how to make use of domestic and international law and procedures to deal with human rights violations. Such law shops should also prepare advisory reports for the authorities in the country on how to prevent and address the human security needs. At home, the asylum policies of the member states should be further coordinated and based on human security principles. EU law shops in

144 Mient Jan Faber and Mary Kaldor

4

5

6

7

8

the South Caucasus must be mandated with the task to check, if necessary, asylum requests. The decision-making process in the EU member states has to take into account the reports of the law shops. At present, the Commission implements aid programmes,14 and at the political level an EU Special Representative appointed by the Council is based in Helsinki (his home town). What is needed and might be possible under the new arrangements envisaged for the EU Foreign Minister in the Constitution is to combine those tasks/functions and to have a much larger listening and acting presence on the ground. A strategy should be implemented for either return or reintegration of refugees/IDPs involving property restitution and readiness to deploy a protection force (police and other civilians) to assist returning refugees/IDPs. A strategy should be implemented for deploying a pre-emptive stability force in order to prevent the outbreak of new wars. This could be necessary in the case of South Ossetia, where tension is now building. A strategy should be implemented for developing economic rehabilitation and infrastructural links over the whole region so as break down the artificial barriers imposed by blockades and checkpoints and to legalize trading. Some steps can be taken easily, for example pressing Turkey to open the border with Armenia; others may need to be part of a package linked to the return of refugees/IDPs. The newly appointed EU Special Representative for the South Caucasus, Heikki Talvitie, has indicated a willingness to start a few infrastructure projects in Nagorno Karabakh if and only if some confidence-building measures (CBMs) are agreed upon by the two sides. The Karabakh government has provided a list of 15 possible CBMs between Azerbaijan and Nagorno Karabakh. Talvitie has promised to discuss the list with the Azeri authorities. A strategy should be implemented for the democratic development of the whole region, involving common media and civil society initiatives, and assisting the various civil society groups to meet each other and cross borders.

Notes This chapter is based a series of visits to the region by the authors, the most recent in July 2004. 1 An introduction in the concept of human security can be found in Winslow (2003). 2 The human security website of the Canadian Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade (http://www.humansecurity.gc.ca), for example, still takes it for granted that state security and human security are mutually supportive. 3 We met the Minister of Defence in Nagorno Karabakh in 1993. He was a former Intourist guide and used to be active in the Communist Party and in

Human security in the South Caucasus 145

4

5

6 7 8

9 10 11 12 13 14

the Komsomol. He was, we were told, chosen because his experience in tourism meant that he was good at logistics. Like everyone else we met on that visit, he wore fatigues, sneakers and dark glasses. He attended the same KGB academy in Leningrad as Putin and Aliyev. This section is based on interviews with the Armenian Centre for National and International Studies, the Armenian Helsinki Committee, the Armenian chapter of the Helsinki Citizens’ Assembly, the Centre for Rights and Liberties, the news agency Armenia Now, the Military Prosecutor, the head of the Department for National Minorities and Religious Affairs, as well as the asylumseekers and their families mentioned in the text. This section is based on interviews with the Minister of Justice, Fikret Mamedov, and his staff, the directors of the Bayil prison in Baku and the Qobustan prison, the Human Rights Centre in Baku and the Helsinki Citizens’ Assembly. In the above prisons we met with Surat Husseinov and a number of times with Aliakram Gumbatov. We also interviewed Polad Memedov and Teymur Gullidzjinski in the Netherlands. Based on interviews. With financial support from the Soros Foundation, Kmara received training from the Serbian youth movement Otpor which in 2000 initiated the democratic revolution in Serbia, which brought Kostunica to power. It can be argued that Adjaria is different because there was no war rather than because there were no ethnic differences. Although people living in Adjaria are ethnically Georgian, the majority are Muslim, unlike the predominantly Christian population of the rest of Georgia. In a war situation, it would have been possible to mobilize around religious identity. Identity conflicts are typically based on small differences. As well as those people listed at the end of the chapter, we also met with members of the parliamentary committee on human rights, the returned head of the secret services and local NGOs in Abkhazia. During our last visit, we were not allowed to enter South Ossetia because of the high risks involved. During previous visits we have met the authorities, the head of the Russian peacekeeping force and several NGOs. As well as those people listed at the end of the chapter, we met with the Helsinki Initiative 1992 and the Press Club. Resolution 1272 of the Parliamentary Assembly, art. 12 reads: ‘The Assembly reiterates that there can be no political prisoners in any member state of the Council of Europe’ (COE 2002). Analogous to the European Commission Monitoring Mission (ECMM) in the Balkans in the 1990s. A recent donors’ meeting organized by the EU pledged $1 billion in aid to Georgia (nearly half of which is provided by the United States), according to the EU representative in Tbilisi.

References COE (Council of Europe) (2002) Parliamentary Assembly Resolution 1272 (2000). Available online at: http://assembly.coe.int/Documents/AdoptedText/ta02/ eres1272.htm#_ftn1 (accessed 27 October 2004). Cohen, J. (ed.) (1999) A Question of Sovereignty: The Georgia–Abkhazia Peace Process, special issue of Accord: An International Review of Peace Initiatives, 7, London: Conciliation Resources. Available online at: http://www.c-r.org/accord/geor-ab/ accord7/index.shtml (accessed 27 October 2004).

146 Mient Jan Faber and Mary Kaldor De Waal, T. (2003) The Black Garden: Armenia and Azerbaijan through Peace and War, New York: New York University Press. EIU (Economist Intelligence Unit) (2003a) Azerbaijan: Country Profile 2001, London: EIU. —— (2003b) Georgia, Armenia: Country Profile 2001, London: EIU. —— (2004a) Azerbaijan Country Report, London: EIU. —— (2004b) Georgia, Armenia: Country Report, London, February. Eurasianet (URL) Insight: Armenia, Azerbaijan, Georgia. http://eurasianet.org/ departments/insight/index.shtml (accessed 9 November 2004). European Centre for Conflict Prevention (2004) European Union and the South Caucasus: Opportunities for Intensified Engagement. Outcomes and Recommendations form a policy dialogue seminar hosted by the Netherlands Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the European Centre for Conflict Prevention, The Hague, 24–6 May. Freizer, S. (2003) ‘Dynasty and democracy in Azerbaijan: a warning for Central Asia’, Opendemocracy.net, 5 December. Available online at: http://www. muslimuzbekistan.com/eng/ennews/2003/12/ennews07122003.html (accessed 27 October 2004). —— (2004) ‘The pillars of Georgia’s political transition’, Opendemocracy.net, 12 February. Available online at: http://www.kafkas.org.tr/perspektif/2004_subat/ 5_Sabine%20Freizer_12.02.2004.htm (accessed 27 October 2004). Herzig, E. (1999) The New Caucasus: Armenia, Azerbaijan and Georgia, London: Royal Institute of International Affairs. HRW (Human Rights Watch) (2004a) Agenda for Reform: Human Rights Priorities after the Georgian Revolution, New York: HRW. Available online at: http://www. hrw.org/english/docs/2004/02/24/georgi7650.htm#P58_5798 (accessed 27 October 2004). —— (2004b) Cycle of Repression: Human Rights Violations in Armenia, New York: HRW. Available online at: http://www.hrw.org/backgrounder/eca/armenia/ 0504/index.htm (accessed 27 October 2004). ICG (International Crisis Group) (2003) Georgia: What Now?, Europe Report No. 151, Tbilisi/Brussels: ICG. Available online at: http://www.icg.org/library/ documents/europe/caucasus/151_georgia_what_now.pdf (accessed 27 October 2004). —— (2004a) Azerbaijan: Turning over a New Leaf, Europe Report No. 156, Baku/Brussels: ICG. Available online at: http://www.icg.org/library/documents/ europe/caucasus/156_azerbaijan_turning_over_a_new_leaf.pdf (accessed 27 October 2004). —— (2004b) Saakashvili’s Ajaria Success: Repeatable Elsewhere in Georgia? Europe Briefing, Tbilisi/Brussels: ICG. —— (2004c) Armenia: Internal Instability Ahead, Europe Report No. 158, Yerevan/Brussels: ICG. Available online at: http://www.icg.org/home/ index.cfm?l⫽1&id⫽3076 (accessed 9 November 2004). IMF (International Monetary Fund) (2001) Republic of Armenia: Recent Economic Developments and Selected Issues, IMF Country Report No. 01/78, Washington DC: IMF. Available online at: http://www.imf.org/external/pubs/ft/scr/2001/ cr0178.pdf (accessed 9 November 2004). —— (2002) Azerbaijan: Selected Issues and Statistical Appendix, IMF Country Report No.02/41, Washington DC: IMF. Available online at: http://www. imf.org/ external/pubs/ft/scr/2002/cr0241.pdf (accessed 9 November 2004).

Human security in the South Caucasus 147 Kechichian, J. and Karasik, T. (1995) ‘The crisis in Azerbaijan: how clans influence the politics of an emerging republic’, Middle East Policy, 4/1–2: 57–62. Killick, N. (2002) Conflict Prevention in Azerbaijan, London: International Alert. Lynch, D. (ed.) (2003) The South Caucasus: A Challenge to the EU, Chaillot Paper 65, Paris: European Union Institute for Security Studies. Available online at: http://www.iss-eu.org/chaillot/chai65e.pdf (accessed 27 October 2004). Melander, E. (2001) ‘The Nagorno-Karabakh conflict revisited: was the war inevitable?’ Journal of Cold War Studies, 3/2: 48–75. Suny, R. (1996) Transcaucasia, Nationalism and Social Change: Essays in the History of Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Georgia, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. UNDP (United Nations Development Programme) (1994) Human Development Report. New York: UNDP. Available online at: http://hdr.undp.org/reports/ global/1994/en/ (accessed 9 November 2004). Winslow, D. (2003) Human Security, inaugural lecture, Free University, Amsterdam, 13 May. Available online at: http://student.scw.vu.nl/_vakken_2004_2005/ seminar-hs/_pdf/seminar-hs_HumanSecurity_14_0.pdf (accessed 27 October 2004).

People interviewed Baltov, Atanas (Senior Political Officer, United Nations Observer Mission in Georgia, UNOMIG) Darchiashvili, David (Executive Director, Open Society Georgia Foundation) Gogia, Giorgia (Analyst, International Crisis Group, ICG) Gvinjiya, Maxim (De Facto Acting Deputy Foreign Minister, Abkhazia) Goukassian, Arkadij (De Facto President, Nagorno Karabakh) Goukassian, Mavr (General Prosecutor, Nagorno Karabakh) Holtze, Torben (Head of Delegation, Ambassador, European Union Delegation of the European Commission for Georgia and Armenia) Jacoby, Julia (Project Manager, European Union Delegation of the European Commission for Georgia and Armenia) Jonsson, Jonas (Political Advisor, European Union) Dr. Khutsishvili, George (Chairman of Board and Founding Director, International Center on Conflict and Negotiation, ICCN) Kunin, Daniel L. (Senior Advisor to the Georgian Government, Office of the Prime Minister of Georgia) Mailyan, Masis (De Facto Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs, Nagorno Karabakh) Staszewski, Marian (Principal Advisor, Head of Political Division, United Nations Observer Mission in Georgia (UNOMIG)) Tax, Blanche (Protection Officer, United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, UNHCR)

7

Middle East security A view from Palestine, Israel and Iraq Yahia Said

Europe and the Middle East: interconnected security Security threats in the Middle East1 have the tendency to spread far beyond the borders of the conflicts that generate them. Even before the growing interconnectedness of globalization, the conflict in the Holy Land provoked passionate and at times violent reactions far beyond the communities directly affected by it. It managed to excite and radicalize people who can claim hardly any connection to the region. The region’s oil with its growing importance for the world economy, as well as large diaspora communities from the Middle East (especially in Europe), provide a link between regional and global insecurity. This interconnectedness has had two effects on external, including European, involvement in the region: the main Middle East conflicts were never far from the centre of the international political stage, and policies were more concerned with confining insecurity to the region and preventing it from spreading beyond its borders than with protecting the people directly affected. The policy of ‘containment’ and ‘dual containment’, applied first to Iran in the 1980s and then to both Iran and Iraq, was a prime example of this approach. Isolation and sanctions, especially as applied to Iraq, were allowed to erode people’s security and the state’s long-term viability as long as they held the promise of shielding the West from the threats associated with its regime. US Secretary of State Madeleine Albright2 famously agreed that children’s deaths as a result of sanctions in Iraq may have been a price worth paying for preventing Saddam from acquiring weapons of mass destruction. Regional sources of insecurity that did not seem to carry an immediate threat of contagion – human rights violations in particular – did not receive the attention they deserved. As with policies elsewhere, top-down approaches dominated that viewed the Middle East as a set of interests and threats – pieces of a puzzle in a larger geo-strategic game. Efforts at addressing the conflict in the Holy Land were first focused on finding and maintaining the strategic balance of the Cold War and later a ‘final solution’ rather than meeting the immediate security needs of Pales-

Middle East security 149 tinians and Israelis. The war between Iraq and Iran, which cost over a million lives and ground the two oil-rich countries into poverty, was allowed to drag on and in some respects was sustained by the West’s fear of the Iranian revolution. The bloody civil war in Algeria and the genocide of the Kurds in Iraq received relatively little attention, although both were associated with human suffering on a larger scale than the conflict in the Holy Land. What was probably the most important source of insecurity in the region received hardly any international attention until recently. Authoritarianism was long viewed as a source of stability, ensuring both the maintenance of the balance of power in the region and the uninterrupted supply of oil from it. During the Cold War the West supported antiCommunist authoritarian regimes in Saudi Arabia, Iran and Morocco, and the Soviets supported anti-imperialist authoritarian regimes in Iraq, Syria and Libya. Later, Saddam Hussein was supported by both former enemies. The authoritarian regimes of the Middle East may have been relatively stable in the past but they never delivered on the promise of security, what with their repression at home and war adventures abroad. Today’s growing interconnectedness means that the democratic deficit in the region is becoming a source of global insecurity. With 15 Saudi hijackers on board, the September 11 attacks dramatically demonstrated how global the threat of the region’s festering authoritarianism has become. The glare of the mass media and mass communications also means that authoritarian regimes are no longer stable. Behind the façade of Saddam’s dictatorship coalition forces discovered the crumbling ruins of the Iraqi state. Today civil unrest and various elements of state failure are a fact of life across the region, from the Palestinian Authority to Morocco and from Yemen to Syria. The volatile combination of a frustrated young population and nihilist Al-Qaeda ideology is making that paragon of authoritarian stability, Saudi Arabia, look like a powder keg. State collapse is emerging as the most likely alternative to democratic transition. The authoritarian regimes of the Middle East today encapsulate all the security threats identified in the European Security Strategy, from weapons proliferation and international terrorism to regional conflict and organized crime. It is no wonder, then, that most current involvements in the region, from the US-led intervention in Iraq and the G8’s Partnership for Progress to the European Union’s Strategic Partnership, emphasize the importance of democratic reforms. Even the Roadmap for Israeli–Palestinian peace calls for reforming and democratizing the Palestinian Authority as one of its first steps (US Department of State 2003). New-found interest in democracy in the Arab world is in part motivated by the West’s self-interest in reducing the threats of terrorism emanating from the region. However, giving priority to the short-term considerations of the ‘war on terror’ over the long-term requirements of the process of

150 Yahia Said democratization in the region threatens the legitimacy of the whole process. It may lead to failure on both fronts. In an age of interconnectedness it is no longer possible to ensure security for people in the West at the expense of people in the Middle East. For the G8 and EU Partnership initiatives, the aim is to support regional efforts in managing the transition from authoritarianism. To be effective they need to be seen as legitimate in the region. This requires a multilateralist, cooperative approach that remains open to all actors and gives a central role to the UN and other regional and international organizations. It also requires a holistic approach that acknowledges the implications of the Israel–Palestine conflict, the negative legacy of international involvement in the region, oil dependence and underdevelopment for the process of democratization – an approach that is mindful of the Arab and Islamic context within which political transformations are taking place. The Partnership initiatives offer a medium- and long-term framework for addressing security challenges in the Middle East and broad guidelines for involvement in the region. But events in many parts of the region call for more immediate action. This is particularly the case with the Israeli–Palestinian conflict and Iraq. The precarious nature of many a state in the region also means that contingency plans need to be drawn up against possible state failure in other countries. The conflict in the Holy Land and for the past 13 years the situation in Iraq have preoccupied both outside powers and people in the Middle East. While many recognize the need for a comprehensive approach to the region’s problems, the focus on these two areas often seems to come at the expense of everything else. The EU has a long history of involvement in the Palestine–Israel conflict. It has a significant economic presence as Israel’s main trading partner and the Palestinian Authority’s main paymaster. This, however, is not being translated into an effective political presence. This can only partly be explained by resistance to Europe’s involvement by parts of the US and Israeli establishments. Despite agreement on the general principles for a Middle East settlement, there are significant differences in approach among the leading European nations. Europe also seems to underestimate its ability to chart an independent course on the conflict from that adopted by the US. Early in 2004 Europe sided with the US and Israel in arguing that the International Court of Justice (ICJ) in The Hague should not discuss the legality of the separation fence being built by Israel on occupied Palestinian land. Later that year, when the ICJ ruled against the legality of the fence Europe joined the majority of UN member states in demanding that Israel comply with the court’s findings (UN 2004; ICJ 2004). In Iraq, divisions that emerged on the eve of the war and the deteriorating security situation are preventing the EU from playing a meaningful role, although it has a lot to contribute in terms of post-conflict and post-

Middle East security 151 authoritarian transition and reconstruction assistance. The Medium Term Strategy (EC 2004) continues to emphasize action through the UN and international financial institutions rather than directly by the EU. This chapter examines the security threats and international involvement in Palestine–Israel and Iraq from the perspective of the people on the ground, and attempts to draw some conclusions for international, including EU, policy.

Palestine–Israel The security needs of Palestinians and Israelis . . . Terror attacks, closures, house demolitions, assassinations and the use of lethal military force against civilian populations are just some of the horrors faced by Israelis and Palestinians since the beginning of the AlAqsa Intifada in September 2000 and the ensuing collapse of the Oslo Accords of 1993. Along with the apparent lack of prospects for the resumption of negotiations, continued settlement activity and economic decline, they are destroying both societies. The violence perpetrated by the two sides is neither similar nor symmetric. Israel, with vastly superior resources, is inflicting the full spectrum of pain on the Palestinians, from land seizures and denial of freedom of movement through economic strangulation, house demolitions and assassinations, all the way to total war. The Palestinians are basically limited in their choice of violent means to suicide attacks, which are at once more random and more shocking than most of the weapons employed by Israel so far. The inability to protect oneself, one’s family and one’s property produces an overwhelming sense of humiliation among Palestinians. This is the main psychological corollary to the death, destruction and deprivation caused by Israeli violence. Suicide attacks, random and incomprehensible to many ordinary Israelis, turn innocent everyday acts like going to the market or to a café into dangerous activities. This produces fear, the main psychological effect of Palestinian violence. . . . are not being met by those with the responsibility to provide for them The Palestinian Authority (PA) has all the hallmarks of a failing state. Plagued with corruption, incompetence and authoritarianism, Arafat and his cronies carried a significant share of the responsibility for the current state of affairs. Since their return to the occupied territories on the West Bank in 1993, they have failed to deliver leadership or good governance to their people. Before Oslo, the Palestinians in the occupied territories had a relatively well-established civilian infrastructure, especially in health care and

152 Yahia Said education. The PA was created to complement this infrastructure by providing security to both Palestinians and Israelis pending the final status agreement and the establishment of a Palestinian state. Significant efforts and resources were expended on establishing the trappings of statehood, including an airport, television and several security structures – National Security, General Intelligence, Preventive Security, Special Forces, Civilian Police, Force 17 and more. The PA, however, was prevented by the Oslo Accords from protecting its citizens against the main threat to their security – Israeli soldiers and settlers. Moreover, its own security structures became at times an added threat to the safety and well-being of ordinary Palestinians. The PA also failed to establish a monopoly on violence in its own territories and to provide security for Israelis from terrorist attacks emanating from there. Moreover, some of its own members were involved in terrorist attacks in one capacity or another. Life for ordinary Palestinians deteriorated under Oslo. The PA’s corruption and authoritarianism, combined with accelerated settlement activity, bypass roads and checkpoints eroded Palestinian faith in and support for the peace process. Instead of promoting peace and explaining to the Palestinian public the costs involved, Arafat maintained a belligerent populist discourse aimed at covering up his regime’s shortcomings while conducting negotiations with the Israelis behind closed doors. The result was that Arafat went to the ‘final status negotiations’ at Camp David lacking the legitimacy, mandate or even tools to engage in serious negotiations. Palestinian frustration burst into the open in September 2000 after Ariel Sharon’s provocative visit to the Al-Aqsa/Temple Mount compound. Fuelled by a brutal Israeli response, the Al-Aqsa Intifada quickly deteriorated into an ever-deepening ‘spasm of violence’. During most of the Intifada, the PA was rudderless, pandering to public discontent while at the same time trying to manage the violence in order to maintain international legitimacy. The PA today, all but pulverized by the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF) and continued challenges to its authority and legitimacy by its own people, is staring in the face of collapse. Palestinians, caught between brutal Israeli occupation on one side and the faltering Palestinian Authority on the other, turned to the extremists. Hamas has eclipsed Arafat’s Fatah faction as the main representative of the Palestinian mainstream. It also controls most Palestinian campuses. Its charities, clinics and schools are omnipresent and indispensable for a growing number of Palestinians. Its military wing, Al-Qassam Brigades, was for a long time responsible for the majority of suicide attacks. Today the military wings of the various factions are virtually indistinguishable in behaviour and beliefs. Unlike the PA, Hamas and other armed groups are very clear about their goals and how they intend to achieve them. According to Hamas, security for Palestinians will be achieved only by defeating Israel. It offers the ‘balance of terror’ as part of a comprehensive security solution which

Middle East security 153 includes social and economic provisions through its charities. Hamas rejects the peace process and views it as a cover for continued Israeli occupation. It questions the legitimacy of the Palestinian Authority, which it views as a proxy for Israel. Hamas considers the Intifada a success, citing the large number of Israeli casualties, declining tourism, weakened economy, plans for withdrawal from Gaza and even the separation fence. Hamas’s views on the peace process, the Palestinian Authority and the course of the Intifada dominate Palestinian political discourse. The head of Hamas’s military wing, the Al-Qassam Brigades, said in a recent interview: The criminal Sharon was elected to smash our resistance in 100 days. But now the man who once said [the isolated Gaza settlement of] Netzarim was just like Tel Aviv, is planning to withdraw from Gaza without anything in return. This is a great prophecy of victory. (Burston 2004) Israel has had five prime ministers in the ten years since Oslo, alternating between left and right, and between support for and opposition to the peace process. All of them, however, failed to stop the slide from the ‘purity of arms’ model of enlightened occupation to the quagmire of counter-insurgency. Throughout the Oslo years, Israeli leaders, not unlike their Palestinian counterparts, continued to treat the other side as adversaries and viewed the negotiating process as a zero-sum game where each side’s gain is the other’s loss. This translated into foot-dragging in implementing interim agreements and continued, and even accelerated, settlement activities under both Labour and Likud governments. Paradoxically, Labour Party leaders such as Ehud Barak considered such an approach necessary to blunt opposition to the peace process. Ariel Sharon is following the same tactic today by bolstering settlements in the West Bank in order to reduce opposition to a withdrawal from Gaza. The peace process, which failed to bring tangible benefits to ordinary Palestinians, had a mixed impact on the lives of ordinary Israelis. On the one hand, the end of the first Intifada, the prospects for peace and the lifting of the long-standing Arab boycott of any company dealing with Israel sent the Israeli economy into an investment-driven boom. On the other, Palestinian terror attacks escalated and became more lethal, especially in the late 1990s. By the time of the Camp David talks in 2000, Prime Minister Ehud Barak seemed to have lost touch with the Israeli public. He maintained faith in clinching a final deal long after ordinary people had given up on one. The ‘Barak offer’ augmented later by Clinton and the Taba negotiations formed, by most accounts, a good basis for a final settlement. Arafat’s failure to engage with it was not only a product of his own shortcomings but also a result of the context in which it was presented. After

154 Yahia Said five years of broken promises, stalling, accelerated settlement expansion, land confiscation and bypass roads, the Palestinians had no faith left in their Israeli interlocutors (Malley and Agha 2001). The collapse of the Camp David negotiations and the new Intifada came as a shock for Barak and his supporters on the left and precipitated a total collapse of the peace camp. They viewed Arafat’s demand for the recognition of the right of return as an indication that the Palestinians did not want peace. This constituted a capitulation to the right and propelled Ariel Sharon, one of its most hawkish representatives, to power. Sharon came to power in February 2001 under the slogan ‘peace and security’. He declared that, as a hawk with well-established credentials, he was uniquely placed to deliver the ‘painful compromises’ needed to achieve peace. He proceeded to establish a national unity government with the Labour party to underpin his commitment. What followed, however, contradicted his stance as a peacemaker. At best, Sharon’s strategy seemed aimed at postponing indefinitely any meaningful political negotiations with the Palestinians and, by extension, any consequent concessions. His conditions for resuming negotiations have evolved from ‘seven days of quiet’ to ‘dismantling the terror infrastructure’ to extensive reform of the PA and the removal of Arafat from the political scene. Whatever his strategy, Sharon’s refusal to conduct ‘negotiations under fire’ and his ‘rolling campaign’ to destroy the ‘terror infrastructure’ led to a gradual intensification of the violence which culminated in ‘Defensive Shield’ in the Spring of 2002 – the reoccupation of most Palestinian territory and the de facto abandonment of the Oslo peace accords. The escalating violence has created a situation in which the Israeli political discourse is dominated by the right. Like the Palestinians, the Israelis are flocking to politicians who believe that the only way to achieve security is by defeating the other side. Like their Palestinian opponents, Israeli hardliners are claiming victory. Brigadier General Gadi Shamni, the commander of IDF forces in the Gaza Strip, said that the army ‘wins in this conflict, several times every day’, adding that ‘we have no problem to continue fighting for as long as it takes’ (Harel 2004). Unilateral separation The Israeli government’s current strategy pivots around the ‘Gaza redeployment’ and the ‘separation fence’. The former refers to a planned withdrawal of Israeli soldiers and settlers from the Gaza Strip. The latter refers to the construction of a wall between the West Bank and Israel proper. Both actions are manifestations of the policy of ‘unilateral separation’, whereby it is assumed that neither a negotiated solution nor a total Israeli military victory is possible at the moment. In the meantime, something needs to be done to bring back security, especially to Israelis living inside the Green Line3 and the large settlement blocks in the West Bank.

Middle East security 155 The concept is neither new nor is it confined to the Israeli right. It was promoted by Labour Prime Minister Rabin under the slogan ‘taking Gaza out of Tel Aviv’ and under Labour Prime Minister Barak under the slogan ‘us here, them there’. Unilateral separation as a principle enjoys broad support among Israelis and even Palestinians, but strong differences emerge over the details, particularly over the route of the fence separating the West Bank from Israel. As it is conceived today, the fence encroaches deeply into Palestinian territories to include as many settlements as possible. This is causing the confiscation of additional Palestinian lands and great disruption for those living along or near the fence. For these reasons, sections of the route have been found to be illegal by the Israeli Supreme Court, which has asked the Israeli government to adjust it so as to cause minimum disruption to Palestinian lives.4 Even if the route were adjusted to minimize damage to Palestinian livelihoods along its perimeter, it is hard to imagine a viable Palestinian economy developing behind it. The same is true of Gaza. A unilateral withdrawal from the strip also carries other risks. Will the Palestinians succeed in establishing a functioning and legitimate authority there? How would Israel retaliate against terrorist attacks emanating from Gaza after the redeployment? There is also a small but influential opposition to the very principle of unilateral separation that lies across the political spectrum. Israeli rightwing opponents, including settlers, are against the evacuation of any settlements and the implications this may have for the project of ‘Greater Israel’. Israeli left-wing opponents and many Palestinians object to the ‘apartheid’ connotations of ethnic separation and its implications on Israel’s own Arab population. Vociferous Palestinian opposition to the fence reveals a sense of unease about separation in general despite broad support for the ‘two-state solution’. Some doubt the very practicability of the idea given how intertwined the two nations are, with nearly half a million Jews living in the occupied territories, including Jerusalem’s ‘neighbourhoods’, and a million Arabs living in Israel. The peace movement Within the smouldering ruins of the Oslo peace process an Israeli– Palestinian–international peace movement is struggling to give a voice to the large number of Palestinians and Israelis who feel their security to be threatened as much from extremists on their own side as from the other side. The movement combines old and new actors and ideas. The main new element in the movement is that it is no longer limited to Israeli and international activists expressing solidarity with the Palestinians. All three sides have come to realize that they need each other for support and legitimacy. Israeli peace activists and politicians who want to offer an alternative to

156 Yahia Said the policy of force and settlements need to show that there is a partner on the other side. The same is true of Palestinians who have the courage to stand up to the culture of the armed groups. Even international activists seeking a deeper and more educated involvement by the US and Europe in the region need to show that there are Palestinians and Israelis who know the way out of this conflict and are prepared to struggle for it. As with the conflict itself, the movement is not symmetric. A diverse and vibrant Israeli peace movement is underpinned by a growing number of Israelis who realize that Sharon and his hardline policies are leading nowhere. They are frightened not only by the escalating violence but by the relentless radicalization and hardening within Israeli society. There is also growing unease about army brutality in the occupied territories and the possibility of IDF soldiers and officers being charged with war crimes. By contrast, in the Palestinian territories the space between escalating Israeli violence, Hamas-dominated political discourse and the collapsing PA is too small for the articulation of a viable peace agenda. There is, however, a hard core of courageous Palestinian activists both within the PA establishment and in civil society who consistently argue for nonviolent resistance and against the hubris of ‘armed struggle’, the pitfalls of politicized Islam, and the corruption of the PA and gang violence. The international role The US has historically established a near-monopoly on mediation in the Israeli–Palestinian conflict. Despite its ambition to act in a balanced manner, the US does not hide its view of Israel as a strategic ally. US leaders consistently state that they will always stand by Israel. The Americans’ ability to act as an objective broker in the Middle East has recently been eroded by two developments. First, the American Jewish community, which has a substantial impact on US policies in the Middle East, has moved to more hardline positions. This is a direct result of the cycle of violence and is an extension of the radicalization taking place in Israel itself. The second reason is September 11. The uncompromising rhetoric, the division of the world into supporters and opponents of terrorism and the open-ended nature of the war on terrorism has been wholeheartedly embraced by hawks in Israel, making it more difficult for American officials to criticize them without seeming to apply a double standard. Iraq has had at best an ambiguous impact on American involvement in the Israeli–Palestinian conflict. On the one hand there are concerns that the US has ‘parked’ the peace process while dealing with Iraq. The war and its aftermath have further inflamed anti-American sentiments in the region and deepened the sense of humiliation felt by many Arabs as they see more foreign troops on Arab lands. On the other hand Iraq, a predominantly Muslim Arab country, is the first to beat Israel as the largest recipient of US aid and by all accounts will continue to do so for some

Middle East security 157 years to come. Moreover, the US has so much at stake in Iraq today that it may begin to compete with the relationship with Israel as the US foreign policy priority in the region. The principles guiding European policy in the Middle East reflected in the Venice Declaration of 1980 were among the first joint foreign policy initiatives of the EEC (Everts 2003). Europe is tied to Israel with an association agreement. It is Israel’s largest economic partner, accounting for over a third of its trade. Europe not only carries a significant share of the PA’s running costs, it is also the main provider of technical assistance to the Palestinians, supporting everything from building and reforming state institutions to developing civil society. The main focus of EU involvement in the conflict is the peace process, to which it has devoted significant political resources since the days of the Madrid Conference of 1991 and the Oslo Accords of 1993. The EU is a member of the Quartet that also includes the US, Russia and the UN. The EU is an architect of the Roadmap, which is currently the only existing framework for putting the peace process back on track. The Roadmap has stagnated since its adoption in 2003. The PA, which wholeheartedly supported it, has failed to implement many of its provisions. The Israel government, which only grudgingly acceded to it, has likewise failed to meet its obligations. It is difficult to evaluate the success of international engagement in the Israeli–Palestinian conflict. On the one hand, one can argue that international efforts prevented the worst from happening, mitigated the impact of Israeli actions on the Palestinian civilians and kept the peace process alive, at least on paper, so that it can be resumed when the parties are ready. On the other hand, the international community seems to have failed to protect Israelis and Palestinians from the ongoing violence – 4,000 have died in the four years from September 2000 to July 2004 (B’Tselem 2004). It did not succeed in stemming the deterioration in living conditions, especially in the Palestinian territories, nor did it stop the progressive erosion of trust between the parties. The outburst of Palestinian protest during the summer of 2004 over corruption in the PA demonstrates that international assistance to reform the PA has also fallen short of their expectations. There is disagreement even within the peace camp over the goals, principles and methods of international involvement in the region. Palestinians would like international intervention to mitigate the imbalance between the two sides. They believe the international community should intervene to protect their lives, property and human rights from Israeli violations. In this vein the Palestinians would like to see the UN Security Council imposing and enforcing a solution on the two parties based on the two-state framework. Short of that, they would like to see military, economic, political and cultural sanctions imposed on Israel and targeted especially at the army and the settlers. Palestinians believe such pressure

158 Yahia Said would also induce ordinary Israelis to agitate more energetically for ending the occupation. Most Israelis disagree. They believe that international pressure, and sanctions in particular, would only feed their historical sense of vulnerability and would unify them around the extremists. They argue that neither Europe nor the US has the moral authority to impose sanctions or an unacceptable solution on Israel. They believe that international involvement should focus instead on creating the conditions for the two sides to reach agreement. Once a framework agreement is in place, the international community could and should be involved in implementing it and monitoring compliance. As violence has intensified over the past four years, both sides have somewhat shifted their positions. More and more Palestinians are coming to understand that a solution is unlikely to succeed if it is not embraced by the Israeli public, regardless of international pressure. Many Israelis are beginning to view international intervention as more than just a boost for the other side. A recent poll found an unprecedented 56 per cent of Israelis in favour of stationing US-led international forces in the Palestinian Territories (Peace Index 2003) Going forward The quest for achieving a negotiated political solution based on the twostates framework needs to be complemented with actions aimed at providing for the immediate security needs of people on both sides. After all, the political solution is only a means of providing a secure environment wherein the two peoples can achieve their potential. Addressing the security needs of both peoples is important for mobilizing the public support needed for the peace process to succeed. Without such support peace will remain hostage to extremists and politicians with a demonstrable lack of leadership. Mobilizing public support, however, entails reaching out to Palestinians and Israelis who have moved over the past six or seven years to extremist positions. The challenge is to bring the Likud voter and the Hamas supporter into the political process without allowing the extremists in the two organizations to dictate the agenda. The moribund Roadmap attempts to achieve the right balance of addressing security needs and paving the way for the political solution. Israeli moves towards unilateral separation are threatening to overtake it. This is in part because they provide a more direct remedy to the security needs of at least one of the parties. Despite deep disagreements, both the construction of the fence and plans for redeployment from Gaza indeed seem to have galvanized the political process on all sides. In a break with the violent legacy of the Intifada, Palestinians are staging daily peaceful protests against the route of the fence, shoulder to shoulder with Israeli and international peace activists. Palestinian villagers lodged a successful

Middle East security 159 challenge with the Israeli Supreme Court against a particularly odious section of the fence north-west of Jerusalem. Their arguments were bolstered by the testimony of the Council on Peace and Security, an Israeli group comprising retired high-ranking Israeli army and police officers. Following the finding of the International Court of Justice, the Israeli Supreme Court advised the government to re-examine the legality of the entire route of the fence. The prospect of an Israeli withdrawal from Gaza is also prompting serious efforts at reforming and democratizing the PA from the bottom up. Activists and parliamentarians began openly challenging Arafat and his cronies in the months before his death, with better results than previous attempts. This shows a direction for future efforts at promoting democratic reforms in the PA and other authoritarian regimes in the region: the reform process should enlist local grass-roots support rather than being left to negotiations between international donors and the host government. The plans for unilateral separation are also shaking up the Israeli political establishments. The extremist National Union Party left the coalition over the Gaza withdrawal plans. The ruling Likud Party is split between supporters and opponents of the plan and the Labour Party is considering joining the government. The international community, while continuing to pressure Israel over the routeing of the fence, is endorsing the Gaza withdrawal plan, provided it is conducted within the framework of the Roadmap. The EU, among others, is helping the PA prepare for assuming responsibility for Gaza and ensuring that the Strip does not plunge into chaos following an Israeli withdrawal. The cooperation of Hamas in this endeavour is critical as it is the main power broker in the area. Despite the ongoing escalation of the conflict with the IDF, Hamas is showing a readiness to cooperate by participating in ongoing ceasefire negotiations hosted by Egypt. Europe has a track record of mediating with Hamas in the past and should be able to contribute to these efforts. It should not succumb to US and Israeli pressure to sever all links with the movement by adding it to the list of terrorist organizations. This is an important issue and it has a bearing on democratization efforts throughout the Middle East. Hamas and other Islamist groups are significant and at times dominant actors in the regional political landscape. Some of these groups engage in terrorist activities, others don’t. Most of them espouse ideologies that are inconsistent with Western values and notions of democracy. Yet a political process that excludes these groups or seeks to marginalize them can hardly be described as democratic. One can hardly speak of broad grass-roots support for a peace process which excludes all Hamas supporters. This does not mean giving Hamas a veto over the peace process and a more significant voice than forces in Palestinian society that always fought for peace, but it means acknowledging the level of

160 Yahia Said radicalization in Palestinian society and trying to reach out to those who have moved to extremist positions out of desperation. The groups taking the lead in building grass-roots support for peace such as the Palestinian–Israeli People’s Voice and Geneva initiatives need the unequivocal support of the international community. This cannot be limited to marginal civil society, people-to-people exchanges and the occasional photo opportunity with visiting dignitaries. Activists need to be given prominence and legitimacy – a seat at the main table.

Iraq Security needs Mass graves uncovered in Iraq during 2003–4 may yield hundreds of thousands of bodies. Over a million Iraqis died in Saddam’s wars and their consequences. Millions were forcibly relocated, deported or compelled to flee for their lives. Economic decline under the impact of sanctions and the regime’s mismanagement brought famine to the Fertile Crescent in the mid-1990s. The sudden collapse of the Iraqi state at the outset of the war revealed the extent of the decay that had afflicted its structures throughout Saddam’s reign. Seen in this context, one could argue that the level of insecurity in Iraq today seems to represent an improvement over the past. Iraqis’ most basic security needs are, however, far from being met. Political and criminal violence prevail across the country in various proportions. Crime, on the decline since the immediate post-war chaos, is being replaced by the full spectrum of politically motivated violence. As the multinational forces bolster the protection for their own troops, the violence is claiming more and more victims among Iraqis, including nascent Iraqi security institutions. The public nature of the violence in comparison with Saddam’s terror, uncertainty about its motives and perpetrators, and its persistence despite everything the Iraqis had to endure to get rid of the regime are causing widespread frustration. Most importantly, such high levels of violence can at any moment spin out of control into an all-out conflagration. It is unclear what relation, if any, existed between Saddam’s regime and Al-Qaeda. Under Saddam Saudis were allowed to build Wahabi mosques in Iraq and proselytize freely. The effect of the war has been to bring the two sides closer together. The Jihadists are enlisting in an insurgency organized and supported by the remnants of the regime. At the same time former Ba’athists are joining Jihadist organizations. Many foreign fighters have entered the country since the end of the war through porous borders with Syria and Iran. Islamic fighters are attracted to Iraq because it is there that they can directly confront the Americans. The controversy preceding the war, its lack of international legitimacy and the rhetoric of making

Middle East security 161 Iraq an example to the region meant that there was no incentive for Iraq’s authoritarian neighbours to prevent Jihadists from reaching it through their territory. They have arguably a vested interest in creating as many difficulties as possible so as to pre-empt any possibility that the United States might attack them in the future. At least some of the violence seen in Iraq today is a direct consequence of allied action and could have been avoided. The logic of war and the compulsion to defeat the enemy meant that too much damage was inflicted upon Iraqi civilians and essential state institutions. Thousands of innocent Iraqis, including regular army troops, were killed by allied forces during the war and its aftermath. The fact that this took place despite the evident lack of resistance to the invasion has left most survivors with a deep sense of anger. Iraqi civilians continue to die in the crossfire of counter-insurgency operations, which are also causing widespread disruption to daily life and freedom of movement. A majority of the 45,000 Iraqis who have been detained by coalition forces over the 17 months from April 2003 to June 2004 are almost certainly innocent. Estimates of the size of the insurgency range from 5,000 to 15,000 (Multi-National Force Iraq 2003/4). The security situation in Iraq was not served by the decision to dissolve the army. It was the least Ba’athized of the former security institutions. Even though Western security officials (Kaldor and Said 2004) argue that it was easier to ‘start from scratch’ because it was so ill-equipped and badly organized, the decision has added to Iraqis’ sense of humiliation and left many ex-military personnel frustrated and angry. Following Condoleeza Rice’s famous remark that the ‘we don’t need to have the 82nd Airborne escorting kids to kindergarten’ (Gordon 2000), invading forces were at first loath to engage in law and order activities. The relatively small number of troops involved in the invasion and the poor planning created the opening for the looting and criminal violence that swept the country in the immediate aftermath of the war. The policy of aloofness from public order issues has since been changed but the argument about the optimal composition of forces for the situation in Iraq continues. At first it was thought that Military Police, National Guard or paramilitary forces like the Italian Carabinieri are better suited to law and order functions. These troops have proven to be less effective, however, in dealing with armed insurgents and the political violence that pervades the country. It is sometimes argued that battle-hardened troops are too antagonized to serve on hearts and minds missions, but the experience in Falluja in April 2004 shows that even fresh troops with a specific mandate to ‘turn a new leaf’ can easily be sucked into a confrontational mood by the military logic of counter-insurgency. Special forces have achieved best results overall, due in part to the age and professionalism of their members. Working in small units in hostile territory, their success hinges on establishing good relations with local populations. This,

162 Yahia Said however, often entails compromises on issues of principle such as the relation with militias. Competing security providers The violence is taking place in the political and security vacuum left after the war and the collapse of the regime. At least some of its perpetrators are offering themselves as an alternative to the multinational forces and the nascent Iraqi security institutions as guardians of public order. The Interim Iraqi Government has been trying to assert its control of legitimate organized violence. A programme developed by its predecessor, the Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA), is offering various alternatives to militia members, from integration into the new security structures to requalification and compensation. The programme is funded to the tune of US$200 million. Most of it, however, is targeted at ‘friendly’ militias associated with parties that are in the governing coalition. It leaves the largest militias, which are associated with the Kurdish parties, largely intact. Many of them have been transformed into border guard units operating in the Kurdish areas. Others, like the Bard Corps associated with the Supreme Council of the Islamic Revolution in Iraq (SCIRI), have been transformed into civilian organizations, but only on paper. Hostile militias associated with the insurgency were offered an amnesty in August 2004. The amnesty was then watered down under US pressure to exclude those who had attacked coalition troops, and as such it was largely ignored. The coalition forces have been inconsistent on the issue of militias; some military commanders have enlisted them to help fill the security vacuum. The lack of coherence was not limited to the issues of militias. It has, indeed, been a hallmark of the intervention in Iraq. There were differences in almost every area between the civilian leadership of the Coalition Provisional Authority and the military commanders on the ground. Even within the CPA there were differences between Pentagon and State Department representatives. While the head of the CPA, Paul Bremer, kept insisting that militia members could join the armed forces only as individuals, those in charge of setting up the Iraqi army created a special unit within the Iraqi Civil Defence Corps (ICDC) which consisted of units contributed by the Kurdish parties and SCIRI. Pentagon officials had a preference for dismantling old institutions and building new ones from the ground up, and preferred working with anti-Ba’athist exiles like the Iraqi National Congress. The State Department and the CIA had a preference for reform, and worked best with former Ba’athists of the Iraqi National Accord. The policies tended to change depending on which group was in the ascendance. The army was dissolved and all its members demobilized with one month’s notice. At first, former soldiers from the rank of colonel upwards were not entitled to join the new army unless they could prove they were innocent of the crimes committed by the

Middle East security 163 regime. Shortly thereafter this policy was changed, and all ex-military officers now receive an ongoing stipend, and former high-ranking officers are being encouraged to join the new army. The Falluja Brigade set up in April 2004 by the local Marine commander to take over control of security in that restive town is led by a former Republican Guard general who is known to have been implicated in repression of the Kurds. The deBa’athification policy enacted almost immediately after the fall of the regime led to almost total paralysis of many state institutions because the top three tiers of the Ba’ath Party were excluded from public office regardless of whether or not they were implicated in the crimes of the old regime. The policy has been reversed to such an extent that it has given rise to fears that ex-Ba’athists with blood on their hands are returning to positions of power. The upshot of the lack of coherence and consistency in the policy on militias is that most militias continue to operate in Iraq under various forms. The Kurdish Peshmarga operate freely not only in the three Kurdish provinces under their control but also in the ethnically mixed and volatile provinces of Kerkuk and Ninewe. The Emergency Brigades which emerged in the southern provinces of Maysan and Basra at the end of the war were integrated as a group into the police force. This has resulted in tensions including violent clashes both within the police force and with rival militias. Sundry military formations protecting religious sites, politicians and tribal leaders are tolerated throughout the country by the multinational forces and the new Iraqi armed forces. Efforts to form new Iraqi security structures began slowly but have since been accelerated. Probably the greatest success is the police, the one institution that was not officially abolished after the war. Most policemen in Iraq today served under the previous regime. Their work is being undermined by the weakness of the judiciary as well as political interference. Policemen are sometimes killed by the coalition forces, which tend to treat all armed Iraqis with suspicion. In areas openly hostile to the multinational forces, such as Falluja, the legitimacy of the police is undermined by heavy-handed counter-insurgency measures and frequent bombardments resulting in civilian casualties. Legitimacy deficit as a source of insecurity One of the main drivers of the violence is the occupation and the lack of transparency and legitimacy of the political process. Those who support the violence believe that the US-led occupation justifies the killing of fellow citizens. The transfer of sovereignty to Iraqis on 28 June 2004 was meant to end the occupation and with it a major contributing factor to violence. But the security dividends from the transfer of sovereignty to an Interim Iraqi Government did not materialize. Few in Iraq believe that the occupation has ended. The new Iraqi government is locked in a vicious

164 Yahia Said circle. The continued presence and conduct of the multinational forces is de-legitimizing it, creating an opening for populists and extremists to further destabilize the security situation and subvert the political process. Faced with mounting challenges to its authority, the government is relying heavily on security measures and foreign forces, which further erodes its legitimacy. A relative lull during the first two weeks after the transfer of sovereignty was followed by an intensification of violence. While there are no reliable numbers for Iraqi casualties, more coalition forces were killed in July than in June 2004. August witnessed the largest number of attacks on multinational forces since the end of the war (Schmitt 2004). Falluja, Samarraa, Baaquba and the western provincial capital Al-Ramadi seem to be slipping from government and multinational forces control. Unable to operate in many areas, the multinational forces are relying increasingly on longrange weapons, including aerial bombardment and artillery, which are liable to cause more civilian casualties. Street battles break out every now and then between emboldened insurgents and Iraqi and coalition forces in Baghdad and other major cities. Since assuming power, Interim Prime Minister Iyad Allawi has focused on establishing the government’s security credentials. Iraqi forces continue to grow in size, visibility and activity. The results are impressive, with scores of terrorists and criminals apprehended, large weapons and explosives caches seized and several terrorist attacks prevented. An emergency law has been passed giving the government sweeping powers and concentrating them in the hands of the Prime Minister. The death penalty has been reinstated as well as the Intelligence Directorate, which will inherit up to 5 per cent of its staff from its fearful Saddam-era predecessor. The Interim Government has been less successful in managing the political process that culminated in elections in January 2005. This is a result partly of its inability to demonstrate independence from the multinational forces and partly of its security bias. The multinational forces continue to call the shots. The stand-off in August 2004 with maverick cleric Al-Sadr exposed a government divided and unable to restrain US forces pressing ahead with a military escalation. According to the UN Security Council Resolution 1546, the multinational forces are supposed to be acting in coordination with the Iraqi government, especially in major military operations. However, Vice-President Al-Jaafari and the SCIRI, which was also part of the government coalition, repeatedly criticized the heavy-handed approach of US forces in Najaf and called for their immediate withdrawal from the holy city. The National Conference convened in August has been plagued by allegations of abuse. The main opposition forces – those calling for the immediate withdrawal of foreign troops – stayed away. Even the Islamic Party, which participated in the Governing Council, has boycotted the proceedings.

Middle East security 165 Civil–military operations and state-building Military commanders spearheading the invasion in 2003 were tasked not only with ‘defeating the enemy’. Their duties involved setting up rudimentary governing structures in their areas of operation and initiating the economic reconstruction process. Their efforts on the governance side led to the creation of a two-tier political process. In the regions, military commanders tended to set up regional councils on the run, drawn from ‘local community leaders’ and representatives of exiled opposition groups. The main function of these councils, as far as the commanders were concerned, was to provide an interface with the local population with the aim of securing a benign environment for the troops to operate in. In the centre, the Coalition Provisional Authority was trying to set up the embryo of Iraq’s future state institutions, working mainly with opposition and exile groups that were in favour of the war. Despite efforts at integrating the two processes, they were driven by the diverging approaches of the civilian CPA and the military commanders on the ground. Both regional and national structures lack legitimacy but the regional leaders are more embedded in the communities in which they operate. In some cases they are hedging their bets by maintaining paramilitary structures close at hand while staying involved in the national political process. The military were more successful on the economic reconstruction front. In the six months after the war an estimated $US80 million was spent by local commanders on rehabilitating schools, hospitals and essential infrastructure. Their motivation to win over the local population by delivering quick results also meant that local contractors and labour benefited from most of these projects. It also helped that foreign contractors did not dare enter the country at that time. Both political and economic reconstruction have since been transferred to civilians, with mixed results. It is too early to determine the effects of civilian-led economic reconstruction efforts. Initial indicators suggest that the process has slowed down significantly in order to provide more safeguards against abuse and to account for the larger size of the new reconstruction contracts. It will also probably involve more foreign contractors. This has led to the institution of new Rapid Disbursement funds which would emulate the process as it existed earlier in the campaign. Communications between the multinational forces and the Iraqi population started out on the wrong foot. Rather than treating Iraqis as constituents, military commanders viewed them either as potential enemies or as collaborators. This approached changed over time. At some point the US head of the CPA, Paul Bremer, erected signs all over the Green Zone where the CPA operated, asking staff ‘What have you done for the Iraqi

166 Yahia Said people today?’. Communications have improved progressively with the growth of the civilian component within the CPA. One side effect of this is the improvement in actionable intelligence coming from Iraqis. The legal environment within which all the parties are operating in Iraq is ambiguous, to say the least. Iraqis are subject to Iraqi law which was quickly laundered for consistency with human rights norms. They are denied many civil liberties, however, as coalition forces enjoy almost full emergency powers, being authorized by the UN Security Council Resolution 1546 to do whatever necessary to establish security, including indefinite administrative detention. Coalition forces were subject to humanitarian law until the transfer of sovereignty. It is not clear whether they are still covered by it today. They continue to be immune from Iraqi law. Civilian contractors with the coalition, including tens of thousands of private security company employees, enjoy almost total legal immunity. Prosecutions for human rights abuses by coalition forces in Iraq are being carried out under US military rules, but even here there is confusion. In May 2004 the commander of American forces in the Middle East, General Abizaid, commenting on the killing of an Iraqi by US Special Forces during his arrest said: ‘This is not police work we’re dealing with, it’s not arrest. It’s combat.’ The Special Forces members in question later stood trial for that murder and their attempt to hide the body. Civic initiatives Iraq has a vibrant civil society despite systematic destruction over years of war, authoritarianism and sanctions. This became apparent when Iraqis managed to mobilize their own resources to pull back from the brink of total chaos in the immediate aftermath of the war. It is also evident in the vibrant political and associational life in Iraq which sprang into life almost immediately after the end of the war. As well as student unions, women’s organizations and transitional justice groups, there are many NGOs concerned with humanitarian and environmental issues, democracy and civil society. Journalists, film-makers and artists are also involved in new projects and discussions. Many of these initiatives are small and tentative. Iraqis have a huge distrust of politics, a legacy of fear and disappointment, and a lack of experience of selforganization to overcome. The exception is groups that used to operate underground with tightly knit organizational structures. These groups used to be too political in the past. Today they are supplementing their repertoire with corporatist activism and voluntary-sector-type work in reaction to the new environment. They all represent the beginnings of a civic and inclusive society. Civic groups are essential to counter sectarian tendencies as well as the elitism of the political classes. This was best demonstrated when a coalition of women’s groups succeeded in overturning a decision by the

Middle East security 167 Interim Governing Council to annul the civil code in family matters and to bring them under the jurisdiction of the religious establishment. Civic groups are doing a better job than the politicians in opening up the debate on the transfer of sovereignty and the constitution. Broadening the process The stabilization and reconstruction of Iraq is in dire need of three inputs: legitimacy, expertise and resources. Legitimacy will benefit not only from broadening and opening up the political process within the country but also from widening international involvement. The UN in particular is essential. The process of re-engaging the UN in Iraq is quite complicated given the security situation on the ground and resistance by some factions within the US administration. The European Union can do more to facilitate and support the return of the UN to Iraq. While coalition authorities have dedicated some of their best and brightest to the Iraq project, there is still a dire shortage of relevant expertise in the areas of post-authoritarian and post-conflict institution-building, judicial reform, democratization, elections and oil economics, to name but a few. The EU is best positioned to deliver this kind of expertise, both directly and through the UN. The EU is already actively involved in mobilizing new financial resources for Iraq’s reconstruction and managing them in cooperation with the UN and the World Bank.

Conclusion The Middle East is associated with all the threats highlighted in the European Security Strategy, from weapons proliferation to regional conflict and organized crime. Historically the resolution of the conflict in the Holy Land has been considered the key to addressing the region’s security concerns. Increasingly, however, democratic transition is emerging as equally important. The authoritarian regimes of the Middle East, having eschewed successive waves of democratization, are teetering on the brink of collapse under the shocks of globalization. Behind the façade of stability, crumbling state institutions and disenfranchised young populations provide fertile soil for nihilist ideologies and terrorist and criminal networks. Traditionally, external involvement in the Middle East focused on confining the security threats to the region, leaving unresolved those threats that involve only the people of the Middle East. The new and welcome attention to the problem of authoritarianism in the region is doomed to failure if it follows the same logic. In an era of globalization it is no longer possible to achieve security for people in the West while people in the Middle East feel insecure. The most challenging aspect of aiding democratic transformations in

168 Yahia Said the Middle East is openness. Islamists are significant and at times dominant actors in Middle East societies. Most espouse ideologies that are hardly compatible with Western values and notions of democracy. Yet a political process that excludes these groups or seeks to marginalize them cannot be described as democratic. For efforts to democratize the Middle East to succeed, the international community needs to reach out to the millions in the Middle East who have moved to extremist positions out of desperation. Only they can provide the grass-roots support essential for the success of democratic transformation. Democratization is a medium- to long-term project. In the meantime the international community needs to address the festering conflict in the Holy Land and the dire security situation in Iraq. Contingency plans are needed to deal with the likelihood of state collapse in some countries in the region. In the Holy Land the peace process, which failed to address the security needs of Israelis and Palestinians, is being overtaken by unilateral solutions that are far from equitable. The fate of the Oslo Accords is a cautionary tale for policies centred on political elites and big ideas, neglecting the plight of ordinary people. If the peace process is to be resumed, it will have to enjoy grass-roots support in both societies, which will be forthcoming only if the process addresses their immediate security needs. Courageous Palestinians and Israelis and other activists in the region who withstood the waves of hatred and radicalization need more than lipservice. They deserve a seat at the table as much as mainstream politicians, who demonstrably lack leadership and legitimacy. Iraqis may be more secure today than they were under Saddam’s tyranny, but Iraq is still one of the most insecure places on earth. The intervention in Iraq provides a wealth of lessons on intervention, unfortunately mostly negative. The mistakes began even before the start of the war, when the allies failed to assess the level of decay that had afflicted the Iraqi state. The lack of international legitimacy and the poisoned international and regional atmosphere that accompanied the war still plague efforts aimed at stabilizing the country. Iraq is a cautionary tale of the divergence between ends and means. The military logic that informed the war and the ensuing counter-insurgency continues to contribute to insecurity and is not compatible with the goal of winning hearts and minds and mobilizing Iraqis for state-building. The intervention in Iraq was plagued by incoherence and inconsistency. Different and often incompatible policies were pursued by the State Department and the Pentagon, and by civilian and military officials. Iraq also offers some positive experiences. It is the first place where the artificial conflict and post-conflict dichotomy has been abandoned. Coalition troops realized from early on the need to embark on reconstruction efforts immediately as a way of enhancing security. Despite inconsistencies the Iraq intervention presented an unprecedented example of civil–

Middle East security 169 military cooperation. Another lesson that was learned early on in Iraq is that of accountability to Iraqis. The CPA, despite all its blunders, was relatively transparent and responsive. Europe is gradually overcoming the divisions that prevented it from playing an active role in Iraq over the past two years. It should not allow security concerns to prevent it from making a critical contribution to the stability of Iraq where it can offer legitimacy, expertise and resources.

Notes 1 The ‘Middle East’ in this chapter covers the same region as the EU ‘Strategic Partnership with the Mediterranean and the Middle East’ – The EuroMediterranean region plus Gulf Cooperation Council, Yemen, Iraq and Iran. 2 In an interview with Leslie Stahl of CBS on 11 May 1996, US Secretary of State Madeleine Albright was asked whether the over half a million children killed by the sanctions were ‘worth it’. Her response was: ‘It’s a hard choice, but I think, we think, it’s worth it.’ 3 The line separating the internationally recognized borders of the state of Israel in 1948 and the territories occupied in the 1967 war. 4 Israeli High Court of Justice, 2004 – 30/6/2004 HCJ 2056/04 Beit Sourik Village Council v. 1. The Government of Israel 2. The Commander of IDF Forces in the West Bank.

References B’Tselem (2004) ‘Fatalities in the al-Aqsa Intifada: 29 Sept. 2000–15 September 2004’. Available online at: http://www.btselem.org/English/Statistics/ Al_Aqsa_Fatalities.asp (accessed 29 September 2004). Burston, B. (2004) ‘Background/Sharon’s do-or-die Gaza plan – or is it do AND die?’, Haaretz.com. Available online at: http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/ pages/ShArt.jhtml?itemNo⫽403287&displayTypeCd⫽1&sideCd⫽1&contrassID ⫽2 (accessed 29 September 2004). EC (European Commission) (2004) ‘The European Union and Iraq – a Framework for Engagement’, Communication from the Commission to the Council and the European Parliament, 9 June. Available online at: http://europa. eu.int/comm/external_relations/iraq/doc/com04_417_en.pdf (accessed 29 September 2004). Everts, S. (2003) ‘The EU and the Middle East: a call for action’, Working paper, London: Centre for European Reform, January. Gordon, M. (2000) ‘The 2000 campaign: the military; Bush would stop U.S. peacekeeping in Balkan fights’, New York Times, 21 October. Harel, A. (2004) ‘Analysis/Stoking an appetite for revenge’, Haaretz.com, 8 March. Available online at: http://www.haaretzdaily.com/hasen/pages/ ShArt.jhtml?itemNo⫽402093&contrassID⫽1 (accessed 29 September 2004). ICJ (International Court of Justice) (2004) ‘Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in The Occupied Palestinian Territory’, ICJ Press Release 2004/29, 9 July. Available online at: http://www.icj-cij.org/icjwww/ipresscom/ ipress2004/ipresscom2004-28_mwp_20040709.htm (accessed 29 September 2004).

170 Yahia Said Kaldor, M. and Said, Y. (2004) Regime Change in Iraq: Mission Report, London: Centre for the Study of Global Governance, London School of Economics. Available online at: http://www.lse.ac.uk/Depts/global/Iraq.htm (accessed 20 October 2004). Malley, R. and Agha, H. (2001) ‘Camp David: the tragedy of errors’, New York Review of Books, 9 August. Multi-National Force Iraq (2003/4) http://www.cjtf7.com (accessed 20 October 2004). Peace Index (2003) The Tami Steinmetz Center for Peace Research (TSC). Available online at: http://spirit.tau.ac.il/socant/peace (consulted 29 September 2004). Schmitt, E. (2004) ‘4 Navy Commandos are charged in abuse’, New York Times, 4 September. UN (United Nations) (2004) ‘UN Assembly Votes Overwhelmingly to Demand Israel Comply with ICJ Ruling’, UN Press Release, 20 July. Available online at: http://www.globalpolicy.org/wldcourt/icj/2004/0720comly.htm (accessed 29 September 2004). US Department of State (2003) ‘A Performance-Based Roadmap to a Permanent Two-State Solution to the Israeli–Palestinian Conflict’, Press Statement, 30 April. Available online at: http://www.state.gov/r/pa/prs/ps/2003/20062.htm (accessed 29 September 2004).

Part III

A framework for operations

8

International law framework with respect to international peace and security Christine Chinkin

Introduction The European Union (EU), as a creature of international law, is committed to the principles of responsible multilateralism and the rule of international law. Accordingly, the European Security Strategy must operate within a framework of existing international law. In order to create certainty and stability – both internally and externally – the basis for any EU security intervention should conform to international law, as must its actions during and after the intervention. Accordingly, EU security policy must operate within a framework of international law. International law is a dynamic system that develops in response to new challenges. There is also considerable controversy around the interpretation and applicability of the existing legal regimes.1 EU security actions are simultaneously important both for the interpretation of existing international law and for its evolution in accordance with preferred values and objectives. At a time when the United States’ actions and statements undermine both the importance and content of international law, the EU can play an important role in upholding the rules that have been developed through international multilateral institutions for the benefit of all actors. A number of factors contribute to the uncertainties about the requirements of international law in the context of security that give rise to diverse claims and responses. First, existing international law regulates issues relating to international peace and security from three perspectives: when the use of force (the so-called jus ad bellum) or non-military intervention is permissible; the legal regimes applicable during armed conflict (so-called jus in bello); and issues of international law relevant to peacebuilding and reconstruction.2 The legal regimes applicable during armed conflict are largely treaty-based, including the United Nations (UN) Charter, human rights treaties, the Geneva Conventions and Protocols, the Rome Statute for an International Criminal Court (ICC), the Refugee Convention, and treaties relating to disarmament and weapons control. EU membership does not remove the treaty obligations accepted by

174 Christine Chinkin individual states or those of customary international law. Member states are also bound by the constitutive treaties of regional organizations, including the EC and NATO treaties and the internal law of such institutions. The separate legal regimes sometimes overlap or conflict, creating disagreements about which institutional regime should apply and about the processes for resolving disputes over such issues. The legal situation is made more complex by overlapping membership of different international and regional organizations, each with its own constitutive requirements. The principles applicable to determining legal conflict between different treaties are also thorny, with the exception of UN Charter Article 103, which specifies that priority is to be given to the Charter. Second, while treaties provide the certainty of a written text, the ambiguity and indeterminacy of much treaty language allows for different interpretations. Divergent opinions also arise when international conduct is regulated by Security Council (SC) resolutions, as demonstrated by the different opinions about the meaning of and the competence bestowed by resolutions over Iraq since 1990 (SC Resolutions 678 (1990), 687 (1991), 1441 (2002), 1483 (2003), 1511 (2003) and 1546 (2004)). Third, controversies arise about the interpretation of existing international law and the modalities and forms of change, especially over whether these should be based on narrow textual readings, or a broader policy-oriented approach, or subsequent state practice (details of which would have to be collected and analysed). Fourth, treaty law is supplemented by and works in conjunction with customary international law, which comprises uniform and consistent state practice in conjunction with a belief that the state is legally bound to comply with the practice (opinio juris). Customary international law is difficult to ascertain because it is informal and unwritten. There are disagreements about the status, content and requirements of customary international law (for example, whether there is a customary legal right of humanitarian intervention). There are further differences in assessing the status of customary international law relating to the weight to be given to the words and practices of states that form a numerical minority but are militarily and economically powerful as opposed to those of a majority of weaker states. Diverse claims can be made in the name of international law, or international law may be discounted in the light of geo-political objectives. These discrepancies have acquired added significance since September 11. Broader claims in favour of intervention (including military intervention) have been made by the US in the name of national security which have been criticized by other states (including EU members) for overstepping international law. It is also widely asserted that outmoded principles of international law must be reformed to accommodate new security threats. The EU should take a lead in ensuring that international

An international law framework 175 law is not changed through a ‘knee-jerk’ response to crisis, or solely at the behest of the US, but are rather the negotiated results of policies considered in light of the goals of the international community. A good example is the role played by EU members within the group of ‘likeminded states’ for the negotiation of the Rome Statute for an ICC in 1998. The establishment of the ICC was a significant step in the development of international criminal law and in asserting individual accountability in place of impunity for gross violations of human rights. It was also a model of negotiated change in international law and procedures. The commitment of the EU to these values should be reflected throughout security policy (see further Flechtner, Chapter 15). This chapter considers issues of international law relevant to EU security policy. It examines the legal regimes applicable to jus ad bellum, jus in bello, and post-conflict peace-building and reconstruction. This overview is not a definitive statement of existing international law but rather seeks to indicate the major areas of international legal regulation. It recognizes the uncertainties surrounding the application of various legal regimes and the open-ended nature of many relevant concepts that make them susceptible to different interpretations. It also identifies gaps and uncertainties within the legal principles and suggests areas for clarification. The Study Group favours enhancing human security through prevention and management of conflict and through focus on human rights. This chapter therefore explores the relationship between international human rights law and the law of armed conflict, international humanitarian law (IHL). It argues that a security policy that has human security at its core must integrate human rights norms into all situations. While international humanitarian law recognizes the loss of life and destruction of property inherent in armed conflict and seeks to regulate it in a way compatible with military objectives, the goal of human rights is ‘strict control not only of force intended to kill but also of any unintended outcome involving deprivation of life’ (Watkin 2004: 17). The chapter concludes by recommending an integral approach to what is termed ‘an international law of peace’. Through such an approach the EU could determine its position with respect to claims made in the name of international law and the ways in which it can both contribute to UN security reform and evolve its own security policy.

Legal bases for intervention Grounds for intervention An essential aspect of any security policy is determination of the appropriate grounds for intervention – whether militarily or through some other means – by one state into the affairs of another. Intervention is generally considered as a potential option in order to enhance individual state

176 Christine Chinkin security or regional security through individual or collective self-defence, or to protect individuals within the target state through humanitarian assistance or intervention. A significant gap within international law is that there are no uncontested definitions of security or peace, although both concepts are typically perceived within the traditional framework of protecting the physical and political integrity of states. The SC has to some extent moved beyond a narrow understanding of state security, in particular in response to humanitarian crises, terrorism and refugee flows, but has not adopted a comprehensive approach to the concept of personal security. The prohibition of the use of force in international relations (Article 2(4), UN Charter) requires determination of when a military response is legal. However, focus on the military model of intervention both obscures and legitimizes other pervasive forms of intervention, for example those inherent in the international economic system, which may also have significant security implications. This section outlines the Charter framework for the maintenance of international peace and security through military or non-military intervention. The UN Charter contains only two exceptions to the prohibition of the use of force: collective security action under Chapter VII and the individual or collective right to self-defence under Article 51. Accordingly, claims that military intervention is legal are typically framed within the terms of these provisions. It is also asserted that new justifications for military intervention have evolved under customary international law. The International Court of Justice (ICJ) has considered claims of illegal use of force in diverse circumstances and has developed jurisprudence on the topic. For example, Nicaragua claimed that US military actions in and against Nicaragua during the Cold War proxy wars in Central America in the 1980s violated international law. The ICJ held inter alia that the US actions could not be ‘justified as measures necessary to protect the essential security interests of the United States of America’ and that measures taken against another state must not merely be for protection of the essential security interests of the attacking state but must be ‘necessary for that purpose’ (Military and Para-military Activities in and against Nicaragua, 1986: para. 282). In the later Oil Platforms case Iran challenged the US destruction of Iranian oil platforms during the 1980s Iran–Iraq war. The US claimed the action to be necessary for its security. The Court held that whether an action is ‘necessary’ is not a solely subjective assessment (Oil Platforms, 2003: para. 43). Serbia has also commenced actions in the ICJ against individual NATO member states with respect to the military action in Serbia in the context of Kosovo in 1999 (Legality of Use of Force, 1999). The Court has not yet ruled on the admissibility of the applications.

An international law framework 177 Conflict prevention and peacekeeping The UN Charter requires that all member states shall settle their international disputes by peaceful means in such a manner that international peace and security, and justice are not endangered (Article 2(3), UN Charter). Chapter VI provides that the SC has particular obligations with respect to the peaceful settlement of disputes. The Charter assumes that the existence of a dispute or situation ‘likely to endanger international peace and security’ activates SC powers under Chapter VI and therefore also provides the basis for conflict prevention activities (UN SecretaryGeneral 2001). Conflict prevention requires investigation of, and appropriate responses to, root causes of conflict and insecurity, including socio-economic inequalities and deprivations, systematic ethnic discrimination, denial of human rights, denial of political participation and long-standing grievances over land and resource allocation (UN SecretaryGeneral 2001: para. 7). The EU has developed its work in this area through, for example, fact-finding missions, its Programme for the Prevention of Violent Conflicts, and a range of relevant instruments such as the Rapid Reaction Mechanism (EC Council Regulation No. 381/2001 of 26 February 2001). The concept of peacekeeping is not found within the Charter but has been evolved from the purposes of the UN (Article 1, UN Charter) and the implied powers of its primary organs – the SC, General Assembly (GA) and Secretary-General – under what has been termed ‘Chapter VIa’ of the Charter. Traditional peacekeeping is a limited form of military intervention based on the consent of conflicting parties to a UN-authorized military presence to maintain an agreed ceasefire. The much greater use of peacekeeping since the 1990s, including without the target state’s consent, has both increased its potential and exposed its inadequacies (UN Secretary-General 1992, 1995). Peacekeepers’ tasks have become more complex, requiring both military and civilian expertise. Issues of mandate, especially with respect to when peacekeepers are authorized to use force, their responsibilities to the local population, the SC and their own governments, their personal safety in hazardous and unpredictable situations and the lack of political will to devote adequate and appropriate resources to peacekeeping (personnel, equipment, logistic support and so on) have brought the concept into disrepute in such instances as Somalia, Bosnia-Herzegovina and Rwanda. Responses have included the UN inquiries into Srebrenica (UN Secretary-General 1999a) and Rwanda (UN Security Council 1999) and more generally the Report of the Panel on UN Peace Operations (United Nations 2000). The SC has recognized the important role of women in the prevention and resolution of conflicts and in peace-building. In Resolution 1325 (2000) on Women, Peace and Security the SC:

178 Christine Chinkin Calls on all actors involved, when negotiating and implementing peace agreements, to adopt a gender perspective, including, inter alia: a the special needs of women and girls during repatriation and resettlement and for rehabilitation, reintegration and post-conflict reconstruction; b measures that support local women’s peace initiatives and indigenous processes for conflict resolution, and that involve women in all implementation mechanisms of the peace agreements; c measures that ensure the protection of and respect for human rights of women and girls, particularly as they relate to the constitution, the electoral system, the police and the judiciary. (UN Security Council 2000: 3) Resolution 1325 puts women squarely onto the international security agenda and should be given effect within any EU initiatives. Measures other than the use of force Security Council-authorized sanctions Under UN Charter, Article 39, the SC may determine there to be a breach of the peace, threat to the peace or an act of aggression and thus activate its powers under Chapter VII. The SC may authorize ‘measures not involving the use of armed force’ (economic sanctions) under Article 41. SC-imposed sanctions are binding upon all member states under Article 25. Sanctions must be incorporated through national legal systems and states are answerable to the relevant Sanctions Committee for their implementation. The SC has embarked upon a wide range of sanctioning activity, including oil embargoes, arms embargoes, bans on technical assistance, manufacture, maintenance or use of arms and related matériel of all types, no-fly zones, verification missions, military observers, fact-finding commissions, delivery of humanitarian aid, protection of safe havens, creation of ad hoc international criminal tribunals and election monitoring. In response to terrorist acts the SC has developed a range and application of non-military measures. In the immediate aftermath of September 11, 2001, the SC undertook quasi-legislative functions through the adoption of Resolutions 1373 (2001) and 1377 (2001). These Resolutions imposed upon states broad obligations with respect to the criminalization of terrorism (which remains undefined in international law), the denial of safe havens for terrorists, prohibitions of financing of terrorism, ‘listing’ of suspected terrorists and freezing their access to bank accounts. Provision is made for internal supervision by the CounterTerrorism Committee of the steps taken by states to implement the Resolutions. SC Resolution 1373 demands a high level of internal

An international law framework 179 micromanagement (Happold 2003). The GA has also acted on terrorism and indeed prior to September 11 was the main UN body undertaking this work. The EU and sanctions The EU has supported the SC’s imposition of mandatory sanctions as an instrument of security and as a means of seeking behavioural change. The EU may respond collectively to SC imposition of sanctions, as for example in the case of Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait in 1990,3 or there may be a coordinated response between members (Chinkin 1997: 183). It has also developed its own processes for enhancing the effectiveness of SC sanctions regimes; for example, a Community Certification scheme for the international trade in rough diamonds, based on EC Treaty, Article 133, gives effect to the SC imposition of sanctions in Angola (SC Resolution 1173 (1998)). An ‘injured’ state may impose unilateral countermeasures against another state in response to a prior breach of international law in order to induce compliance by that state with its international legal obligations (International Law Commission 2001, Articles on Responsibility of States for Internationally Wrongful Acts, Article 49). Countermeasures must not affect the obligation to refrain from the threat or use of force as embodied in the UN Charter, obligations for the protection of fundamental human rights, obligations of a humanitarian character prohibiting reprisals, or other obligations under peremptory norms of general international law (Article 50). Countermeasures must also be proportionate and their imposition must be in compliance with specified procedural steps. A state that is not directly injured by another state’s illegal act may respond where ‘the obligation breached is owed to the international community as a whole’ (Article 48). These include obligations relevant to security policy such as those arising from the prohibition of aggression, and basic human rights (Barcelona Traction Light and Power Company Case, 1970: para. 34). Countermeasures may be adopted by a group of states acting collectively, for example member states of the EU, although there are complex issues of institutional competence and, of course, the requisite political will must be present. The EU has sought to make sanctions more effective and to lessen their adverse economic and social consequences on target civilian populations and third states, which can enhance insecurity. It has therefore favoured targeted sanctions of limited duration (that is, sanctions directed at actual wrongdoers rather than blanket sanctions against the state as a whole), such as arms embargoes, visa-based travel restrictions, freezing of personal assets and exclusion from international forums. Punishment in the context of security should be (and is) targeted at finances and prohibited access to technology (for example, EU Presidency Statement, 2003). The

180 Christine Chinkin effect of sanctions must be constantly scrutinized so as to establish whether other considerations weigh against issues of effectiveness. Hard questions must be asked: for example, are sanctions (intended to be) deterrent, retributive, preventive, or directed at changing mind-sets? Are they designed to achieve the required effect? Do they create insecurity by strengthening the sanctioned regime and weakening domestic opposition within the targeted state? Use of force Security Council authorization Under UN Charter, Chapter VII, Article 42, the SC can authorize ‘action by air, sea, or land forces as may be necessary to maintain or restore international peace and security’. This article allows military action or, in the current euphemism, ‘all necessary means’ to achieve the end stipulated in the relevant resolution. The Charter was adopted in an era when the major threat to international security was perceived as inter-state conflict. Since the end of the Cold War the SC has greatly expanded both the situations it regards as constituting a threat to international peace and security, and the measures it has taken in response. Instances include: • • • • • • • • • • •

‘rebellion’ and the constitution of a racist regime in what was then Southern Rhodesia; the policies and acts of the apartheid government of South Africa, including arms acquisitions; giving sanctuary to terrorists and failure to extradite alleged terrorists (Libya, Sudan, Afghanistan–Taliban); terrorist attacks (September 11, 2001); collapse of internal security including violence, looting, large-scale displacement of civilians (East Timor 1999); humanitarian crisis and denial of economic and social rights (Somalia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Rwanda); failure to restore a democratically elected government and rejection of a coup (Haiti, Sierra Leone); internal armed conflict (Angola); excessive action by police and military forces (Serb police forces and KLA in Kosovo); hostage seizure (Iraq); and refugee flows (Haiti, Iraq).

Many of these examples are internal to a particular state where the threat was primarily to the security of the citizens of the targeted state, although there was also apprehension of regional destabilization. Nevertheless, the

An international law framework 181 SC has not interpreted ‘threat to international peace and security’ more widely to encompass other threats to personal security, for example environmental degradation or health threats. When authorizing action, the SC often emphasizes the ‘exceptional’ nature of a situation, thereby limiting any precedential weight that can be given to it. For example, SC Resolution 986 (1995) allowed Iraq, despite the existence of SC sanctions, to export some oil to finance the import of food and other essential provisions – ‘oil for food’. Paragraph 8 recognizes the exceptional circumstances existing in three areas of Iraq and makes specific provision for them. The SC has traditionally responded on a case-by-case basis to threats to international peace and security. However, it has also identified certain themes that it has brought into this framework. It has urged action from member states in situations that constitute general threats to peace and security: for example, the use of children in armed conflict (SC Resolution 1314 (2000)); HIV/Aids (SC Resolution 1308 (2000)); and it has noted that ‘the deliberate targeting of civilian populations and the committing of systematic, flagrant and widespread violations of international humanitarian law and human rights law in situations of armed conflict may constitute a threat to international peace and security’ (SC Resolution 1296 (2000): para. 5). Unilateral use of force Various justifications for the unilateral use of force (or, more accurately, force undertaken by a group of states without SC authorization) have been advanced (Gray 2004). Some have been more readily accepted in international law than others. The UN Charter, Article 51, asserts the inherent right of self-defence ‘if an armed attack occurs’. In the preamble to SC Resolution 1368 (2001), the SC recognized self-defence as a legitimate response to the armed attacks by non-state actors in New York and Washington on the previous day, although it made no reference to this in the operative parts of the Resolution. While there is perhaps little disagreement about the right to anticipatory self-defence (when the need to respond is instant and overwhelming, and the action is proportionate), the conformity with international law of the more far-reaching claim of pre-emptive self-defence as expounded in the United States National Security Strategy, is highly controversial.4 Self-defence can be individual, or it can be collective, as where states respond to an armed attack on another state in the defence of the state attacked. In Military and Paramilitary Activities in and against Nicaragua (1986) the ICJ held that for the right of collective self-defence to arise the victim state must have determined that an armed attack had occurred against it and must have requested assistance from other states. The North Atlantic Treaty authorizes force only in collective self-defence, a point at

182 Christine Chinkin issue with respect to its military action against Serbia in 1999 (Chinkin 2000). The SC may authorize a collective security organization to use military force for particular purposes, as it did for NATO in Bosnia,5 or it may subsequently endorse such actions, as it did for the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) Monitoring Group (ECOMOG) in Liberia (SC Resolution 788 (1992) and 856 (1993)). Other controversial justifications for the use of force without SC authorization have been put forward, for example humanitarian intervention and in support of an ousted democratically elected government. Such justifications tend to arise in situations similar to those where the SC has authorized intervention. The real question, therefore, is whether there is an evolving customary international law allowing states to intervene without SC authorization by relying upon situations where there has been such authorization. In other words, can SC practice lead to an evolving customary international law applicable to situations where the SC itself has not acted? In light of the many uncertainties around the legality of the use of force, there has been a trend towards focusing on legitimacy rather than legality (Independent International Commission on Kosovo, 2000: 164, 185–92). The legitimacy approach shifts the debate towards ethical concepts reminiscent of that of ‘just war’ rather than on determining legality under international law. Legitimacy, however, is subjective and culturally determined, and conclusions may differ according to whether the assessment is made before or after the engagement. It is an uncertain and unsatisfactory basis upon which to ground security policy. So-called humanitarian intervention is the classic instance of a claim based upon the security of individuals within the targeted state and where moral considerations are used to support arguments of legitimacy. It might be noted that genocide is a particular case in that, under Article 1 of the 1948 Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, states parties undertake to prevent and punish genocide. Such obligation can be undertaken collectively through a regional organization, and commitment to act in a case of genocide could be a strand of EU security policy. There is a great deal of disagreement as to whether humanitarian intervention in circumstances of gross violations of human rights in the target state that do not, however, amount to genocide is either legitimate or justified under customary international law and, if so, the circumstances in which it is warranted. The International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (ICISS 2001) provides criteria for such intervention and an important reformulation of the underlying principles of humanitarian intervention. Less attention has been given to the obligations of intervening states in the aftermath of such intervention. Another strand of EU security policy should consider what such obligations should entail. Scholars in the US have recently promoted a so-called duty to prevent states that are subject to no internal checks on government power from

An international law framework 183 developing weapons of mass destruction, or harbouring terrorists (Feinstein and Slaughter 2004). The duty to prevent has been presented as a corollary to the ‘responsibility to protect’ (ICISS 2001) and to the nonproliferation weapons regime. The proposed regime has three features: the focus is on the control not just of weapons but of the people who possess them; the emphasis is on prevention; and collective action through global or regional organization is preferred. Force should be used, if at all, alongside and in support of diplomacy. This is the most explicit claim (apart from pre-emptive self-defence) towards developing international legal norms for the security needs of the intervening state(s). Regional approaches to the use of force Regional approaches to security have long been recognized within the international legal framework. The Covenant of the League of Nations, Article 21, noted the validity of regional understandings for securing international peace. The UN Charter, Chapter VIII, Article 52 provides for regional action ‘for dealing with such matters relating to the maintenance of international peace and security as are appropriate for regional action’. Article 53 constrains the power of regional arrangements by subordinating them to the control of the SC through the requirement that ‘no enforcement action shall be taken under regional arrangements or by regional agencies without the authorization of the Security Council’. The SC has endorsed regional action that it had not approved in advance, for example ECOWAS action in Sierra Leone and Liberia. It did not explicitly endorse NATO’s action in Serbia in 1999 with respect to Kosovo, although it did adopt the terms of the agreement bringing an end to the action (SC Resolution 1244 (1999)). Subsequent documents support regional arrangements working within the framework of the UN Charter, Article 1 and Chapter VIII (UN Secretary-General 1992: para. 63). The Supplement to An Agenda for Peace (UN Secretary-General 1995) identified five different modes of cooperation between the UN and regional organizations: consultation, diplomatic and technical support, operational support, co-deployment, and joint operations. It set out examples of all forms of cooperation and the principles upon which such relationships might be based: agreed mechanisms for consultation (formal or informal), respect for the primacy of the UN, agreed division of labour to avoid conflicting or overlapping mandates, and consistency in dealing with a common problem, for example in standards for peacekeeping. The Secretary-General has also supported regional action, suggesting, for example, regional cooperation on particular issues such as regional prevention strategies (UN Secretary-General 2001: para. 137). The SC has expressed its intention to ‘collaborate’ with regional and sub-regional organizations to improve opportunities for the resolution of

184 Christine Chinkin armed conflict and the protection of citizens in armed conflict (SC Resolution 1296 (2000): para. 7). Regional principles governing intervention have been developed in Africa. African regional and sub-regional organizations – for example the African Union (AU), ECOWAS, and Southern African Development Community (SADC) – have gone further in theory and practice than European organizations in laying down criteria for determining when it is permissible for states to intervene in other states. Principles are laid out in the Constitutive Act of the African Union, 2002,6 and through the creation of the Peace and Security Council of the AU. The EU might determine whether it wants to follow a similar path and formulate regional norms for intervention. However, the AU principles are applicable to intervention by African states only in other states within Africa. A crucial issue is whether principles of intervention can be agreed between regional states for application outside the region – an important security issue for EU states to address. Regional groupings are fluid and may change according to context and function. Informal groupings from within regions such as Contact Groups for particular areas or peace processes have been established. Negotiating teams may also straddle regional organizations. Within Europe the different membership and functions of organizations such as the EU, NATO and the OSCE make for differently composed groups for different purposes that can cause inconsistent and even conflicting mandates, policies and agendas. International law determining the relations between such bodies is unsettled and controversial. Attention must also be given to the relationship between EU intervention and that of regional organizations. An expectation, for example that African states would provide forces while the EU would bear some of the costs, might reduce concerns about the continuation of previous colonial intervention, but would also imply an inappropriate reluctance to risk European lives in Africa. Conclusions The international rules relating to legal responses (including military actions) to security threats are riddled with gaps and uncertainties. For example: •

•

•

Can a regional institution assume that the interpretations of threats to security developed by the SC are applicable to itself and can provide the basis for intervention that is legal under international law? Where the SC has found a situation to be a threat to international or regional security but has not authorized any action, is action taken by a regional institution to fill the vacuum permissible under international law? Can a regional organization use force to intervene in a state outside

An international law framework 185

• •

the geographic region or against a state that is not a member of the organization without SC authorization? What is the appropriate legal response to unauthorized action carried out by a regional organization? Who should respond? If intervention is illegal under international law, what legal effect is there on any subsequent steps, such as administration of territory?

The EU must determine the legal framework within which it will take decisions to intervene in third states (preventive actions, measures not involving military force, or military force) in the name of security. It must also consider whether it sees its security policy as supplementing and complementing existing international law, notably the role of the UN Security Council as the body with primary responsibility for international peace and security, or whether it seeks to go beyond the Charter framework in a regional context. In particular, does the EU want to formulate a legal basis for its interventions comparable to the Protocol establishing the Peace and Security Council of the African Union? This is especially important in the current context where there is much criticism of the UN and consideration of reform that might include the relationship between the UN and regional organizations. Another relevant concern is the extent to which EU deployment of military and/or civilian forces will reduce the number of persons and financial resources committed to UN missions by EU states. Where it seeks to go beyond, or act independently of, the SC, the EU must determine the forms of action and their legal basis. Legal questions of threshold, the deciding authority, accountability, amendment and review must all be resolved. To ensure coherence in EU policymaking they must be considered in the context of existing EU instruments on related issues such as development and economic cooperation and assistance, trade policy, humanitarian assistance, and social and environmental instruments.

Law applicable during intervention and after conflict Introduction The international legal regime around security and the bases for intervention assume an active, finite episode of ‘collective’ intervention by some form of sanctions or military force. Recent examples have shown that, while the military component is still intended to be finite, the aftermath, especially in post-conflict peace-building, may be lengthy. For example, as of 2005 it has been ten years since the Dayton Peace Accords that commenced post-conflict reconstruction in Bosnia-Herzegovina, and six years since the NATO intervention in Serbia and the international administration was established in Kosovo; and UN-mandated sanctions against Iraq lasted from 1990 to 2003.

186 Christine Chinkin Security concerns continue throughout a military intervention with respect to civilian safety within the target state, the safety of intervening military and civilian personnel, and of the population of the intervening state. Security concerns are likely to persist during a military occupation or international administration, even if the conflict is formally said to have terminated. Further post-conflict7 security concerns may arise through pockets of continuing fighting, resistance to the post-conflict regime and the collapse of civilian infrastructure. Any intervening body must both itself comply with international law and respond to the violations of others. This section considers the applicable law during and after conflict because realities on the ground may make it hard to determine when conflict terminates and ‘post-conflict’ commences, as demonstrated in Iraq 2003–4. Rather, the two situations merge as violence may sporadically lessen and increase. A law-enforcement approach to security requires analysis of the legal regimes applicable to intervention and post-conflict administration, including IHL, refugee law and principles relating to internally displaced persons. In active conflict IHL comprises the First, Second and Third Geneva Conventions8 and the Additional Protocols of 1977.9 The 1907 Hague Convention (IV) on the Laws and Customs of War on Land and the Annexed Regulations also apply during conflict and its aftermath. Where the intervening force is operating under a SC mandate, that too will regulate its activities. The Fourth Geneva Convention on the Protection of Civilians10 and the Hague Regulations, Articles 42–56, apply to occupation. The status of an international or regional administration may be determined by a negotiated peace agreement (for example, the Dayton Peace Accords11), SC Resolution (for example, East Timor) or by some combination of these (Kosovo). These international instruments also provide the framework for post-conflict regulation, supplemented by orders issued by the relevant administration, such as the Office of the High Representative in Bosnia-Herzegovina, the UN Secretary-General’s Special Representative in Kosovo and the Administrator of the Coalition Provisional Authority in Iraq, until the hand-over to the Interim Iraqi Government in June 2004. These regimes are supplemented by local law which remains applicable, by the rules of engagement of the various forces, by Status of Forces Agreements (including NATO Status of Forces Agreement and the Draft EU Agreement on the Status of Forces), relevant codes of conduct, the different national laws of the international personnel, and general international law, including human rights law. Thus, there is no shortage of regulatory regimes for the conduct of conflict and its aftermath. The status accorded to the intervening forces may affect their legal powers – for example, members of fighting forces, members of peacekeeping forces, members of occupying forces, members of an international (or regional) administration, members of civilian police forces, independent contractors and humanitarian bodies. These

An international law framework 187 categories designate the legitimate activities and legal restraints upon the actions of persons within them. The disagreements and uncertainties about the applicability of different legal regimes and their substantive requirements in particular situations are the subject of this section. As will be seen, the legal regimes applicable in armed conflict, occupation and peacekeeping operations are complex and technical, and contain uncertainties. It would be valuable if the interactions between these different regimes were subject to detailed analysis and proposals made for their clarification, not least for the assistance of personnel on the ground. Human rights and international humanitarian law Emphasizing the centrality of human rights in security policy is especially relevant to conflict and post-conflict situations. Human rights law and IHL have different legal and conceptual bases. Human rights treaties regulate state conduct with respect to individuals within the state’s territory and jurisdiction. Human rights law is applicable at all times, unless there has been a formal derogation within the terms of the relevant treaty (where such derogation is permissible). Human rights set standards and demand accountability so that failure to comply entails state responsibility. In contrast, the starting point of IHL is that in international or internal armed conflict actions that would otherwise be illegal are acceptable, for example the killing of enemy combatants and destruction of enemy property. IHL creates detailed legal regimes providing protection for those who are outside the fighting (the sick and wounded, prisoners of war and civilians who are protected persons). IHL obligations are owed between states, and one of the strongest factors inducing compliance is the principle of reciprocity, which has no corollary in human rights law. Foundational principles of IHL are the distinction between combatant and non-combatant, the assumption of military necessity and the requirement of proportionality. Critiques of IHL focus on the legitimization of violence it implies, in that it makes it legally permissible to use fatal force. Lawyers now advise the military on legal targets. Conflicts that involve many deaths and casualties (including those of civilians) are claimed to have been fought with full compliance with IHL, for example by the allied forces in the Gulf wars of 1991 and 2003, and in NATO’s Kosovo campaign. Through a human rights lens the claim of legality is harder to support. Human rights law is not subject to exceptions such as military necessity; and core rights such as the right to life and freedom from torture and slavery are absolute.12 The differences between human rights and humanitarian law have generated the argument that the former ceases to apply during armed conflict and subsequent occupation, an argument that appears to be without merit. Accordingly, conduct in armed conflict must be assessed against human rights standards as well as those of IHL. There are a

188 Christine Chinkin number of authorities for the applicability of human rights law in armed conflict. For example, some human rights treaties are subject to derogation ‘in time of war or other public emergency threatening the life of the nation’ (European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms (ECHR), Article 15) or ‘in time of public emergency that threatens the life of the nation’ (International Covenant of Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), Article 4). Certain basic rights cannot be derogated. The public emergency must be publicly declared; provision for derogation makes it clear that unless this has been done, the relevant convention is applicable throughout the conflict. The SC has recognized the applicability of human rights law in armed conflict (for example, SC Resolution 1314 (2000)). The UN Human Rights Committee has affirmed that measures that derogate from the ICCPR are allowed only ‘if and to the extent that the situation constitutes a threat to the life of the nation’ (Human Rights Committee 2001: General Comment 29: para. 2).13 The Committee has also clarified that ‘the Covenant [ICCPR] applies also in situations of armed conflict to which rules of international humanitarian law are applicable’ (Human Rights Committee 2004: General Comment 31: para. 11). The ICJ reached the same result in its advisory opinion on the Legality of the Threat or Use of Nuclear Weapons. The Court observed: that the protection of the International Covenant of Civil and Political Rights does not cease in times of war, except by operation of article 4 of the Covenant whereby certain provisions may be derogated from in a time of national emergency. Respect for the right to life is not, however, such a provision. In principle, the right not arbitrarily to be deprived of one’s life applies also in hostilities. The test of what is an arbitrary deprivation of life, however, then falls to be determined by the applicable lex specialis, namely, the law applicable in armed conflict which is designed to regulate the conduct of hostilities. (Legality of the Threat or Use of Nuclear Weapons 1996: para. 25) The Court reiterated this paragraph in its 2004 advisory opinion on the legality of Israel’s security wall and affirmed that human rights treaties continue to be applicable in armed conflict. It noted that there are three possible legal situations: ‘some rights may be exclusively matters of international humanitarian law; others may be exclusively matters of human rights law; yet others may be matters of both these branches of international law’ (Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory 2004: para. 106). By the same reasoning, the ECHR remains binding on EU member states throughout any military action, unless the state has made a formal derogation under Article 15 and only to the extent of that derogation, at least with respect to people within their territory. A further, more

An international law framework 189 complex, question is that of the extra-territorial applicability of human rights law, including in the case of occupation. Are EU member states bound by the ECHR in conflict zones or in territories where they are occupying forces? Under the ECHR, Article 1 states parties shall secure the Convention rights to all persons ‘within their jurisdiction’. The interpretation of ‘within their jurisdiction’ is therefore crucial to determining the territorial scope of the Convention. In Cyprus v. Turkey and Loizidou v. Turkey the European Court of Human Rights assumed that Turkey was bound by the ECHR in respect of Northern Cyprus. However, in Bankovic v. Belgium the Court was unwilling to extend the Convention’s extra-territorial reach. In Bankovic six Yugoslav nationals living in Belgrade brought proceedings against the European member states of NATO with respect to NATO’s campaign of air strikes against the Former Republic of Yugoslavia (FRY) during the Kosovo conflict, alleging violation of the ECHR, Articles 2 (right to life), 10 (freedom of expression) and 13 (right to an effective remedy). The European Court of Human Rights held that the Convention was not designed to be applied throughout the world, even in respect of the conduct of states parties. It found no jurisdictional link between the victims of the acts complained about and the respondent states, and concluded that the applicants and their deceased relatives were not capable of coming within the jurisdiction of the respondent states on account of the extra-territorial nature of the acts in question. While this judgment limits the ECHR’s territorial application, the Court emphasized the NATO states’ lack of territorial control in an aerial bombing campaign. The Court observed that it had: recognised only exceptionally extra-territorial acts as constituting an exercise of jurisdiction, when the respondent State, through the effective control of the relevant territory and its inhabitants abroad as a consequence of military occupation or through the consent, invitation or acquiescence of the Government of that territory, exercised all or some of the public powers normally to be exercised by that Government. (Bankovic v. Belgium 2001: para. 71) The judgment moves from a situation of active combat (aerial bombing) to one of occupation. Foreign military and civilian personnel may occupy territory within another state as members of an international administration or peacekeeping body, or as occupying forces. Bankovic draws no distinction as the Court appears to accept that states parties to the ECHR would continue to be bound by the Convention in any form of intervention that created effective extra-territorial control. Similarly, the Human Rights Committee expressed concern about Iraq’s failure to report on events in Kuwait during the Iraqi occupation in 1990–1 ‘given Iraq’s clear responsibility under

190 Christine Chinkin international law for the observance of human rights during its occupation of that country’ (Human Rights Committee 1991: para. 652). The Human Rights Committee explained the underlying policy: ‘It would be unconscionable to so interpret the responsibility under article 2 of the Covenant as to permit a State party to perpetrate violations of the Covenant on the territory of another State, which violations it could not perpetrate on its own territory’ (Human Rights Committee 1981: 176 at 182). In the Construction of a Wall advisory opinion, the ICJ approved the constant practice of the Human Rights Committee and considered the ICCPR to be applicable ‘in respect of acts done by a State in the exercise of its jurisdiction outside its own territory’ (Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory 2004: para. 111). It reached the same conclusion with respect to the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights and the Convention on the Rights of the Child (paras 112 and 113). Human rights protections conform to the requirements of the Fourth Geneva Convention with respect to protected persons.14 Such persons are entitled to be free from physical or moral coercion (Article 31) and to be accorded respect for their persons (Article 27). An area likely to cause particular problems is the maintenance of law and order for which the occupier becomes responsible in the occupied territory. The Hague Regulations, Article 43, state that ‘[t]he authority of the legitimate power having in fact passed into the hands of the occupant, the latter shall take all the measures in his power to restore, and ensure, as far as possible, public order and safety, while respecting, unless absolutely prevented, the laws in force in the country’. SC Resolutions mandating an international presence similarly assert the obligation to maintain law and order.15 This obligation may require occupiers to respond to violent resistance, including by the arrest and detention of people within the targeted territory. Force used by security forces in policing actions, for example so-called shoot-to-kill policies (Watkin 2004: 18), may be incompatible with human rights law because it is deemed unnecessary and disproportionate, but be acceptable under the laws of war. In McCann v. UK the European Court of Human Rights considered the actions of UK military and Gibraltar police in the arrest of IRA terrorists who were planning to bomb Gibraltar. The three suspects were shot and killed by the Special Services. The case shows the dilemmas in determining the level of force that is acceptable under human rights law. The majority of the Court considered that, where security forces have an ‘honest belief’ that lethal force is needed, but it subsequently turns out they are mistaken, there is no violation of the right to life. However, on the facts in McCann the majority held that the UK had violated the ECHR, Article 2, because the use of force was more than was absolutely necessary in view of the manner in which the authorities had planned the operation (McCann v. UK 1996: paras 213–14). The majority also considered that shooting to kill did not satisfy the ‘degree of caution

An international law framework 191 to be expected from law enforcement personnel in a democratic society’ (paras 21 and 24). Other cases illustrate similar tensions. For example, in Gul v. Turkey Turkish police officers who fired through the door of a flat in an anti-terrorist raid and killed Gul violated Article 2 because the shooting could not be regarded as absolutely necessary (Gul v. Turkey 2000: para. 83). Of course any force – military or civilian – has the right to act in legitimate self-defence, provided its actions are necessary and proportionate. Appropriate standards for behaviour and ensuring accountability are set out in international Codes of Conduct, for example the Code of Conduct for Law Enforcement Officials (United Nations 1979), UN Basic Principles on the Use of Force and Firearms by Law Enforcement Officials (United Nations 1990), and the Principles on the Effective Prevention and Investigation of ExtraLegal Arbitrary and Summary Executions (United Nations 1989). In particular, the Basic Principles on the Use of Force and Firearms by Law Enforcement Officials, para. 11(b), requires the adoption of rules and regulations on the use of force and firearms and stipulates that firearms are to be used in a manner ‘likely to decrease the risk of unnecessary harm’. They may be used intentionally only when strictly unavoidable to protect life. Political instability and public emergency cannot be used to justify not applying the Principles. These Principles are not formally binding law but provide standards that might be considered for inclusion in the instructions to be given to security personnel who are located in the difficult grey area between conflict and peacetime conditions (see further Salmon and Kaldor, Chapter 11). Watkin (2004: 32) sums up by saying that ‘human rights law requires review of lethal force by agents of the state while international humanitarian law is based on the premise that people will be killed’. He argues that application of human rights principles is suggested as a matter of logical policy as well as of law for a ‘major advantage of using force in accordance with human rights norms is that the overall level of violence is lowered’ (2004: 30). Requiring international human rights standards is also advantageous in that international forces comprise military and civilian security personnel from different countries who may be subject to different national standards. However, Watkin also cautions that ‘the nature of the threat and the resulting circumstances within which force is applied will ultimately determine the choice of that framework’ (2004: 22). An overriding principle of human rights law is the high degree of accountability for the actions of law enforcement officials (Watkin 2004: 2). Human rights law requires governments to initiate an official, impartial and effective investigation of alleged violations.16 Despite the uncertainty about the extent of the extra-territorial reach of the ECHR in light of the Bankovic decision, EU member states must be aware that individuals may seek to bring their claims before the European Court of Human Rights, especially where there has been a failure to investigate allegations

192 Christine Chinkin of violations. Further, since all member states are also parties to the ICC Statute, individuals are subject to the Court’s jurisdiction for alleged war crimes, crimes against humanity and genocide, even if the intervention has been authorized as a collective security action, and whether they are engaged as active combatants, occupiers or peacekeepers. ICC jurisdiction rests on the principle of complementarity, whereby a case is inadmissible if it ‘is being investigated or prosecuted by a State which has jurisdiction over it, unless the State is unwilling or unable genuinely to carry out the investigation or prosecution’ (Rome Statute of the ICC 1998: Article 17). Ensuring compliance with the statute, including investigation in accordance with Article 17, is the responsibility of each individual state. Consideration might be given to whether this responsibility should stay with the individual states in the case of EU intervention (as is the case, for example, with NATO) or whether the EU might consider instituting its own procedures in this respect, although this would involve further intrusion into the criminal law of member states. Another issue is whether forces acting in the name of the UN are subject to human rights standards. As an international organization, the UN is not a party to any human rights treaty but it is presumably bound by the human rights provisions of the Charter. The Secretary-General has unilaterally accepted the ‘fundamental principles and rules of international humanitarian law applicable to UN forces conducting operations under United Nations command and control’ (UN Secretary-General 1999b: para. 1). While welcome, the Secretary-General’s action does not address the question of enforcement, which has assumed greater importance as UN peacekeepers have been found to be implicated in harm to civilians, for example through committing sexual harassment and abuse. Radhika Coomaraswamy, former UN special rapporteur on violence against women, has argued: It is absolutely essential that all UN forces are held to the same standards of international human rights law as are nation states . . . To do otherwise creates a climate of impunity in which offences proliferate . . . Now especially where UN is running administrations such as in Kosovo and East Timor we feel it’s absolutely essential that some kind of structure be in place to deal with these kinds of issues [trafficking of women for prostitution]. (AFP 2001) This statement reflects the reality that international law relating to postconflict security pays little attention to gender dimensions – for example, the impact of military deployment upon civilian populations, and the personal security of women from those protectors. Institutional military and civilian forces can provide a safe space for the civilian population in place of the conflict and fear of attack that preceded their mobilization. Never-

An international law framework 193 theless, the presence of large numbers of security forces (primarily unattached men) creates physical security concerns for women, especially when such forces have comparatively large amounts of money available and can offer forms of employment. As seen in Cambodia, Bosnia, Somalia and elsewhere, their presence creates the potential for increased prostitution, sexual violence and connivance or even participation in trafficking. The legal framework for EU security policy should similarly incorporate IHL and take account of the specific security needs of women in the target state and include gender analysis in all mandates, training and evaluations. Members of international forces remain subject to their national laws. States which contribute peacekeeping personnel therefore retain the authority to withdraw peacekeepers and have the exclusive right to take disciplinary action against them, including prosecution of their personnel for violations of human rights or for offences (including sexual harassment and abuse of the local population) committed during peace-support operations. In practice it is impossible to determine how many prosecutions take place since no reporting is required. Consideration should be given to the appointment of an EU ombudsperson for every peacesupport operation to monitor the protection of citizens within the target state in accordance with the recommendation of the report of the UN Panel on UN Peace Operations (United Nations 2000). Another suggestion is the inclusion of child protection staff within peacekeeping operations, as suggested in SC Resolution 1379 (2001).

The international law of peace Traditional international law was divided into the law of war and the law of peace. From the outset, the laws of war have been seen as a distinct body of law that has been relatively frequently codified, updated and reformulated. The laws of peace, on the other hand, have been assumed to comprise the rest of international law – that is, the body of international law that is not particular to a state of international or internal armed conflict. This law is often ad hoc, incoherent and internally inconsistent. This section suggests the articulation of a more specific ‘law of peace’ that encompasses the concept of security in interventions and postconflict societies. This would include the legal, economic, physical and gendered individual and collective security of the citizens of the target state(s), the security of the military and civilian international personnel including those from civil society organizations, and the security of those living in the intervening states. The time appears to be ripe to clarify and conceptualize practice around the security continuum of conflict prevention, management, resolution (and attempted resolution) and postconflict reconstruction in order to develop an international legal

194 Christine Chinkin framework that identifies the legal obligations and duties applicable to the diverse actors. Regional bodies such as the EU could play a significant role in crafting such a law. The advantage for themselves would lie in the enhancement of the internal security of member states. The substance of this emergent law might include: •

• • • • • •

• • •

•

the primacy of human rights for all persons, with special attention to the human rights of vulnerable persons, including minorities, women, children, migrants and indigenous persons; issues of gender justice and equality; principles of inclusive participation; concepts of international crimes and responses to them; the emerging concept of a responsibility to protect through humanitarian assistance and obligations; economic and social rights as part of sustainable development through a rights-based approach to post-conflict development; analysis of the principles of non-intervention, identifying a broad construct of intervention and restraints upon it including an understanding that intervention in conflict denotes a duty to ensure appropriate reconstruction; practices and policies derived from international dispute resolution; capacity-building, accountability and responsibility for non-compliance; interaction of national and international law through constitutionmaking informed by international human rights standards, and the legal incorporation of those standards through national judicial and administrative bodies; and principles of transitional justice.

Such law would derive from many sources. One source is state practice as it is emerging through the act of commencing and facilitating dispute resolution processes, through the diverse forms of interventions into conflicts, and in post-conflict reconstruction. State practice is both unilateral (where one state takes the lead in pushing for a certain response, or in setting up and funding a particular programme) and multilateral under the auspices of inter-governmental and regional institutions such as the EU, OSCE, NATO, OAS and AU. Such bodies are evolving rules and practices in post-conflict reconstruction that are directed towards all forms of human security. They involve a range of tasks including civil administration, maintaining law and order, mine clearing, election monitoring, humanitarian assistance, peacekeeping and policing. Development of the practices of states and international agencies as a coherent body of law requires collation and independent critical analysis of documentation and experience, and the building up of a body of best practices. A second source is the entitlement of everyone, under the Universal

An international law framework 195 Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR), Article 28, ‘to a social and international order in which the rights and freedoms’ in the Declaration can be fully realized. This builds upon the preambular commitment to national and international measures to secure the universal recognition and enforcement of the rights contained within the Declaration – economic, social and cultural, and civil and political. By using the language of entitlement, the UDHR makes it incumbent upon all international actors – not just states – to act for their achievement. Intervention by the international community – bilateral, institutional and non-governmental – is explicit through peace processes and subsequent reconstruction. To determine a package of international obligations in the context of security that centres upon the people of the territory in the terms of Article 28 would be a significant development in international law. A third source consists of the initiatives of non-state actors, for example the practice of the humanitarian, human rights and development nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) that are now the inevitable accompaniment to any conflict, and the activities of multinational corporations and individuals. This practice includes not only what is actually done in the field but also the host of instruments that direct their activities, such as resolutions, codes of practice, memoranda of understanding, policy statements and guidelines for their practice. Crucial is the interaction between NGOs and inter-governmental agencies to ensure that they do not undermine, impede or endanger each other’s work. Inclusion of codes of appropriate conduct (including with respect to issues of gender) of all such personnel with monitoring and implementation mechanisms are essential. As this list of potential sources suggests, development of an international or regional law of security requires the ‘bringing together’ of principles from what are currently distinct branches of international law: human rights; international humanitarian law; prohibition of the use of force in international relations; the right to sustainable development; the obligation for the peaceful settlement of disputes; the emerging law of transitional justice; and refugee law. In that it derives from existing international law it is binding upon all actors, including those – notably the international financial institutions – that have tended to remain aloof from legal obligation, preferring to see their activities as development or aid. It begins with the ‘minimalist’ mandate ‘to do no harm’. It has been suggested that one of the reasons for the weakness of international regulatory regimes relating to security is lack of technical ability at the national level: Many countries are prevented from participating within the framework of international treaties because they do not possess the relevant expertise to implement the treaty, or to enact national legislation to ensure compliance. What is very much needed is worldwide educational dialogue, multicultural in nature, to encourage the new vision

196 Christine Chinkin of a security environment that makes the strengthening of the international legal order a categorical imperative. (Petrovsky et al. 2003: 877–8) Another aspect of the international law of peace would therefore be to make its provisions accessible and workable – objectives that the EU could consider as an integral part of its security policy. A recognized international legal security framework would determine the expectations civilian populations might legitimately have of an international or regional intervention and its outcomes, taking account of the differing circumstances of women and men. The EU could make a timely and innovative contribution to such a concept through its Security Policy.

Notes 1 In the context of international law and practice within the UN, Adam Roberts (2003: 51) has stated: ‘The UN is not an institution to which people should look if they want logic, consistency, clarity and simplicity.’ 2 There are also distinct regulatory regimes for weapons control and disarmament, including those relating to nuclear, chemical and biological weapons, missile technology control, multilateral export control, conventional weapons (small arms, landmines) and non-proliferation. 3 Under European Council Regulation 2340/90: ‘The Community and its Member States have agreed to have recourse to a Community instrument in order to ensure uniform implementation throughout the Community of the measures concerning trade with Iraq and Kuwait decided upon by the UN Security Council’ (fourth preambular paragraph). 4 The Strategy asserts that the US will defend itself and the American people ‘by identifying and destroying the threat before it reaches [US] borders’. The US ‘will not hesitate to act alone, if necessary, to exercise [its] right of self-defense by acting preemptively against such terrorists, to prevent them from doing harm against [its] people and [its] country’ (The White House 2003: Ch. 3). 5 For example, SC Resolution 816 (1993) para. 4 authorized member states ‘acting nationally or through regional organisations’ to enforce the no-fly zones established over Bosnia. 6 Article 4 (h) affirms ‘The right of the Union to intervene in a Member State pursuant to a decision of the Assembly in respect of grave circumstances, namely war crimes, genocide and crimes against humanity’; and Article 4 (j) ‘The right of Member States to request intervention from the Union in order to restore peace and security’. 7 ‘Post-conflict’ is a highly problematic status as there are many shared features of ‘conflict’ and ‘peace’ (see Keen 1998: 56; 2001). 8 Convention for the Amelioration of the Condition of the Wounded and Sick in Armed Forces in the Field, 75 UNTS 31; Convention for the Amelioration of the Condition of the Wounded, Sick and Shipwrecked Members of Armed Forces at Sea, 75 UNTS 85; Convention Relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War, 75 UNTS 135. 9 Protocol additional to the Geneva Conventions of 12 August 1949, and relating to the Protection of Victims of International Armed Conflicts, 8 June 1977, 1125 UNTS 3, (Protocol I); Protocol additional to the Geneva Conventions of

An international law framework 197

10 11 12

13 14

15

16

12 August 1949, and relating to the Protection of Victims of Non-International Armed Conflicts, 8 June 1977, 1125 UNTS 609 (Protocol II). Convention Relative to the Protection of Civilian Persons in Time of War, 75 UNTS 287, 12 August 1949. General Framework Agreement for Peace in Bosnia and Herzegovina, 35 I.L.M. (1996) 75. For example, European Convention for the Protection of Fundamental Rights and Freedoms, Rome 1950 (ECHR) ETS No 5 as amended by Protocol No. 11 (ETS No 155) Articles 2, 3, 4 and International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, 1966, 999 UNTS 171 (ICCPR), Articles 6, 7, 8. Other rights are subject to ‘claw-back’ provisions, that is, they may be subject to limitations that, prescribed by law, are necessary to protect public safety, order, health or morals; for example, ECHR, Articles 8, 9, 10, 11; ICCPR, Articles 18, 19, 21, 22. The General Comment provides guidelines for the balancing of human rights and security interests during public emergency. The Fourth Geneva Convention (see n. 9 above), Article 4 defines ‘protected persons’ as those ‘who . . . find themselves in case of a conflict or occupation, in the hands of a Party to a conflict or Occupying Power of which they are not nationals’. For example, SC Resolution 1244 (1999) para. 9(d) (Kosovo): the responsibilities of the international security presence include ‘ensuring public safety and order’. SC Resolution 1272 (1999) para. 2 (East Timor): ‘the mandate of UNTAET includes the following elements (a) to provide security and maintain law and order’. McKerr v. UK (2001) emphasizes the required standards of transparency and independence.

References AFP (Agence France Presse) (2001) ‘UN peacekeepers fueling trafficking in women, UN expert warns’, Press Release, Geneva, 9 April. Available online at: http://www.pcug.org.au/~wildwood/01aprtrafficking.htm (accessed 20 October 2004). Chinkin, C. (1997) ‘The legality of the imposition of sanctions by the European Union in international law’, in M. Evans (ed.) Aspects of Statehood and Institutionalism in Contemporary Europe, Dartmouth: Ashgate Publishing Co. —— (2000) ‘The legality of NATO’s action in the Former Republic of Yugoslavia (FRY) under international law’, International and Comparative Law Quarterly, 49: 910–25. EU Presidency Statement (2003) The Special Committee on the UN Charter. Available online at: http://europa-eu-un.org/articles/de/article_2217_de.htm (accessed 13 October 2004). Feinstein, L. and Slaughter, A.-M. (2004) ‘A duty to prevent’, Foreign Affairs, 83: 136–51. Gray, C. (2004) International Law and the Use of Force, 2nd edn, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Happold, M. (2003) ‘Security Council Resolution 1373 and the Constitution of the United Nations’, Leiden Journal of International Law, 16: 593–610. Human Rights Committee (1981) UN GAOR, 36th Session, Supp. No. 40 UN Doc. A/36/40 (discussing the ICCPR in Sergio Euben Lopez Burgos v. Uruguay, Communication No. R.12/52 (6 June 1979) at 176).

198 Christine Chinkin —— (1991) UN GAOR, 46th Session, Supp. No. 40 UN Doc. A/46/40. —— (2001) General Comment No 29, States of Emergency (article 4), UN Doc. CCPR/C/21/Rev.1/Add.11. —— (2004) General Comment No. 31, The Nature of the General Legal Obligation on States Parties to the Covenant (article 2), UN Doc. CCPR/C/21/Rev.1/Add.13. ICISS (International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty) (2001) The Responsibility to Protect, Ottawa: ICISS. Available online at: http://www. dfait-maeci.gc.ca/iciss-ciise/pdf/Commission-Report.pdf (accessed 20 October 2004). Independent International Commission on Kosovo (2000) Kosovo Report, Oxford: Oxford University Press. International Law Commission (2001) Articles on Responsibility of States for Internationally Wrongful Acts, UN GAOR 56th Session, Supplement No. 10, UN Doc. A/56/10 & Corr.1. Keen, D. (1998) The Economic Function of Violence in Civil Wars, Oxford: Oxford University Press. —— (2001) ‘War and peace: what’s the difference?’, International Peacekeeping, 7: 1–22. Petrovsky, V., Kratochwil, F. and Lanc, E. (2003) ‘Security: new threats and new strategies’, Leiden Journal of International Law, 16: 873–95. Roberts, A. (2003) ‘Order/justice issues at the UN’, in R. Foot, J. Gaddis and A. Hurrell (eds) Order and Justice in International Politics, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court (ICC) (1998) UN Doc. A/CONF.183/9. The White House (2003) The National Security Strategy of the United States of America, Washington, DC. Available online at: http://www.whitehouse.gov/nsc/nss.html (accessed 22 October 2004). United Nations (1979) UN Code of Conduct for Law Enforcement Officials, General Assembly Resolution 34/169 of 17 December. Available online at: http://www.unhchr.ch/html/menu3/b/h_comp42.htm (accessed 20 October 2004). —— (1989) UN Principles on the Effective Prevention and Investigation of Extra-Legal, Arbitrary and Summary Executions, Economic and Social Council Resolution 1989/65, Annex, 1989 UN ESCOR Supp. (No. 1) at 52, UN Doc. E/1989/89. Available online at: http://www1.umn.edu/humanrts/instree/i7pepi.htm (accessed 20 October 2004). —— (1990). UN Basic Principles on the Use of Force and Firearms by Law Enforcement Officials. UN Doc. A/CONF.144/28/Rev.1 at 112. Available online at: http://www. smallarmsnet.org/docs/saun17.pdf (accessed 20 October 2004). —— (2000) UN Panel on UN Peace Operations: Report of the Panel on United Nations Peace Operations (Brahimi Report), UN Doc. A/55/305–S/2000/809. Available online at: http://www.un.org/peace/reports/peace_operations (accessed 11 October 2004). UN Secretary-General (1992) An Agenda for Peace: Preventive Diplomacy, Peacemaking and Peace-keeping, Report pursuant to the Statement adopted by the Summit Meeting of the Security Council on 31 January 1992, UN Doc. A/47/277-S/24111 of 17 June. Available online at: http://www.un.org/Docs/SG/agpeace.html (accessed 20 October 2004).

An international law framework 199 —— (1995) Supplement to An Agenda for Peace, UN Doc. A/50/60-S/1995/1 of 3 January. Available online at: http://www.unog.ch/archives/agendas/supagp.htm (accessed 20 October 2004). —— (1999a) Report of the Secretary-General Pursuant to General Assembly Resolution 53/35: The Fall of Srebrenica, UN Doc. A/54/549 of 15 November. Available online: http://www.un.org/peace/srebrenica.pdf (accessed 20 October 2004). —— (1999b) Secretary-General’s Bulletin on the Observance by United Nations Forces of International Humanitarian Law, UN Doc. ST/SGB/1999/13 of 6 August. Available online: http://www.un.org/peace/st_sgb_1999_13.pdf. (accessed 20 October 2004). —— (2001) Report of the Secretary-General on the Prevention of Armed Conflict, UN Doc. A/55/985-S/2001/574. UN Security Council (1999) Report of the Independent Inquiry into the Actions of the United Nations during the 1994 Genocide in Rwanda, UN Doc. S/1999/1257. Available online: http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/library/news/1999/12/ rwanda_report.htm (accessed 20 October 2004). —— (2000) Resolution 1325, adopted 31 October 2000. Available online: http://www.un.org/events/res_1325e.pdf (accessed 22 October 2004). Watkin, K. (2004) ‘Controlling the use of force: a role for human rights norms in contemporary armed conflict’, American Journal of International Law, 98: 1–34.

Legal cases Bankovic and Others v. Belgium and 16 Other Contracting States, ECHR Reports of Judgments and Decisions 2001-XII, 12 December 2001 (Application No. 52207/99) (2003) 123 I.L.R. 108. Barcelona Traction Light and Power Company Case (Belgium v. Spain) (New Application) 1970 ICJ Rep. 3 (Order of 5 February). Cyprus v. Turkey (1997) 23 EHHR 244 (Application No. 25781/94). Gul v. Turkey (14 December 2000), ECHR (unreported) (Application No. 22676/93). Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory 2004 ICJ Rep. (Adv.Op. 9 July 2004). Available online at: http://www.icjcij.org/icjwww/idocket/imwp/imwpframe.htm (accessed 21 October 2004). Legality of the Threat or Use of Nuclear Weapons 1996 ICJ Rep. 226 (Adv. Op. 8 July). Legality of Use of Force (Serbia and Montenegro v. Belgium); (Serbia and Montenegro v. Canada); (Serbia and Montenegro v. France); (Serbia and Montenegro v. Germany); (Serbia and Montenegro v. Italy); (Serbia and Montenegro v. Netherlands); (Serbia and Montenegro v. Portugal); and (Serbia and Montenegro v. United Kingdom), Application made 29 April, 1999. Available online at: http://www.icj-cij.org/icjwww/idocket/ iybe/iybeframe.htm (accessed 11 October 2004). Loizidou v. Turkey (Preliminary Objections) [1995] ECHR 10 (23 March 1995) (Application No. 15318/89); Loizidou v. Turkey (Merits) [1996] IIHRL 112 (18 December 1996). McCann v. UK (1996) 21 EHRR 97. McKerr v. UK (2001) 34 EHRR 20. Military and Para-military Activities in and against Nicaragua (Nicaragua v. United States) 1986 ICJ Rep. 14 (Judgment of 27 June). Oil Platforms (Islamic Republic of Iran v. United States of America) 2003 ICJ Rep. (Judgment of 6 November)

9

Women as agents of change in conflict and post-conflict situations Sonja Licht

Introduction September 15, 2002: on the occasion of the anniversary of the terror attacks of September 11, a ‘World Women’s Security Council in Foundation’ was announced at an international conference in Berlin. At the end of the conference, which was organized by the Heinrich Böll Foundation and Women’s Action Scheherazade, all 60 participants from Germany, Afghanistan, Iran, Slovenia, South Africa, Sierra Leone, Israel, Palestine and other countries voted unanimously for its foundation. The participants denounced the fact that wars are plotted over their heads – inside or outside the UN Security Council – and the fact that male diplomats and military officials dare to decide the world’s fate. They proclaimed the need for a new concept of security policy that was not based on the imagined security needs of nations but on the real security needs of living people. As the former women’s minister of Afghanistan, Dr Sima Samar, who supports the idea of a World Women’s Security Council, said during the conference: Security is the first priority of women in Afghanistan. For true freedom in Afghanistan, security is essential. Without security, no human being can be free. Only with security can we win the restoration of women’s rights, peace and democracy. At the same time, security is not possible without women’s rights. They go hand in hand. (GLOW URL) The World Women’s Security Council is among hundreds of women’s initiatives aimed at influencing the debate about new concepts of security. Although most of them are generated by civic groups and networks around the globe, they are joined by an increasing number of think tanks, leading academics, MPs, and international and inter-governmental organizations. The text quoted above encapsulates some of the main ideas we would like to elaborate here. It advocates a genuine bottom-up approach, insisting that the new security strategy should be based ‘on the real security

Women as agents of change 201 needs of living people’ and ‘not on the imagined security needs of nations’. It also understands that respect for women human rights is a major pillar of human security. The Study Group on Europe’s Security Capabilities argues that a bottom-up human security policy ‘must take account of the most basic needs identified by the people who are affected by violence and insecurity’ (as Marlies Glasius and Mary Kaldor put it in their Introduction, Chapter 1). In building this new security strategy the EU would find its most willing partners among women activists, determined to define themselves and act as agents of change in conflict and post-conflict situations.

Women in the peace movements In understanding the potential of women’s concern for security issues and their activism, it is important to recall that women have been prominent in anti-war movements and pacifist circles throughout history, even when the wars they opposed were widely considered holy, like the medieval crusades (Throop 1940). More recently, women maintained a significant presence in both nineteenth- and twentieth-century pacifist and anti-war movements. Two thousand women held an anti-war conference at The Hague in 1915, in the midst of the First World War. The still active Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom (WILPF) was set up as a result of this gathering. One of the conference participants, Rosika Schwimmer, a peace activist from Hungary, voiced her belief that the building of peace depended on how the war was ended. Her words voiced at this occasion – that military settlements dictated by the militarists would carry the seeds of future conflicts – were borne out by many subsequent events, including the majority of recent wars. The writer Virginia Woolf was convinced that violence and militarism were strongly linked to men, since they exercised all political and economic power. She believed that women had the potential to change the situation because they remained outside of traditional structures. Woolf was not opposing working with men towards the same objectives, but advocated that women should act in their own way. This is exactly how most of the well-known women peace activists’ initiatives and networks have been organized in their resistance to wars. The initiators of one of the most impressive cases of this grass-roots women’s peace activism were rewarded with the Nobel Peace Prize in 1977. In the previous year two women from Belfast, Betty Williams and Mairead Corrigan, launched a campaign against violence that developed, in the space of a few weeks, into a broad people’s peace movement. On 10 August 1976 in Belfast, three children were killed when a mortally wounded driver, trying to escape from his enemy, knocked down a fence: one of many fatal outcomes that the world became used to. In the modern language of war reporters, the children were ‘collateral victims’ of armed

202 Sonja Licht conflict. But Betty Williams, a housewife living in the street where the children were killed, could not stand it any more. She decided to act, act immediately, and act on her own. She went from door to door calling people to get out into the streets and stop the violence. She was joined by the aunt of the three children, Mairead Corrigan. With considerable support of the local media, the two of them initiated a campaign against the senseless killing, bridged religious and political divides, and succeeded in building a movement for peace. These two women reflected the thoughts and wishes of tens of thousands of ordinary men and women at a moment when the entire society was at war with itself, when it became clear that violence could not solve the problems and that no one was offering a viable alternative. Although this movement could not stop the protracted, complex conflict in Northern Ireland, it succeeded in adding a very important building block to the search for a peaceful alternative. The proportionally very high presence of women in anti-war movements is an important phenomenon that must be understood in its complexity; otherwise we risk falling into the trap of one-dimensional, doctrinarian thinking, as happened to one school of feminist thought that categorized gender as essentially biologically determined and strengthened by centuries and often millennia of patriarchal culture. This school ‘considers gender behavioral patterns such as violence in men and nurturing in women as inherent and immutable’ (Vlachova and Biason 2003: 5). The other feminist school of thought, more influential and coinciding more with the analysis of the role of gender in security and the security sector, understands gender as a social construct, implying that male and female roles and models of behaviour are flexible and open to change. The ‘active involvement of women in recent wars has eroded stereotypes of women as submissive, peace-loving beings, unable to engage in violence’ (Vlachova and Biason 2003: 5). Women combatants in regular and guerrilla forces and, recently, women suicide bombers and even women involved in war crimes or crimes against humanity are to be found in almost all major armed conflicts. In the Rwanda war in 1994, a substantial number of women participated actively in the genocide, behaving as cruelly as their male counterparts (African Rights 1995). Even though the differences among these various roles can be enormous, depending on the causes and circumstances of the conflict there is no doubt that women might be found on the warmongering side, especially as background support. Again, due to basic value systems – grounded in patriarchy – these women are much more often tools than ideologues. Although women do find themselves on both sides of conflicts, it is an almost universal feature of wars that they are fought mainly by men, while women take over the burden of family care in sometimes extremely harsh conditions. In all wars most of the refugees and displaced people are women and children, war economies are almost wholly dependent on female labour, and after the conflict is over the burden of coping with

Women as agents of change 203 post-war trauma and poverty lies again most often on the shoulders of women, who often remain the sole breadwinners for their families. Modern and postmodern wars imply an ever-growing percentage of civilian victims, so the number of women and children who are direct victims is steadily growing as well. Patriarchal culture, still prevailing in the great majority of societies – from the most developed to the most underdeveloped ones – excludes women wholly or almost wholly from the decisionmaking process, yet makes them pay the price of those decisions, even the most serious ones: the price of warfare. The growing number of women in the non-governmental sector, often under the direct or indirect influence of feminist theories and activism, have understood this very specific dynamism and contributed to awareness-raising among women to participate in anti-war movements not only in order to prevent the worst type of conflicts but also to confront the various causes of war: aggressive nationalism, fundamentalism, and the neo-imperialist policies of the ‘military–industrial complex’, a term that is being used by many women activists especially in the developing world. And last but not least, women get involved in anti-war movements and form their own civic organizations devoted to both preventing conflicts and solving the problems generated by armed conflict, because they are looking for a way to have a say about the future of their war-tormented societies and to confront the causes and consequences of gender-based violence.

Women in the recent Balkan wars The notable prevalence of women in peace movements on all sides involved in the Balkan wars of the 1990s was one of the more conspicuous features of the conflict (Licht and Drakulic 1996). The peace movements in the countries of the former Yugoslavia had a crucial impact on the development of new women’s movements in the Balkans. Anti-war activities generated a whole range of women’s NGOs involved in a wide variety of initiatives: crisis centres helping victims of war-related and domestic violence, information and research centres, non-violent conflict resolution training, local and regional networks of anti-war activists such as the Women in Black. It is important to stress that almost all grass-roots women’s initiatives, even those devoted to academic work like centres for women’s studies, have participated in anti-war activities. Centres for women’s studies were, in addition to being among the first civic, nongovernmental academic institutions, also the first academic institutions dealing with women rights, human and minority rights, peace studies and transitional justice. Women’s NGOs were among the most substantial pillars of humanitarian work as well, including support for large numbers of refugees and displaced persons. They did not stop cooperating across borders even when the conflicts were at their peak, so risking being labelled ‘traitors’ or ‘fifth columnists’.

204 Sonja Licht The recent wars in the former Yugoslavia proved once again that women are victimized in such conflicts in many different ways. Women were killed, raped, tortured, trafficked and displaced. Fourteen years after the war started there are still thousands of women living in refugee camps, and, of course, many have to take care of their children in these appalling conditions. It must also be noted that women led many of the most important and courageous human rights organizations in the region during the last decade. Their work greatly contributed to the fact that rape was acknowledged as a war crime for the first time in history, and that the first convictions for this crime were secured at the International Criminal Tribunal for Former Yugoslavia in The Hague. The role of women in building an open, civil society, and their potential in the reconstruction of the Balkan countries, deserve serious attention. Women’s NGOs have mushroomed during the last decade: this was women’s way of finding a new sense of identity beyond ethnicity, and of surviving the inhuman conditions their societies were faced with. Foreign donors, international women’s foundations and NGOs rushed to support them. The questions we must confront in the post-war period are how this energy and commitment can be maintained when the war is over, as these countries enter the process of transition to more stable, functional societies. What will be the role of women in post-war reconstruction? Are women’s NGOs strong enough to articulate a necessary gender perspective in the transition process? Is there a political will both within these countries and in the international community to support such a perspective? How can women contribute to the new security architecture of the region if gender issues are left out of the mainstream economy and politics? These questions are complex and difficult, as was evident during the transitions in Central and Eastern Europe and in the countries of the former Soviet Union. The political transition in the post-Communist period has often been understood as a return to the values of the past, patriarchy included. The introduction of a market economy left many without jobs, and the majority of the unemployed were women. Thus, the proportion of women among the victims of transition is very high, since these societies are experiencing a feminization of poverty, as are almost all the countries faced with pauperization. When political and economic change is not accompanied by various measures of social policies aimed at vulnerable groups of the population, women and youth often pay a harsh price. In searching for a way out, the response of these impoverished population groups may be to turn towards anti-reformist, even chauvinist–populist demagogues.

Women and the Middle East peace movement Another impressive case of women’s peace activism is to be found in the Middle East. In the midst of a long-lasting, occasionally very violent con-

Women as agents of change 205 flict, women succeeded in developing a whole range of non-violent, politically very articulate activities. In fact, since the formation of Women in Black in 1988, women have been the more vibrant, daring and progressive part of the Israeli peace movement. Before anyone else, they advocated a two-state solution, sharing Jerusalem as the capital of both states, and creative solutions to the refugee issue. They engaged in dialogue with Palestinian women; broke through the closure of the Occupied Territories to bring food, medicine, and a message of coexistence; paid condolence calls to the families of victims (on both sides); and spoke out in a clear, daring voice against the very idea of resolving this multi-faceted and immensely difficult conflict by military means. They had a partner in implementing ‘people-to-people’ projects, as they were known: Palestinian women committed to peace. In 1989, a meeting was convened in Brussels between prominent Israeli and Palestinian women peace activists. The meeting initiated an ongoing dialogue that in 1994 resulted in the establishment of The Jerusalem Link, comprising two women’s organizations – Bat Shalom on the Israeli side, and the Jerusalem Center for Women on the Palestinian side. The two organizations shared a set of political principles, which made it possible to build an understanding between them about coexistence and joint activities. When the second Intifada broke out, many believed that it marked the death of such efforts. Palestinian NGOs decided to ‘halt their joint projects with the Israeli side, particularly the “people to people” projects [and] any program which contains an approach of “normalization” ’. The statement asked the Palestinian ‘NGOs to discontinue any transaction with Israeli NGOs until they recognize publicly . . . the right of the Palestinians to establish a state in the West Bank and Gaza, with Jerusalem as its capital, and the right of return for the Palestinian refugees’ (Wurfel 2003). And, although there was an almost complete break in ‘people-topeople’ communication, women did not give up. In late September 2000, nine Israeli women’s peace organizations formed the Coalition of Women for Peace and launched a series of non-violent actions, some of them involving civil disobedience. Bat Shalom, the women’s peace group committed to ending the occupation of Palestine and the establishment of a Palestinian state, was among them. This group and a few others maintained communication all along. This is why it was possible to return even to mass actions such as the march in December 2001, when 5,000 Israeli and Palestinian women marched together from the Israeli to the Palestinian side of Jerusalem under the twin banners, ‘The Occupation is Killing Us All’ and ‘We Refuse to be Enemies’ (Svirsky 2003). There are still many who wonder whether this type of non-violent resistance can bring real results in severe, protracted conflicts like the one in the Middle East. The results of the Four Mothers Movement, a group of four women whose sons were serving in the Israeli army, should provide an answer. This group was founded in 1997 and sought to mobilize the

206 Sonja Licht Israeli public to demand that Israel withdraw from Lebanon, based on the argument that its prolonged presence there served no security purposes, but jeopardized the lives of soldiers. Although senior military officers poured scorn on them, the small demonstrations and silent vigils of mothers appealed to the Israeli public. They demanded – and were accorded – meetings with the highest government officials, whose inadequate answers were then magnified through the well-run media work of this group. The ‘authentic’, mother-oriented nature of this movement, and its dissociation from partisan politics, struck an empathetic nerve among the Israeli public. The deaths of Israeli soldiers were on the increase in Lebanon, and the message of the Four Mothers fell on attentive ears, feeding public dismay over the seemingly endless body bags. Within 3 years of the start of the movement, the Israeli army withdrew from Lebanon. (Svirsky 2003) Although the Balkan and Middle East women peace activists live and struggle in very different circumstances, they proved that genuine grassroots peace efforts reach out to a worldwide community. The Women in Black movement, which started in Israel in 1988 when a group of women dressed in black held silent vigils at the central square in Jerusalem and throughout the country demanding the end of hostilities, was embraced by women in Serbia in 1991. And from these two places it spread all over the world. When eight Danish and Norwegian parliamentarians (four men and four women) nominated them for the Nobel Peace Prize in 2001, they emphasized that these women succeeded not only in continuing for more than a decade in their resistance to war, but consequently rejected hostile enemy images of their neighbours and reached out to the ‘other’ in order to build the preconditions for a lasting peace and reconciliation. Women in Black has proved to have the potential of spreading to many countries. Their calm and dignified, but still visual and telling, way of protesting has inspired peace activists in many countries. They became a global grass-roots network of women who have the potential to influence a global civil society in the making.

Women in search of justice and a new security paradigm It has become almost universally accepted that it is impossible to win back the future in war-devastated societies without facing their recent past and trying to expose the truth about it, defining responsibilities and paving the path to reconciliation. In all violent conflicts women have experienced multiple types of abuse, but the most common is sexual abuse in the form of mass rape and forced prostitution and marriages, which are followed by social stigmatization and marginalization. Women are also exposed to

Women as agents of change 207 mass displacement, having to be the sole provider of the family in extremely difficult circumstances while men are fighting, imprisoned or killed. Women are often instrumentalized in ethnic and religious conflicts, as in the case of ‘mother’s movements’ organized by nationalist political elites at the beginning of the wars in former Yugoslavia, when mothers were used to strengthen the nationalist cause and divide the autonomous, multinational anti-war movement, especially in Bosnia. Most recently, women have been mobilized as suicide bombers in the Middle East and Chechnya. The story of the victimization of women is well known. The story of women in resistance movements against abuses of rights and against political, ethnic, racial and religious fundamentalisms is, unfortunately, less well known. How many reporters wrote about the women who organized underground schools for girls under Taliban rule in Afghanistan, risking their lives to prevent women falling into the darkness of ignorance? How many news channels reported the Union of the Committees of Soldiers’ Mothers in Russia (UCSMR), who from the early days of their activities positioned themselves as equal partners of the state and influenced various state decisions in the military sphere as early as 1989? When the first Chechen war began they were the first NGO in Russia to make a public anti-war statement. They demanded the immediate withdrawal of the armed forces from Chechnya and declared the war illegitimate. The UCSMR was active in the conflict zone: it protected the human rights of civilians, participated in the exchange of prisoners of war, and organized humanitarian assistance and anti-war campaigns. ‘On the last All-Russian Civic Forums in 2000 and 2003 the UCSMR took the part of the main negotiator in discussions between the state and the NGOs on the central matter of the state military policy, the armed forces reform’ (Kuklina 2004: 424). Although the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo, a group of Argentinean women who became a symbol of human rights activism and courage, are better known, the question of how many understood their role in bringing down the junta and leading the struggle for justice is still valid. Dressed in black, they have been demonstrating for years every Thursday at 3:30 in the afternoon, in the famous Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Aires, demanding to know the fates of their loved ones. Marching around the statue of liberty, in front of the presidential palace, they used to tie white handkerchiefs imprinted with names of disappeared sons and daughters, around their heads, and carry signs emblazoned with photographs of those about whose destinies they sought information. The Mothers’ use of the imagery of Christian motherhood made them particularly effective against the professedly Catholic military regime. (The Vanished Gallery URL)

208 Sonja Licht Several of them, including their founder, Azucenab Villaflor de Vicenti, themselves disappeared as a result. Women struggled for justice by participating in public debates about crimes committed against both women and men, by testifying publicly and behind closed doors, sometimes risking further stigmatization, by participating in memory writing projects, by their own investigative reporting, and by being outstanding members of truth and reconciliation commissions (TRCs) in South Africa, Argentina, Peru, Sierra Leone, in fact, in most TRCs around the globe. With the help of international human rights organizations in Sierra Leone, a Women’s Task Force on the TRC and Special Court has been established, which consults regularly with the Special Court and TRC to create an enabling environment that will encourage the participation of women at all levels of both these institutions. The Women’s Task Force, with direct support from the International Human Rights Law Group, also successfully pushed for the creation of a special unit to investigate gender-specific war crimes during the country’s decade long civil war (Human Rights Watch 2003: 61–6). Gender is an indispensable dimension of reconciliation at the official and institutional levels. Most experience demonstrates that women (and often also other politically marginalized groups) have limited access to peace negotiation processes and little or no representation in government and other decision-making bodies. This lack of involvement in political processes seriously reduces their possibilities to voice their concerns and interests and ensure that these are recognized as political concerns at a crucial point. (Bloomfield, Bames and Huyse 2003: 13) Women activists in close coalition with all those who care for a better, more just and less insecure world must do everything possible to raise awareness about gender-related crimes, but also continue their resistance again circumstances in which those crimes are committed and be active in drafting a new human security agenda.

Women as actors in building a new security agenda UN Security Council Resolution 1325 on Women, Peace and Security (UN Security Council 2000) has been a watershed in raising awareness about the necessity of building a gender perspective into all peace-building efforts: from increased representation of women at all decision-making levels for the prevention, management and resolution of conflicts, through strong advice to the Secretary-General to expand the role and contribution of women in UN field-based operations, to the inclusion of materials on the protection, rights and particular needs of women and girls in national training programmes for military and civilian police per-

Women as agents of change 209 sonnel being prepared for deployment. The resolution also called for ending the impunity of violence through joint action of civil society and the international community in monitoring, documenting and addressing these crimes. This crucial international document has been followed by a number of other important resolutions, such as the European Parliamentary Resolution from November 2000 and the Council of Europe Resolution from January 2003. In building a human security approach it is very important to stress, first, that a developed gender perspective implies special care for every individual, both men and women, since a ‘gender perspective is not just a focus on women: men, especially young men, are also more subject to violence while at the same time being encouraged or even coerced to use violence’ (Marlies Glasius and Mary Kaldor, Chapter 1); second, that it is absolutely necessary to generate political will and build mechanisms to implement these resolutions, and third, that this implementation must be regularly monitored. 1

2

3

There is a broad consensus among theoreticians and practitioners that the rich experiences of development programmes could help to conceptualize the engendering of the security agenda. One of the highly recommended methods designed, in the first instance, for developing countries is the sector-wide approaches that offer a strategy of linking the potentials and experiences of national administrations and civil society actors to international donors (Bell 2000). Thus, sector-wide approaches should both result in coherent policies of strengthening the overall human security situation and lessen the danger of donor-driven, hence donor-dependent, programmes. By stressing the broad partnership of state and non-state actors, both national and international, this method is also a very powerful tool for connecting bottom-up and top-down projects and policies. The necessary political will to implement the UN Security Council, the European Parliamentary and the Council of Europe (COE) resolutions would be generated if these organizations and their member states enacted special legislation ‘to make it easier for women to get involved in politics and eventually create a gender balance (positive action)’ (the first point of the COE resolution). All the steps and recommendations discussed in the upcoming pages are, in fact, the operationalization necessary to generate and maintain this political will. The implementation itself should be monitored by interested parties: women’s organizations and networks, intergovernmental organizations and national administrations. It is also very important to secure permanent media coverage, both locally and internationally.

The above-mentioned resolutions recognize the key role women play in conflict transformation and holding communities together in times of

210 Sonja Licht crisis, and commit the UN, the EU and other responsible parties to address the clear gender dimensions of conflict and include women in formal peace negotiations and processes. But there is still a long way to go before their real potential as peacemakers can be fully recognized. The necessary first step is to broaden the understanding of the civilizational and political value of women’s peace activism, to include women in peace negotiations and to secure their presence and influence in post-conflict reconstruction. Since the EU by its nature – as a peace project – had to move away from the traditional concept of security as applying to state and territory, it has a ‘vested interest in developing alternative ways to make the world a more secure place by non-military ways’ (Hubert 2004: 9). It is much better placed than most other power centres to depart from a traditional security concept and embrace a more democratic, confident, participatory and, as Agnes Hubert calls it, ‘feminine’ political culture. Thus, it could become a natural partner of all those who struggle against genderbased violence and at the same time use their activist energy and best services to develop a new concept of security policy. In practical terms, this also means that activists of various women’s initiatives could build a substantial part of the non-military personnel in peace interventions. Their support in generating civic initiatives, women’s grass-roots organization and participation in decision-making bodies, monitoring the state of the rights of women, girls and the entire local population could be extremely valuable. The EU achieved a tremendous result in strengthening social cohesion in most of Europe through structural funds. It is essential to create a similar mechanism to achieve a much higher level of gender equality and gender mainstreaming within the EU and the entire European space, since it is an indispensable part of the human security agenda. This mechanism (a ‘Gender Equality Fund’?) could then, together with the appropriate legislation, provide the necessary ground for a strong political will to make gender mainstreaming a reality in the security sector as well. Marie Vlachová suggests four basic methods for starting the real process of engendering the security sector, arguing in a very convincing way that this process would forcefully address the disproportion between achievements at the grass-root level and women’s participation in policy and diplomacy at both national and international level: • • •

•

To increase the awareness of the problem of gender-based violence among politicians, security sector representatives and the public; To empower women through integrating them in the security sector; To change the institutional culture of the security sector in the direction of greater salience given to gender-related issues, i.e. incorporation of gender-related issues at all levels of the sector and integration of gender issues in the curricula of military academies; and To enhance cooperation between security sector institutions and non-

Women as agents of change 211 state organization, especially those dealing with violence against women. (Vlachová and Biason 2003: 14–15) There will be a huge resistance to these changes within the security institutions themselves as well as even within certain civil society structures. The reasons are generated both by the very nature of the authoritarian, hierarchical, male-dominated security structures and by some feminist theoreticians who have always been very critical of state establishments, security structures included. Many other controversial issues will have to be faced in further conceptualization and implementation of these changes, but they might be more easily overcome if the new European security strategy and new security instruments were from the very beginning based on a full understanding that inclusion of women is an opportunity rather than a problem. The book Women in an Insecure World (Vlachová and Biason 2004), envisaged as an ongoing project of the Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control of Armed Forces (DCAF), apart from representing an impressively comprehensive compendium of data, documents, opinions, case studies, and best and worst practices concerning gender-based violence, provides an extensive list of ideas and practical recommendations towards the inclusion of women in post-conflict governance, democratization and peace-building processes and an even longer list of recommendations on how to empower women, on how to make gender consideration part of the real politics of conflict prevention and conflict management. A new security strategy should take all these recommendations very seriously because otherwise the goal of turning women into real agents of change in conflict and post-conflict situations might remain mere rhetoric. Some of the most important recommendations are as follows: •

•

•

Gender considerations need to be mainstreamed into the entire reconstruction process. This will mean including gender considerations when new constitutions are drafted, in appointing interim and transitional governments and local councils and in conducting future elections. Infringement of women’s human rights must not be allowed as a way of appeasing the so-called traditional culture argument. Gender balance must be insisted on among negotiators to ensure a peace plan that is workable at the community level. Cultural barriers can be overcome if high-level visitors such as top diplomats on tour or top politicians on visits demand that a critical mass (at least 40 per cent) of local interlocutors be women. All planning and policies for conflict and peace operations should be gender-proofed by having to demonstrate they have included gender considerations at all stages of planning, decision-making, allocations of funds and resources, post-conflict reconstruction processes, democratization and policy development.

212 Sonja Licht •

• • •

New ways should be sought to improve cooperation, understanding and coordination between informal and formal sectors. In Kosovo, Bosnia, Sierra Leone and most other post-conflict situations the majority of women leaders and activists are in the informal civil society sector, while the majority of senior formal-sector positions in civil services, international organizations, diplomatic services, military and the media are held by men. Women’s NGOs and activists should be included in peace missions and post-conflict planning. Rapid-reaction post-conflict civilian teams should be developed comprising at least 40 per cent women. A pool of qualified women should be trained in negotiation, mediation and facilitation skills. Women should be sponsored in leadership, mediation and communication training programmes both at home and abroad.

By empowering women, by mainstreaming gender considerations in the entire process of dealing with a conflict and post-conflict situation, a new paradigm should be constructed for how and with whom negotiations and policy development are conducted. This new format would also broaden and diversify the range of men representing the local community, ‘instead of confining negotiations to warlords, extremist politicians and religious leaders’ (Vlachova and Biason 2004: 107). The inclusion of a much greater variety of perspectives should result in much better economic, political and social solutions, since many more end-users of these policies will be involved as genuine stakeholders. Such an approach would reduce the likelihood of war and conflict and counteract fundamentalism, since one of the root causes of the rise of religious fundamentalism has been the void left in the body politic by corrupt, greedy, irresponsible political leaders who neglected the interests of their citizens and became detached from huge parts of their own society. In the context of post-conflict reconstruction, when the establishment of the rule of law is a precondition for (re)building the basic structures of the state and society at large, it is of the utmost importance that offences against women must be recognized and punished, illegitimate children accorded full rights, and women provided with the necessary post-trauma treatment and economic assistance. Since in most of these countries patriarchy is still very strong, special attention has to be paid to inheritance laws and practices, since war widows or female children may be disposed of. And, finally, assessing how policies may impact women differently from men increases the chances of developing successful and inclusive policies. Listening to women as well as men provides much more comprehensive information about the state of a country. Since women are usually prevalent in the informal sector, and the people in this sector often have a much better insight into needs and expectations at the grass-root level, they are

Women as agents of change 213 also able to give much more realistic information about security needs and concerns of so-called ordinary citizens, to provide the necessary foundation for a bottom-up approach of a comprehensive peace operation. There are certain steps which could be almost immediately introduced to make the actual peacekeeping operations more gender-sensitive and inclusive. For example, ‘the mandates of all peacekeeping and peace support operations should be amended to include protection of women and consultation with them. There is also an urgent need to appoint senior gender advisors who have decision making powers and who can be part of the field operations and fact finding missions’ (Ahooja-Patel 2004: 466). The preparatory training for peacekeepers must include a genderawareness-building component, and mechanisms for accountability of all those who violate the human rights of local populations, particularly women, should be instantly introduced. But the most important immediate step for all peace-building operations, easy to implement and with no additional costs, is to establish permanent communication with local women’s activist groups, pay serious attention to their security concerns, include them as much as possible in post-conflict reconstruction, and help them to be more effective in their struggle against gender-based violence. This would contribute both to the strengthening of a bottom-up approach and to the integration of women as agents of change and actors in security processes in the context of multi-dimensional peacekeeping operations.

References African Rights (1995) Rwanda – Not so Innocent: When Women Become Killers, London: African Rights. Ahooja-Patel, K. (2004) ‘The UN Security Council Resolution 1325: a watershed in history’, in M. Vlachová and L. Biason (eds) Women in an Insecure World – A Handbook on Violence against Women, Geneva: DCAF. Bell, E. (2000) Emerging Issues in Gender and Development: An Overview, BRIDGE Report No. 58, Brighton: Institute of Development Studies, University of Sussex. Available online at: http://www.bridge.ids.ac.uk/reports/re58.pdf (accessed 18 October 2004). Bloomfield, D., Bames, T. and Huyse, L. (2003) Reconciliation after Violent Conflict: A Handbook, Stockholm: IDEA. GLOW (Global Center for Women’s Studies and Politics) (URL) http://www. glow-boell.de/home/content/d/conference/Kongressarchiv/September_2002/ referentinnen/render_doc (accessed 9 November 2004). Hubert, A. (2004) ‘The European Union, an actor on the world scene of gender based violence’, in M. Vlachová and L. Biason (eds) Women in an Insecure World – A Handbook on Violence against Women, Geneva: DCAF. Human Rights Watch (2003) ‘We’ll Kill You If You Cry’: Sexual Violence in the Sierra Leone Conflict, New York: Human Rights Watch. Available online at: http://hrw.org/reports/2003/sierraleone/sierleon0103.pdf (accessed 18 October 2004). Kuklina, I. (2004) ‘The Union of the Committees of Soldiers’ Mothers of Russia’,

214 Sonja Licht in M. Vlachová and L. Biason (eds) Women in an Insecure World – A Handbook on Violence against Women, Geneva: DCAF. Licht, S. and Drakulic, S. (1996) ‘When the word for Peacenik was Women: war and gender in the Former Yugoslavia’, in M. Spencer (ed.) Women in PostCommunism, Vol. 2, Greenwich, CT: JAI Press. Svirsky, G. (2003) ‘Nonviolence in the Israeli women’s peace movement’, Arabic Media Internet Network, 31 August. Available online at: http://www.amin. org/eng/uncat/2003/aug/aug31.html> accessed 18 October 2004). Throop, P. (1940) Criticism of the Crusade: A Study of Public Opinion and Crusade Propaganda, Amsterdam: N.V. Swets and Zeitlinger. UN Security Council (2000) Resolution 1325 (2000). Available online at: http://www.un.org/events/res_1325e.pdf (accessed 18 October 2004). The Vanished Gallery (URL) ‘The Mothers of Plaza de Mayo’. Available online: http://www.yendor.com/vanished/madres.html (accessed 18 October 2004). Vlachová, M. and Biason, L (2003) ‘Violence against women as a challenge for security sector governance’, Chapter 7 in H. Hanggi and T. Winkler (eds) Challenges of Security Sector Governance, Münster: LIT Verlag. —— (eds) (2004) Women in an Insecure World: A Handbook on Violence against Women, Geneva: DCAF. Online. Available online at: http://www.dcaf.ch/ publications/e-publications/CDrom_Women_violence/Excerpts.pdf (accessed 9 November 2004). Wurfel, D. (2003) ‘Israel/Palestine: the peace movement endures crisis’, Peace Magazine, April–June: 6. Available online at: http://www.peacemagazine.org/ archive/v19n2p06.htm (accessed 18 October 2004).

10 Culture and capabilities of the new EU members Pavel Seifter

Introduction The project of a European security strategy (ESS) is based on a conception of Europe as a single entity. However, throughout the 1990s there was still also ‘another Europe’, a Europe between Russia and the West. Today’s complex European identity is not so easy to define because it is one and many at the same time. Identity is never a thing, it is a process of continuous collective redefinition (Campbell 1992). One way Europe redefined itself was through its unique reaction to the Second World War. For Continental Europe everything had changed, nothing was ever to be the same. The suffering and destruction of war had to be stopped for ever; war itself became the real enemy for the Europeans. The way the past came to be seen had to match the new project of a European future and a belief that the international was better than the national, that international law and cooperation was Europe’s way out of disaster. It was impossible to play the game by the old rules any longer. A new European history had to be attempted ( Judt 1992: 97; Coker 2003: 2). Central and Eastern Europe (CEE) left the Soviet sphere of influence after 1989 and then moved on to its new orbits around planets NATO and EU. After 15 years the two Europes have met at a point of merger. Is there enough energy and vision left to continue the story that started in 1945?

Memory Transatlantic relations might be dominating the security debate at present, but attention should be paid also to the different security cultures within Europe itself (Sediv´y and Zaborowski 2004). Leaders, politicians and the military all shape their views and decisions on the basis of their historically determined perceptions of the world, Europe, their allies and their adversaries. They also depend to a significant extent on public opinion. Three historical experiences above all have affected the security culture of CEE: the Second World War and its skeletons; the Cold War

216 Pavel Seifter (which includes an idealized conception of a united Western Europe); and the (re)integration of CEE into ‘Europe’, NATO and the EU. The historical memory of CEE reaches further than that. It reaches back to the formative era of national revivals of the nineteenth century and the outcome of the First World War. The bonds as well as the animosities in the region need to be understood in that context; hence, for instance, the Czech sympathies for and feelings of solidarity with the South Slav nations of Yugoslavia, and the problems the Czechs and Slovaks had with the NATO bombing of Serbia during the Kosovo war in 1999. Defensiveness, sensitivities, social habits and suppressed ambitions left their mark on the nations that lived under the rule of the Austro-Hungarian, Russian, German and Ottoman empires. How these nations emerged from the demise of those empires following the First World War remains important. Some of them were victors, others were losers. In CEE, where history has left a rich mixture of cultures, languages and religions, new states were born out of the Wilsonian principle of national selfdetermination; but half its population were members of one national minority or another, including, most importantly, millions of Germans and Hungarians (Dunn and Fraser 1996). The peacemakers did their best to impose obligations on governments to treat their minorities well, but the explosive pressure making for conflict was difficult to contain (Macmillan 2001: 496). The problem has lost its most dangerous potential by now, but it is still there and played a part in the 1990s in the history of the Czech Republic, Slovakia and Hungary (not to mention the Balkans), and even made its influence felt in the European Union. Frontiers were disputed and even fought over between new neighbours in the immediate post-First World War period. The newly reborn Polish state diplomacy had great difficulty settling the western Polish frontier with Germany; most difficult of all, however, was the question of the Polish–Soviet frontier, which in the end was decided by Polish arms. The Polish frontiers disappeared in 1939 and were shifted again after the Second World War, this time westwards. Frontiers remain a sensitive issue in the Polish memory. Diplomacy, not the army, was the key to Czech security. With the failure of the League of Nations and hence of the whole inter-war system of treaties and guarantees, Czechoslovakia was exposed and went down, abandoned by France and Britain. The Munich Agreement of 1938 remains in the Czech historical memory as an indelible trauma. The pattern has imprinted itself on the Czech mind: never allowed to defend themselves militarily, the Czechs depended on the decisions of their big – but in the end unreliable – allies. They needed the international legal and political system, but in the end it failed to protect them. For Hungary it was the other way round. It was the big loser of the First World War, having lost two-thirds of its territory, three-quarters of its population, and its status as a big player. Most painfully, big Hungarian

Capabilities of the new EU members 217 minorities (altogether some 3 million people) found themselves outside Hungary, in Romania, Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia. Munich gave Hungary back a slice of Slovakia, and Poland also took its bite from the northern border region of Czechoslovakia. Then, having been on the wrong side in the Second World War, Hungary again lost out, and many ethnic Hungarians were expelled from Czechoslovakia. It is the Second World War above all that dominates the European mind, including in the ‘new’ countries. The case of the three Baltic nations, Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, is extreme and differs from the history of CEE. They lost their states in 1940 for half a century, incorporated by Stalin into the Soviet Union with tragic consequences. Elsewhere in Europe, in 1945 and the immediate aftermath the picture was uncomplicated in terms of who won the war (the Allies) and who lost it (Germany and its satellites), who was guilty (the Germans and their collaborators), and who were the victims (all the others). This picture had little to do with the facts of war and occupation (Judt 1992: 85ff.). The attribution of wartime responsibility to the Germans and the association of the Germans with Nazism provided an excuse for a ‘solution’ to the nationality problem in Continental Europe. As a result of the shifting of Poland’s frontiers westwards, in accordance with the Potsdam Agreement of 1945, some 15 million Germans were expelled in the post-war years from Poland, Czechoslovakia, the USSR, Yugoslavia and Hungary. Hundreds of thousands of Hungarians were expelled or transferred from Czechoslovakia. Most of the expelled Germans ended up in West Germany, some in Austria. The impact on some of the CEE states was profound: Poland and Hungary became ethnically homogeneous as never before, as did the Czechs and Slovaks in their territories (they completed the process 46 years later when Czechoslovakia was divided into the Czech Republic and Slovakia). Two sorts of memories and two sorts of moral codes emerged in CEE: that of things done to them by the Germans and that of things done by them to others after the war (which were seen as just and necessary). In the process the memory of things done during the war got lost. A collective effort to come to terms with the memory of the war remained neglected for decades to come. The focus shifted to the present and future shape of Europe, a topic that became especially urgent with the onset of the Cold War. Reconstruction and political stability were the order of the day. Internationally (in the West) the key to political stability was Franco-German reconciliation, while in Germany itself (and in Austria) de-Nazification was soon off the agenda. The credibility of the programme was to some extent dependent on a loss of historical memory, on a discontinuity in the European story. For the West, which achieved the goal of stability and prosperity (with American aid, leadership and protection, and under the influence of American political culture) it was later, in the 1960s, 1980s and 1990s, that

218 Pavel Seifter it was possible to work through revisions of the historical myth without any upheavals. The Germans’ way of dealing with their past was unique. Others followed later, in their own and less profound ways. While its own role in the war remains a non-issue in public debate in the UK, Austria played the role of innocent victim until the late 1980s, when it was exposed through the Waldheim scandal in which the President of the country himself was found to have a deplorable war record. Until 1948, the two parts of Europe had much in common. From then on their histories diverged. The East not only ended up with some of its history distorted for the sake of its own version of a united Europe, but at the same time entered the 1990s with too much memory and too many pasts on which to draw. While Western Europe located its problems in 1940–5, the East has many more problematic or critical points of reference: 1938/9–1944/6, 1948, 1956, 1968, 1981, 1989. They form a multiplicity of memories of wars, civil wars, interventions, occupations, uprisings, resistance and collaboration, where groups – ethnic, tribal or social, sometimes racial and religious – and also whole nations stood against each other, always seeking their own advantage at the expense of the others. This led to separate memories that fortified themselves against accusations from their enemies’ memories. Communism made things worse by suppressing these stories in favour of its own official one, thus fragmenting them into exclusively private memories that were later developed into new versions by the church, political oppositions or dissenters. These memories survived Communism. Here the process colluded with the return of the old expelled CEE minorities back into history: the ethnic Germans now lived in the very Europe that the new Europe aspired to join, and they questioned the historical attribution of guilt and roles. The absence of a post-war peace treaty added to the sensitivities. On the whole the arrangement of the post-Communist period made it possible to carry on with the European agenda: stability and peace on the way to the promised land of Europa. For the new Europeans this meant a Europe free, fair, prosperous, united and allied with America.

Europeanists and Atlanticists When French President Jacques Chirac chastised the CEE ‘new Europeans’ in 2003 and told them to keep quiet, old memories of the patronizing pre-war European allies who let down the nations of Central Europe were revived. When ethnic German refugees called for restitution from Poland and for a memorial to be erected in Berlin, more than a decade of hard work on reconciliation between Germans and Poles was placed in doubt. When the new members and applicants for membership of NATO and the EU were asked to choose between their European and American

Capabilities of the new EU members 219 allies, it came as a sobering shock for dreamers. The new Europeans were being sandwiched. In the end it is the security culture that informs the ways in which the countries’ interests with respect to security, stability and peace are perceived and choices made (Sediv y´ and Zaborowski 2004: 6). Perceptions work emotionally: the Czechs and Poles feel indebted to America for their independence and freedom gained in 1918 and again in 1945 and 1989. The US never recognized the annexation of the three Baltic states by the Soviet Union in the run-up to the Second World War. America became home to waves of immigrants and refugees from CEE countries. American diplomats supported dissidents and the opposition, in contrast to the more cautious European diplomacy. Whereas Europeans talked ‘peace’, Americans stood for ‘freedom’. The initial, emotional wave of transition was inspired more by the Anglo-Saxon economic culture. In the post-1990 rearrangements, including the reunification of Germany, Poland could rely on the US for the stability of European borders. While the US offered real security for the new Europeans through NATO membership, France produced windy variations of former President Mitterrand’s idea of Confederation and in the end was evidently retarding EU enlargement. All these historical experiences led to the early conclusion that the CEE nations needed to secure themselves through NATO. The presence of the US in Europe was seen as indispensable for containing the demons of Europe’s past. The EU, especially as long as membership was not yet a fact, and with no relevant security guarantees, was not regarded as a substitute. There is still a residual fear of a revival of Russia’s power politics, while French exceptionalism and anti-Americanism are observed with suspicion. The NATO alliance as the vehicle of the US presence in Europe at the moment remains the first security reference point for all the new members. Polish–American relations are emerging as a most important factor in the development of CEE security relations (Zaborowski and Longhurst 2003: 1011, 1013). On the other hand, the Atlantic rift did of course present a problem, and the Americans made it no easier for the new Europeans. The choice they were pushed to make between the US and Europe was not equally straightforward and free for all the CEE leaders. Whereas Poland had no great problem, the Czech response was ambiguous and open to interpretation; and the Hungarians likewise had difficulties positioning themselves. The CEE counties had their hands tied by the unfinished processes of accession to the EU and, in most cases, also to NATO. The Hungarian Prime Minister called this a ‘trap situation’ (interview Poti 2004). Similar situations had arisen previously over the International Criminal Court or over the procurement of supersonic fighters. The redefinition by the US of its strategic interests, its gradual strategic retreat from Europe, its strategy of ‘disaggregation’, its de facto decision to

220 Pavel Seifter decouple itself from NATO after September 11, thus undermining the crucial article of faith for the new Europeans, namely, Article 5, which sets out the principle of collective defence – all this was bound to cause frustration (Sˇediv´y 2004: 7; Onyszkiewicz 2004). As for the general public, there was a rift following the Iraq crisis: on average, more than two-thirds of citizens of the acceding countries were against military action without a UN mandate. The popularity of the US has been falling in those states, not as sharply as in Germany or France, but substantially (Sˇediv´y 2004: 7). The EU is seen in the new member states generally as a good thing. On the other hand, the negotiation process had its impact and perceptions became more realistic. The EU side of the negotiation table was seen as the ‘other’. The habit of an opposing posture stuck; the public, media and domestic politics had to be fed with ‘victories’, and ‘defeats’ had to be avoided. On top of that Europe was never seriously seen as a security power; it was NATO that was there for security. The accession process was accompanied by fears of exclusion, for instance in the beginnings of ESDP or, later, with the idea of a directorate of the big members and other demonstrations of inequality between big and small countries (Sediv´y 2002: 18). It was frustrating to see some big member states in breach of the Union’s own principles. In the end, the new members were infected by the general European climate of apathy and disenchantment. Over the years the new members lost some of their enthusiasm, growing tired of the process. The NATO accession appeared easier, simpler and quicker. Nevertheless, in practical politics, the accession candidates behaved as if they were already part of CFSP. Also, their voting pattern in the UN has shown an unambiguously progressive convergence with that of the EU states over the last decade. To a lesser extent, but similarly progressively, this holds true of their alignment with CFSP positions and démarches. Only rarely did they risk taking sides in any political dispute within the EU, as the Czech Prime Minister Zeman did: with the EU on the boycott of Austria, against the EU on Israel. The new and the old members continue to differ on one issue: Russia. The newcomers share a certain measure of caution and suspicion towards Russia. As a consequence one might expect them to moderate any proRussian enthusiasm that may radiate from some EU leaders. There are of course nuances between the new members depending on their geographical position. But they also offer a positive input, a stronger pragmatic emphasis on eastern policy into the EU’s external outlook. Already in 1998 Poland proposed that the EU establish an ‘Eastern Dimension’ policy along the lines of the ‘Northern Dimension’ that was launched shortly before as a Finnish initiative. In 2004 Lithuania earned praise for its initiative on sending European judges to Georgia. The EU mission of 20 judges has since arrived. Contrary to a natural tendency for outsiders to treat the CEE countries

Capabilities of the new EU members 221 as a group, in reality they should hardly be seen as a monolithic, uniform bloc of Atlanticists. There are shades of Atlanticism. For instance, Hungary, the Czech Republic and Slovenia could be described as ‘soft Atlanticist’ compared with the ‘hard Atlanticism’ of the Polish or Baltic kind. Hungarian Atlanticism is not based on the same emotions that move the Poles or the Estonians; it is more reserved and in certain cases Hungary dares even to embark on minor diplomatic conflicts with the US (as over the use of the base in Taszar, in southern Hungary) (Póti 2004: 1). Lines of division run through the countries themselves, between governments and the general public, between leaders and also through the departments of the establishment. The result is reflected in the countries’ behaviour: Hungary typically adopts a low-profile, wait-and-see position. The Czech way has been described as ‘enigmatic’ (Grabbe 2004: 28) and lends itself to opposing interpretations. During the Kosovo war such behaviour verged on disloyalty towards NATO. There was no hesitation in the Czech reaction to September 11, while its position on Iraq was slightly ambiguous. Attitudes towards European security have also been formed through direct contact with NATO and EU establishments, which are sui generis cultural environments. The range of competing voices in the new member countries can to an extent be explained by a compartmentalization of the two security cultures in the various locations of state and politics. The ministries of defence and the military establishments differ from the ministries of foreign affairs, while the intelligence services have a view of their own. Opposing positions can be found even between departments inside the same ministry. It matters which ‘class’ they have been attending over the last ten years, NATO or EU. The military establishments grew up exclusively in the NATO environment. NATO enjoyed the highest authority, as did the US and the UK. The US and NATO were present as advisers in cooperative ventures and joint exercises, the whole new establishment went through reforms modelled on NATO requirements, budgets were adjusted, and interoperability was the goal. CEE commitment to peace operations increased by almost a third between 1997 and 2000, and naturally by much more after September 11, 2001 (Edmunds 2003: 157). Special forces that were trained for combat with NATO and went into action with the American-led coalitions in Afghanistan and Iraq play a special national identity-building role. In terms of national myth, real military force plays a similar role to the frontier, the flag and other symbols of a nation. It represents strength, victory, authority, efficiency, organization and heroism. Paradoxically, the framework of operation has so far been NATO and coalitions, and not the defence of the national territory. Already, shortly after 1990 officers and officials from the region went through training in the US and the UK,

222 Pavel Seifter individually also in other NATO countries, and returned to climb the career ladder into positions as top generals and top figures in military diplomacy. All this represented a key process of socialization for the applicant and new member states and their armed forces, together with important sections of government, the whole defence establishment, and to an extent also the foreign service. Most of these people had no contact with the European Union whatsoever. The European Union figures in their mind-set as a foreign country. Confronted with demands from the EU ˇ ejka 2004). they become frustrated, suspicious and defensive (interview C The ‘European school’ lives in a different compartment. Again, this helped to create a club mentality of its own. Although it started with a handicap, it seems that the EU side is in the ascendant. This is a function of progressive convergence between the new countries and the EU: growing contact, negotiations and finally membership. Even among Eurosceptics in the region there is a strange sense that the future of the CEE lies in the EU. Socialization has made big strides (interview SzentIványi 2004). Political parties provide another vehicle for contrasting attitudes. On security matters the socialists generally tend to shadow their European elders, though only in a limited way when in government. Parties to the right of the centre are ideologically more inclined towards an Atlanticist position, but often this is clouded by a nationalist tendency (Póti 2004). There is only one strong openly Communist party in the region (in the Czech Republic); it is nationalist, anti-European, anti-American and antiNATO. Positions become more entrenched around specific issues that have a strong symbolic or political potential. The procurement of supersonic fighters is such a case. Poland’s final decision was a clear Atlanticist message. In Poland and in Hungary the decision did not seem to be based on party politics, whereas in the Czech Republic it became an election issue.

Capabilities The military All the CEE states have undertaken major changes in their military structures since the collapse of Communism. They were guided by the changing geo-strategic context and perceptions of threats, by historical legacies and domestic political pressures, and by economic constraints and societal change. They tended to lose sight of the big picture. An endless flow of military reforms and shake-ups followed with a rhythm dictated by changes in the office of the minister of defence: there were ten reforms in 13 years in the Czech Republic (Simon 2004). While Slovakia and Hungary shared some similarities with the Czechs, the Baltic states started from scratch, and Slovenia started from a short war of independence.

Capabilities of the new EU members 223 Poland was always a special case: its size and aspirations are in a different league. The armed forces of the Visegrád countries (Poland, Hungary, the Czech Republic and Slovakia) as they were inherited in 1989 were, with some exceptions, of little practical use. Massive defence-budget cuts followed throughout the region, and the forces went through a further decline. Rescue came with the decision to apply for NATO membership. This set the goal, a rallying point, politically, culturally and militarily. At the time, in the 1990s, all European military establishments had to adapt to a new environment. The events in the Balkans heightened the significance of peace-support operations and of military involvement out of the area of national defence and of old NATO. Smaller, more professional and flexible forces were needed for deployment in crisis hot spots. Rapid deployment units were built from 1994. Once NATO decided in 1995 that it wanted to enlarge, it stressed particular methods of military organization and particular approaches to military reform and restructuring for applicant states from post-Communist Europe. All the NATO documents of the time highlight the need for the capacity to contribute effectively to ‘new missions’ such as peace-support operations, and to develop interoperability with the alliance. In all cases, the development of power projection capabilities has proved expensive and difficult (Forster et al. 2002: 23; Edmunds 2003: 154). The effectiveness of deployable capability therefore has to be put under scrutiny. On the one hand, the involvement of the CEE countries in the Balkans was praised by Western partners wherever they cooperated; in particular, their ability to connect with the local population was seen as valuable. On the other hand, during the Kosovo conflict Hungary provided its military base and airfield in the south of the country for NATO operations in former Yugoslavia, but had to rely on allied aircraft to patrol its own airspace. Similarly in 2002, during the NATO summit which decided upon the second wave of enlargement, the Czechs were unable to patrol their airspace and American planes had to do the job. It remains to be seen how much things have improved since the invasion in Iraq. There were some problems in Iraq too. The Czechs, for instance, made a lot of political noise about the deployment of their chemical and biological defence unit during the Iraq war, and their military hospital in Basra. It appears that the deployment of the chemical battalion was very costly; it sat in Kuwait and was never used in action. The military hospital provided medical service and it also distributed medicine to civilians. But it was deployed after the military actions were completed and it was never clear what task it was given. It had to be brought to the spot in planes hired by the Coalition because the Czechs had no means of transport of their own. It too was therefore costly, and the job could have probably been done just as well or better by civilians. It was never quite clear how far soldiers could be expected to do a civilian job (interview Opata 2004). The main

224 Pavel Seifter rationale behind offering capabilities can be seen as political rather than military. That is also why the same capability appears on paper in any list of capabilities – be it NATO, ESDP or elsewhere. From 1997, the NATO accession agenda became a clear compass for the military reforms in the region. The Visegrád countries increased their defence spending and further reduced the size of their armed forces in favour of a move towards a fully professional volunteer army. The focus is on deployable units and specialization – for instance, the Czechs in dealing with weapons of mass destruction, the Hungarians and Slovaks as engineers. All have developed special combat units and have taken part in multinational peacekeeping missions. The armed forces of the CEE countries joined their Western counterparts in NATO in a variety of exercises and operations. The Baltic states (and Slovenia) had to build completely new armed forces with limited resources. Once the prospect of NATO accession became a reality they focused at the same time on compatibility and development of their rapid deployment capability. Their forces being tiny, the three Baltic countries had to resort to close regional cooperation and joint units (Baltbat) and they are open to cooperation with Poland (Osica 2002: 96; Huang 2003: 89; Kuus 2003: 9–20). There were also attempts at regional cooperation between the four Visegrád countries (Khol 2003). However, they never got far. For example, in the trilateral Polish-Czecho–Slovak unit with headquarters in Topolcany, Slovakia, the Czechs offered heavy artillery, which was taken as a sign that they were not terribly serious. Joint procurement was also unsuccessful (joint helicopter, choice of the same supersonic fighter plane, procurement of the Czech L159 trainer/fighter jet). At present, on the issue of European battle groups, it was suggested that the Central Europeans organize a Visegrád combination. Some cautious interest has been shown by the Czechs, the Slovaks, and also the Austrians (interview Khol 2004; interview Pocuch 2004). Joining a German battle group is also an option. But these are still early days. All in all, the impact of NATO’s military reform priorities on the new member states has been significant and has become even more pronounced since 2001, when support for the United States was perceived as the highest priority. The result was mixed: it helped to secure NATO membership and triggered serious reform, but it also resulted in a trend towards ‘two-tier’ armed forces (Edmunds 2003: 157–60). While expensive rapid deployment and peacekeeping units represent only a small proportion of the armed forces, the bulk of the armed forces remain underresourced and largely unreformed. This is a problem in all the new member countries, but especially so in Poland with its larger territorial forces. It is paradoxical that the CEE countries, which at the start of the 1990s has just achieved national liberation and strongly felt the need for national security, should as one consequence of the drive for NATO

Capabilities of the new EU members 225 membership have had to downgrade the defence of the own national territories. Non-military crisis management The CEE countries have dealt with the ESDP tasks, which include nonmilitary crisis management, by answering a top-down process. The European Council in Cologne in 1999 and subsequent Councils in Helsinki, Feira, Nice and Gothenburg established four Headline Goals for civilian ESDP: policing, rule of law, civil administration and civil protection. While the eight newcomers acceded to the EU only on 1 May 2004, they had already been involved in some of the ESDP non-military activities before that date (House of Lords 2003: 24). One common big stumbling-block is related to domestic compartmentalization and allocation of resources: police, for instance, comes under the ministries of interior, which sometimes tend to see international commitments as external and therefore unwelcome and not fitting the nature and budgets of their home agendas. As a result they tend to be less focused and sometimes are not greatly interested. The problem is apparently universal and is shared by the old members (Dwan, Chapter 13). Still, police forces were sent to the Balkans and military police to Jordan to train the Iraqi police. The possibility of preparing and offering judges and administrative capabilities has generally not attracted much attention in CEE countries. This is hardly surprising given the relatively short history of their still-evolving systems. But a certain potential is there and using it could be valuable, as the Lithuanian involvement in Georgia shows. Some specific capabilities might be further developed. Given their special interest in stabilizing their immediate neighbourhood to the east and south-east, the Hungarians have been focusing on border issues and want to specialize in customs and border control. They have also offered to build a European training centre (interview Martinusz 2004). There are some very good results from Kosovo, where the former mayor of the Bohemian town of Hradec Králové seems to have been able to apply the best of his experience to the job of Administrator (interview Opata 2004). European and national systems of civilian protection have a largely unnoticed potential for projection in the context of EU human security missions. The ESDP Headline Goals do include a force of 2,000 people dedicated to that end but define their role in a narrow way. Characteristically, as the House of Lords Select Committee found in 2002, there are some doubts about the appropriateness of dealing with civil protection in the framework of civilian ESDP. Some suggest that it would be better handled by the Community. This seems to point to the special nature of civil protection, which differs in nature from the other three Headline Goals (House of Lords 2003: 19). Civilian protection has therefore not

226 Pavel Seifter been considered an area to be developed in a more ambitious way. That seems to be a pity. After natural disasters in 1997 and 2000, Poland, the Czech Republic and Slovakia scrapped the old civil defence business and set up new integrated systems of civil protection that drew their inspiration mainly from the Swiss model of the Bevölkerungsschutz (civil protection).1 Following this model, the Integrated Rescue System is composed of fire brigades, police, intelligence services, health and medical services, technical services and civil protection. What makes the system really interesting and should attract future attention in the context of human security missions at the EU level is the civil society fabric of the system (interview Sˇteˇpán 2004).

Conclusions What can we expect from the new Central and East European members when their accession to the EU is complete? How far can their present attitudes and culture be projected into the future? How will they fit into future European security arrangements and culture? Any answer can be, realistically, no more than guesswork. But some features are already evident (Sediv´y 2004; Grabbe 2004). First, all the countries have entered the Union with their national histories and national perceptions of threats, which sometimes constrain regional cooperation. They also share, in varying degrees, suspicion towards Russia. Second, they will not enthusiastically subscribe to grand visions unless these serve their real needs and interests. The early years of leaders like Walee˛sa and Havel are gone. Third, their small size (except for Poland) has two consequences: their military weight is limited and they will be suspicious of any decisions taken by the big members alone – they will be sensitive to exclusion. Another factor is newness: socialization of old and new members together in the enlarged Union will take some time. Poland will press the Union hard to develop its policies towards the eastern neighbours of the EU. Poland is well suited for that role because of its geo-political weight in the region and its expertise both in historical experience and in its outstanding research background. Hungary has a similar interest (but less weight) vis-à-vis its east and south, where it is already focusing on its European borders and offering a lead in training and building capacities. Hungary will also bring sensitivity to minority issues given its concern for ethnic Hungarian minorities in the region. The Czechs share with the Hungarians and the Slovaks a sense of special responsibility for the Balkans. They have already done a good job there and will want to use their experience and historical and cultural affinities, including in languages. A decade ago the new Europeans would have been expected to bring with them a special sensitivity favouring human rights and opposed to all

Capabilities of the new EU members 227 forms of oppression. Today the picture is not so clear. Not only do they still have some unfinished business of their own at home but, as public opinion reflects and as populist politicians well know, there is no enthusiasm for waging wars and spending money and lives in ‘far-away countries’ (in Africa, for instance). Certain expectations are attached to the experience of a difficult transformation from dictatorship and illiberal economy to democracy and a free market. The CEE countries know all about the social, legal, political and other traps, including the difficult job of challenging corruption, clientelism and a host of bad social habits. They have experienced the transformation of the police, the judiciary, the administration and the armed forces, a process that still has not finished. They also have had the experience of reintroducing a normal civil society. They know the enemies of the open democratic society. They are used to change, they can absorb it and will therefore be more flexible towards reforms in the Union. This know-how can be seen as a comparative advantage and could even be useful in post-conflict reconstruction. But a certain caution is in order. This is so far a European experience and Iraq shows that there are limits to simple-minded transplantations. The experience of reform, even a habit of reform, combined with their own experience and tradition of civil society and the lessons of natural disasters in the late 1990s, led some countries to innovative new domestic security structures to protect civilians and the basic functions of the state in critical circumstances. Some aspects of the new integrated systems of civil protection, especially the civil society, fit the idea of human security well and might offer some hitherto unnoticed capabilities. As for NATO, for the time being the new countries will stick to their Atlanticist identity and hang on to NATO’s military role. They have already accepted the priority of power projection, which they tend to equate with professionalism. They will try hard to keep America and Europe together and the Americans in Europe. But the lessons of Iraq will be learned by everybody and everywhere. It is difficult to imagine, for instance, that the Americans will undertake such a war again, perhaps for a generation. Certainly, no European support for further such wars will be forthcoming. There will be consequences for a European security strategy. Security tasks might be tough and involve combat, but they will have to be set out in new ways, different from but not competing with NATO. NATO itself has changed its role, its structures and its forces radically in recent years, and will continue to change them. So, for instance, the NATO Response Force will be mainly European: the US accounts for only 3 per cent of the troops so far committed. While NATO has been called on to support US initiatives on a number of occasions in recent years, in the future it could be asked by the European Union to assist in European-led actions. All this will make life easier for the new countries. If the idea of a European supra-national unit of volunteer professionals is developed, not

228 Pavel Seifter as a replica of the NATO reaction force but as an expert force designed for and tailored to the needs of human security in the Balkans or the Middle East and elsewhere, Central and East Europeans would probably join the project. They need to see a difference between the EU force and NATO or Coalition forces, not competition for the same job and same resources. A process of socialization in the Union will be an important factor in transforming attitudes. A shift can already be seen in the months since Solana’s strategy document was published (Council of the European Union 2003). Interest in the project of European security is bound to grow as the cultural gap closes. It can be assumed that the East will merge with the West in viewing ecology, human rights and humanitarian ethics as driving principles for Europeans. They will all try to avoid the material, human and environmental damage that was essential to warfare in the past. On the other hand, whereas the West has lost its belief in war and has been thrown into confusion by Iraq, for the East identity, history and a need for heroism are still part of the present and coexist controversially with a deep scepticism. Their historical scepticism is becoming modern. As for ESDP, the new members need first to be won over to believe in it, not just reluctantly follow. As one of the Baltic defence ministers said recently, ‘It would be great if the EU became a serious military power. So we go along with these ESDP ideas. But it won’t. So let’s stop kidding ourselves’ (Grabbe 2004: 18). The ESDP and the new ESS could even become a future point of reference for the new countries. But it has to work, it has to be real. The institutional maze between CFSP and ESDP will have to undergo some change. Related to that is the issue of resources, which is a major problem for the new members. Already the NATO system is unsustainable; the European system has to be better. Furthermore, the big military powers of the old Union will have to show a genuine interest in the capabilities that are being built in CEE. Take the UK. It was right to tell the Visegrád countries to join in a Central European battle group. But that is not enough. Central Europeans have to know that it really matters – also to the UK. Yet the UK has never historically been able to sustain its attention in the region for more than a limited period of serious crisis, as at Munich in 1938. It still finds it difficult to focus on CEE today. Finally, Westerners have a habit of treating the new members of the Union as a group. That will not work in the future. New members will have to be treated as individual countries and nations with their own culture, interests and preferences, and only occasionally as smaller groups when these appear. They will sometimes coalesce and sometimes not. Their attitudes and positions cannot be seen as settled or given for ever. The political landscape can change quickly and with it preferences at the international level. The new countries will mostly gravitate towards the

Capabilities of the new EU members 229 mainstream. They will sometimes be easy to live and work with, and sometimes they will be a bit difficult. Just like all Europeans.

Note 1 http://www.bevoelkerungsschutz.admin.ch/content/internet/bs/de/home.html.

References Campbell, D. (1992) Writing Security: United States Foreign Policy and the Politics of Identity, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Coker, C. (2003) Humane Warfare, London and New York: Routledge. Council of the European Union (2003) A Secure Europe in a Better World: European Security Strategy. Brussels, 12 December. Available online at: http://www. ueitalia2003.it/NR/rdonlyres/994663FB-368F-4562-9BF0C7FE46E66F4C/0/1212 DocSolanaStrategiaEuropea_en.pdf (accessed 29 September 2004). Dunn, S. and Fraser, T. (eds) (1996) Europe and Ethnicity: The First World War and Contemporary Ethnic Conflict, London: Routledge. Edmunds, T. (2003) ‘NATO and its new members’, Survival, 45/3: 145–66. Forster, A., Edmunds, T. and Cottey, A. (2002) The Challenge of Military Reform in Postcommunist Europe: Building Professional Armed Forces, Basingstoke: PalgraveMacmillan. Grabbe, H. (2004) The Constellations of Europe: How Enlargement Will Change the EU, London: Centre for European Reform. House of Lords (2003) EU – Effective in a Crisis?, Select Committee on the European Union, HL Paper 53, London: The Stationery Office. Available online at: http://www.publications.parliament.uk/pa/ld200203/ldselect/ldeucom/53/53. pdf (accessed 13 October 2004). Huang, M. (2003) ‘Climbing down from the summit: Estonia’s road towards NATO’, in A. Kasekamp (ed.) The Estonian Foreign Policy Yearbook, Tallinn: The Estonian Foreign Policy Institute. Available online at: http://www.evi.ee/lib/valispol2003.pdf (accessed 13 October 2004). Judt, T. (1992) ‘The past is another country: myth and memory in postwar Europe’, Daedalus, 121/4: 83–118. Khol, R. (ed.) (2003) Perspektivy stˇredoevropské vojenské spolupráce, Prague: Ústav mezinárodních vztahu˚. Kuus, M. (2003) ‘The reconfiguration of security debates in the context of regional cooperation’, in A. Kasekamp (ed.) The Estonian Foreign Policy Yearbook. Tallinn: The Estonian Foreign Policy Institute. Available online at: http://www.evi.ee/lib/valispol2003.pdf (accessed 13 October 2004). Macmillan, M. (2001) Peacemakers. The Paris Conference of 1919 and Its Attempt to End War, London: John Murray. Onyszkiewicz, J. (2004) Financial Times, 25 June. Osica, O. (2002) ‘W poszukowaniu nowej roli. Polska jako nowy aktor euroatlantickiej polityki bezpieczenstwa’, in O. Osica and M. Zaborowski (eds) Nowy czlonek ‘starego’ Sojuszu. Polska jako nowy aktor v euroatlantyckiej polityce biezpieczenstwa, Warsaw: Centrum stoszunkow miedzynarodowych.

230 Pavel Seifter Póti, L. (2004) ‘ESDP: the soft-Atlantist Hungarian perspective’, unpublished manuscript, Budapest. Sˇediv´y, J. (2002) ‘The constraints and the opportunities’, in A. Missiroli, Enlargement and European Defence after 11 September, Chaillot Papers No. 53, Paris: The European Union Institute for Security Studies. Available online at: http://aei.pitt.edu/archive/00000515/01/chai53e.pdf (accessed 13 October 2004). —— (2004) ‘Brave new Europeans? Enlarged Europe’s foreign policy’, in R. Gough and A. Reid (eds) The Perfect Union? New Europe and the EU, London: Policy Exchange. Sˇediv´y, J. and Zaborowski, M. (2004) ‘Old Europe, new Europe and transatlantic relations’, European Security, 13/3: 187–213. Simon, J. (2004) NATO and the Czech and Slovak Republics: A Comparative Study in Civil–Military Relations, Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield. Zaborowski, M. and Longhurst, K. (2003) ‘America’s protégé in the east? The emergence of Poland as a regional leader’, International Affairs, 79: 1009–28.

Interviews ˇ ejka, J. (2004) Ministry of Defence, Prague, 30 March. C Khol, R. (2004), Institute of International Relations, Prague, 2 April. Martinusz, Z. (2004), Prime Minister’s Office, Budapest, 8 March. Opata, A. (2004), London, 4 June. Pocˇuch, I. (2004) Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Prague, 2 March. Poti, L. (2004), CSDS, Ministry of Defence, Budapest, 8 March. Sˇteˇpán, M. (2004), Ministry of Interior, Prague, 31 March. Szent-Iványi, I., Parliament, Budapest, 9 March.

11 Principles for the use of the military in support of law enforcement operations Implementing the European security strategy Andrew Salmon* and Mary Kaldor

Introduction Over the last decade, interest has grown in what is known as ‘humanitarian intervention’, that is to say, military intervention in another state, with or without the approval of that state, for humanitarian purposes, to prevent genocide or large-scale violations of human rights. A great deal has been written about whether such interventions are justified but much less about how such interventions should be carried out. It is often assumed that the use of military force is justifiable if the goals are worthwhile (jus ad bellum). Military force is often treated as if it were neutral, a ‘black box’ to be employed when other methods of achieving a particular political goal fail. However, the methods adopted must also be appropriate and, indeed, may affect the ability to achieve the goal specified. In other words, the ‘how’ is as important as the ‘why’. A humanitarian intervention has to be humane in means as well as goals, and that has farreaching consequences for the conduct of military operations. This chapter outlines some principles to guide decision-makers and operators at all levels, from strategic to tactical, on the use of the military to support law-enforcement operations. These operations range from dealing with civil disturbance and assisting police in tackling organized crime to the kind of humanitarian intervention described above. It addresses the ‘how’ of such operations. These are the types of operation in which European forces are likely to be involved in the future, according to the European Security Strategy (ESS) adopted by the European Union in December 2003 (Council of the European Union 2003). These principles are thus a contribution to thinking about the implementation of that strategy. The chapter adopts a bottom-up approach. That is to say, it is based on an analysis of what is needed on the ground in such operations – what tasks need to be fulfilled to achieve security and stability. But if there is no

232 Andrew Salmon and Mary Kaldor overarching strategy (that is, the setting of political objectives and a plan that covers the ways and means to achieve them), there is nothing that can guide military tactics. This is an important point to understand. There has to be an iterative link – a continuum – between policy, military strategy and tactics. If there is not, then the actions of a small group of soldiers can have potentially serious strategic and political unintended effects, in the process undermining the original political objective. So a set of principles should also exist for political decision-makers, who will make strategic decisions to deploy and employ military capabilities to achieve a political objective. These principles, along with strategy, effectively bridge the gap between bottom-up and top-down approaches; they are for private soldiers, generals, diplomats and statesmen. As such, they need to be simple and easy to understand.

Context The typical situations in which a European security force might be employed are usually summarized as the ‘Petersberg tasks’.1 These tasks refer to situations other than classic war, that is, war fought between opposing sides by regular forces. Such types of political violence have a long history and have been variously described as ‘small wars’,2 ‘limited wars’3 or ‘low-intensity operations’.4 European armies have considerable experience of engagement in such types of violence as a consequence both of their colonial past and of the counter-insurgency wars after 1945. Much of this experience is relevant to contemporary situations. Ideas contained in the US Marines’ Small Wars Manual published in the 1930s or the British doctrines developed as a result of General Templar’s experiences in Malaya are clearly relevant. But there are some important differences that have to do both with the changing character of this type of warfare and, more importantly, with the changed goals of intervention. The novel features of contemporary ‘small wars’ can be identified by tracing the evolution of such wars since 1945. There has always been ‘partisan’ or ‘guerrilla’ or ‘irregular’ warfare, but up to 1945 it was largely seen as an adjunct to conventional military campaigns. After 1945, thinkers like Mao Tse-tung and Che Guevara developed the concept of revolutionary warfare as a way of getting around massive concentrations of conventional military force. What was new about their ideas was that this type of warfare was seen as part of a coordinated military and political campaign aimed at capturing state power. The idea of revolutionary warfare was to exploit the political strength and military weakness of revolutionary groups by avoiding head-on clashes with conventional military forces, by building their political support within the population and by wearing down the enemy through harassment and attrition. In wearing down the enemy, the revolutionaries tended to focus on strategic targets – important officials, communication towers and so on – although they also engaged in terrorist

Implementing European security strategy 233 actions, that is, violence aimed at creating fear. By and large, the revolutionaries had negotiable goals, such as the end of colonialism, the capture of state power, or social redistribution. Since the end of the Cold War, revolutionary warfare has mutated into ‘new wars’ where armed groups involving a combination of regular and irregular forces are engaged in campaigns usually promoting nationalist or religious causes. Generally, these wars take place in regions where the state is weak; so the aim is to capture or control parts of the state apparatus. The ‘new warriors’ differ from earlier revolutionaries in certain important respects. Like the revolutionaries, they try to control the population but they do so through creating fear rather than through consent. Hence their strategy is based on violence against civilians. They might try to control the population through displacement, as with ethnic cleansing. Or they might create spectacular events through suicide bombing. Moreover, their goals – the elimination or expulsion of people of a different ethnicity or religion, or the construction of a state based on an exclusive religion or ethnicity or war itself, jihad for example – are much less amenable to negotiation. Whereas in the past involvement in small wars in faraway places was motivated by the defence of colonial interests or by anti-Communism, today the European response to new wars is to a large extent motivated by humanitarian considerations, a heightened awareness that this type of violence against civilians, even if it takes place far away, is unacceptable. As is made clear in the ESS, there is, of course, an element of self-interest, based on the argument that no one part of the world can be secure unless there are efforts to uphold a global rule of law. In a global era, the new wars have become havens for global terrorists and for transnational organized crime as well as the source of large numbers of refugees. As President Chirac put it in describing the new French military doctrine, the ‘first lines of defence’ are now far beyond national borders (quoted in Boëne and Martin 2000). An operation that is motivated by humanitarian considerations has to be conducted in the light of humanitarian norms. Such operations are somewhere between classic peacekeeping and counter-insurgency but different from both. Classic peacekeeping operations were international and therefore did not distinguish between the citizens of different countries; that is to say, they were based on an assumption of equality between states or between parties to the conflict. Generally, the job of peacekeepers was to monitor ceasefires and separate warring parties. Because their mandates tended to be quite restrictive, they were often unable to protect civilians from human rights violations. Counter-insurgency, on the other hand, was about defeating insurgents. Even though counter-insurgency doctrine often emphasized the protection of civilians or the need to find a political settlement, the priority placed on defeating insurgents often led, and still leads, to the excessive use of force and increased political polarization.

234 Andrew Salmon and Mary Kaldor Thus in peacekeeping operations the priority has been peace whereas in counter-insurgency the priority has been military victory, and both priorities have taken precedence over human rights. In humanitarian operations the priority is the maintenance of human rights and the protection of individuals from threats to their security. The aim is to defend individuals rather than to defend political power. So, even though operations will need to deal with the actions that give rise to insecurity, the military will have to start from the assumption that human life is equally valued among the societies within which the military will be operating. So, causing suffering on a large scale or collateral damage as a result of the imprecise application of force to achieve a local objective is not only potentially counter-productive but also increasingly illegitimate. Operations in which human rights take precedence can also be described as law-enforcement operations as opposed to war-fighting operations, even though some of the skills applicable to war-fighting will have to be deployed. Wars represent an interruption in the normal functioning of the rule of law, even though other laws apply, such as International Humanitarian Law (the ‘laws of war’). In wars, individuals are subordinated to the collective warring parties. What we are arguing for is the global extension of the rule of law and thus the restoration of a functioning rule of law. There is a framework of international law, human rights law, humanitarian law and international criminal law, as well as the laws of host and sending nations, which exists to guide our own actions as well as the society and people that EU security forces deal with. Those responsible for causing insecurity are treated not as collective entities but as responsible individuals. This means that terrorists (who should effectively be treated like anybody else who takes innocent human life), war criminals and drug traffickers are subject to a legal procedure. This also means capturing them – killing them should be the last resort – and prosecuting them in court after consideration of the evidence, in accordance with due judicial process. Thus the task of the military should be active support for lawenforcement. Furthermore, military actions must be constrained by law. Military tasks should be about protecting people from those that break the law and then arresting the latter. This suggests a significant shift in the use of the military: it means changing the currency of deterrence and coercion from the traditional use of military force to that of law-enforcement. The military becomes a legal instrument; as General Rupert Smith (2001) has asserted: ‘if we are to operate amongst the people in the name of the law, we must do so within the law. To do otherwise is to attack the essence of our own strategic objective, which is to establish and uphold the law.’ The example of the British Army in Northern Ireland is instructive in this respect because it is probably closest to the kind of operations we are proposing. Northern Ireland was a learning process for the British Government because it was effectively a ‘new war’ on British territory.

Implementing European security strategy 235 When the army was initially deployed in 1969, it was perceived as a saviour by the Catholic community. However, the army could not maintain its neutrality and impartiality because it was operating in support of the civil authority, the local Unionist-controlled Northern Ireland administration, which was itself part of the sectarian conflict. As a result, the army was unable to stem sectarian violence against Catholics, which contributed to the militarization of the IRA (Irish Republican Army). The use of force, including the shooting of unarmed civilians on ‘Bloody Sunday’ (Pringle and Jacobson 2000), the dismantling of ‘no-go’ areas, and intelligence and interrogation techniques were criticized and remain controversial. Between 1969 and 1974 some 188 people were killed by security forces; 65 per cent of the deaths were of unarmed civilians (Ní Aoláin 2000). Many more people were killed by Loyalist (Protestant) and Republican (Catholic) paramilitaries. This period was the bloodiest in the whole Northern Ireland conflict, accounting for 90 per cent of all deaths. After 1974 a new policy was adopted known as ‘normalization’, ‘criminalization’ or ‘Ulsterization’. The emphasis was placed on police primacy in maintaining order – protecting civilians and dealing with insurgents. Captured terrorists were to be treated as criminals rather than enemies. The aim was to create space for political and economic reforms to improve the situation gradually. The job of the armed forces was to support the police. This approach lasted until the Good Friday Agreement in April 1997, which largely ended the violence. It was an approach that did succeed in containing violence. Over the period as a whole, 1969–97, some 4,000 people were killed, 350 by security forces. But it was not without controversy; for example, the absence of a clear legal framework5 or undercover operations by the British Special Forces (SAS) in which IRA militants were killed. We do believe that the emphasis on law-enforcement, criminalization and police primacy does have considerable relevance to the kind of operations in which European forces might be expected to be deployed. Typically, these are situations, like Northern Ireland, where ‘the dividing line between a low-intensity conflict and an extended emergency have become blurred’ (Ní Aoláin 2000: 225). Our aim is to develop a set of principles for the use of the military in these in-between situations. In so doing, we have drawn on the Northern Ireland experience as well as other operations such as Sierra Leone and the Balkans, which offer rich examples of both mistakes and successes, and show that it is possible for soldiers to work in a less conventional way and in close support of law-enforcement agencies.

Principles The six principles we set out are those that apply to the actual use of force to achieve a policy goal guided by the above considerations.

236 Andrew Salmon and Mary Kaldor Primacy of human rights The primacy of human rights follows directly from the concept of human security. Already several interventions have been justified on humanitarian grounds. The invasion of northern Iraq in 1991 to provide aid to the Kurds in refugee camps and then to establish a safe haven was a good illustration of an operation designed primarily around human security – to save the lives of as many Kurds as possible. At the same time, the position of Saddam’s security forces was respected. There were strict rules of engagement designed to restrict the use of force and avoid an unnecessary outbreak of hostilities while securing the safe haven. The Kosovo war in 1999 had a similar humanitarian rationale, which was in keeping with the spirit of the UN Charter albeit conducted by NATO without any specific Security Council Resolution. However, collateral damage caused consternation despite strict targeting criteria applied within NATO. Some have argued that the refugee crisis on the Albanian and Macedonian borders was caused more by the NATO bombing campaign than by the activities of Serbian security forces. Whereas this is a debatable matter, there is no such equivocation with the Rwanda debacle of ten years ago, where the reinforcement rather than the withdrawal of a small UN force might have been able to prevent genocide. What this principle means is that, unless it is absolutely necessary and legal, killing is to be avoided. Torturing suspects who have been arrested is also illegitimate and illegal. Causing greater human suffering as a result of an intervention would seem questionable. At the same time, the application of this principle to saving life directly under threat from other parties might involve the frequent use of force and a much more robust interventionist policy by the EU. Interventions would aim to prevent a repeat of Srebrenicas and Rwandas – albeit there are other circumstances to bear in mind. It might be assumed that this principle is obvious. In the past, however, interventions have been less than careful about human life partly because they took place in faraway countries with much less attention from media or from NGOs, but perhaps more importantly because of the military logic of counter-insurgency operations. In counter-insurgency campaigns, protection of civilians was (sometimes) emphasized not so much as an end in itself but in order to undercut the insurgents’ infrastructure and because the civilian population was an important source of intelligence. In other words, protection and control of the population was a means to an end, which was to defeat the insurgents. Although the British Army emphasized ‘hearts and minds’ (the phrase invented by General Templar in Malaya), coercive methods of control were frequently used, including resettlement, area destruction, and control of food supplies (methods adopted by today’s insurgents). Moreover, the emphasis on firepower and technology by some armies, for example the French in Algeria or the Americans in Vietnam, often meant heavy loss of life.

Implementing European security strategy 237 In humanitarian operations, protection of civilians is an end in itself. The aim is to prevent attacks on civilians and to uphold human rights, even though it might also help to separate the population from armed groups or to gain intelligence. The reason the British intervention in Northern Ireland is a good example is that the inhabitants of Northern Ireland were British citizens (and voters) and therefore their protection had to come first. In effect, this principle implies that everyone is treated as a citizen. Legality Not only must an intervention have a legal foundation in international law but, as Rupert Smith has already asserted, the actions of security forces on the ground must be in support of the establishment of law and order. Thus, unlike in classic wars where the main legal guidelines are to be found in International Humanitarian Law which applies largely to states and to armed opposition groups, armed forces also have to act within the framework of some kind of domestic law that applies to individuals. Without this, the character of an intervention lacks legitimacy. Nevertheless, there is a key question to be answered: when there has been a breakdown of law and order, in failed states for example, whose law should be applied? It would be possible to apply fundamental norms of international treaty and customary law, or the interveners could apply the basic domestic law of the country to the extent that it is in accordance with international law. The answer would be to find an acceptable formulation that encompassed minimum standards of international law consistent with domestic law. In practice, this means that there is a legal framework for militaries to work within. In Northern Ireland the military work in support of the police under what is known as Military Aid to the Civil Power. Rules of engagement are designed to enforce but not step outside this legal position. In fact, partly because of the colonial experience, the British have tended to use a domestic legal framework for counter-insurgency operations. This was not always the case in French or American interventions. In some previous counter-insurgencies, British military officers recount how they have waited patiently at local courts, where the evidence that they have gathered with the police is used to secure the conviction of a terrorist (Kitson 1977). It was deemed necessary in these instances to adhere to legal norms and procedures in order to demonstrate the legitimate nature of the response to criminal acts of violence, however painstaking and lengthy this process was. There is no reason why this example of counter-insurgency practice could not be applied to a variety of interventions across the spectrum of peace-support operations and post-conflict reconstruction. What it means is that the military has to be actively involved in assisting the police and

238 Andrew Salmon and Mary Kaldor civil authorities. They are not only by their mere presence acting to reassure the population that they work within, but are embarking on operations designed to provide information, intelligence and evidence for use in courts – operations that can directly lead to the prosecution and conviction of organized criminals, corrupt officials and those who commit acts of terror. It would allow security forces to deal more directly with those obstructionists who are a barrier to reforming society. In situations like Bosnia and Kosovo, for example, this would make a big difference to the depth and speed of reform and reconstruction. Appropriate military response The principle of appropriate military response concerns the use of force. States are authorized, under art. 51 of the UN Charter, to act in selfdefence and soldiers, likewise, should be trained to act in ‘self-defence’ in accordance with basic international humanitarian law and human rights principles. This means that if somebody is threatening violence a soldier can respond appropriately, regardless of whether force has been authorized under Chapter VI or Chapter VII of the United Nations Charter. Although this might seem obvious, it was the inability of elements of the UN Mission in Sierra Leone in 2000 to appreciate this fact that in part led to a collapse of the mission and a tactical victory for the Revolutionary United Front. Peacekeepers have often negotiated their way out of trouble but, where the judgement of the commander was in doubt or when negotiations failed, there have been severe consequences when force has not been used in self-defence; witness the killing of the Belgian troops in Rwanda by Hutu militia in 1994 after they had given up their weapons. Clearly, soldiers need to be confident of their rights to use force and have to tailor their tactical decision-making to the situation they find themselves in. Changes to rules of engagement will often require domestic political approval and can be delayed while the situation on the ground has worsened. This is why understanding the inherent right of selfdefence is so important in safeguarding lives. We have already established that, when the military is working in a legal framework akin to law-enforcement, guidelines or rules that govern how force is applied, including minimum force and necessity, are key. Minimum force implies that killing somebody who threatens violence when an arrest could have been made would be an overreaction. The requirement to have non-lethal means to control crowds that threaten to become violent, for example, is a method of ensuring that minimum force is applied.6 Soldiers are also accountable under domestic law for their actions and have faced prosecution in court when their response or use of force has provoked a legal challenge – witness the 1990 case of Private Clegg in Northern Ireland.7 There are also situations where, under domestic law, it is permissible to kill somebody who is trying to kill a third

Implementing European security strategy 239 party. Overall, the final judgement rests with the individual soldier and commanders who, when faced with a justified need to respond forcibly, have to weigh up the consequences of doing something against those of doing nothing. The CO of the Royal Welch Fusiliers at Gorazde in 1995 captured this neatly in his diary: The dilemma is whether or not to return fire. If we do not, it is likely to encourage further incidents in the future. If we do, it brings the likelihood of an escalation which will endanger civilians, the Observation Post line and the camp. So far, the situation has been defused by liaison on each occasion – but it is a classic no-win scenario. (Riley 1995: 38) This principle explicitly recognizes the limitations on the use of military force. The aim is to stabilize the situation so that a political space can be created for a democratic process rather than to win through military means alone. In some cases – for example, the Americans in Vietnam or the Russians in Chechnya – military victory may simply be beyond reach; every excessive use of force further inflames the situation. In other cases, short-term military victory can be achieved but the cost in terms of both casualties and political legitimacy is too high. The French, for example, did succeed in defeating the interior forces in Algeria but they lost in political terms. In Israel, the Israeli forces have succeeded in slowing down the rate of suicide bombing but more Palestinian civilians have been killed by Israeli forces than Israeli civilians by suicide bombers, and support for Hamas is now higher than support for Fatah. Military victory may mean that stability can be sustained only through massive repression and coercion. Together with the insistence on the protection of civilians, this principle of appropriate use of force has implications for the choice of military tactics. Thus, certain typical counter-insurgency tactics like resettlement would be ruled out, while other tactics like safe havens or humanitarian corridors would have a central role. An appropriate military response also implies a change in military training, so that basic principles common to both international human rights and international humanitarian law are conveyed. This gives soldiers a solid basis of simple rules that can be flexibly applied across a range of different situations as necessary. Clear political authority The principle of clear political authority covers the requirement for political objectives to be set which can be interpreted by the military at the strategic level, as well as the requirement for clear civilian or political control in a theatre of operations. To deal with the former point first, this comes back to the iterative and close linkage between policy and military

240 Andrew Salmon and Mary Kaldor strategy, and the choice of ways and means to achieve the right effect on the ground. It is not just a question of setting political goals and unleashing the military. Neither is it a case of encouraging political meddling, with the military feeling frustrated and constrained. Rather, it is a question of politicians understanding the political effects of military intervention; likewise, the military should understand the political objectives they are working to achieve so that they can design their strategy, with the right set of effects being realized by the actions of soldiers on the ground. Of course, this is a point that applies in all types of warfare and has been emphasized by many of the great military strategists, including Clausewitz. But it is easy to neglect once the military logic takes over and it is not always integrated into actual operations. As for the second point, during an intervention itself – remember that we are talking about the Petersberg Tasks – a structure should be created that is led by a political figure who has primacy over the military. The military should act in support of the civil authorities. The headquarters should be constructed so as to foster the necessary coordination and control of different instruments (for example, judicial, policing, intelligencegathering, economic and social assistance) that are required to aid reconstruction or achieve security and stability. Ideally, civilians, military and police commanders would sit together in this headquarters to aid joinedup thinking and planning. A good example of this was the design of the UN Mission in East Timor, in which the Australian UN Force Commander worked alongside and in support of the UN Special Representative. Theoretically, one of the advantages of using the EU would be the ability to maximize the synergies – military, political, economic and judicial – that exist in one organization. The ongoing EU operation in Bosnia will be the first real test but could offer a different model from that of SFOR and the Office of the High Representative. Civil, police and military coordination Civil, police and military coordination naturally follows from the previous principle: a joined-up design with civil leadership and with police and military in support. To deal with the scope of the Petersberg Tasks, economic, security, intelligence and legal initiatives will need to be coordinated at the inter-governmental level as well as on the ground. It means that the military will be working alongside and in support of a plethora of agencies. Operational structures within-country (a theatre of operations) should reflect this and enable effective coordination and cooperation between the military, police and other civil organizations. Without effective coordination of key agencies it would be difficult to achieve stability and security. This needs to be mirrored at all the various levels in-country, that is, at provincial and local levels. This is a principle that was often also followed in counter-insurgency operations, where a

Implementing European security strategy 241 committee structure was often created to ensure effective control and coordination. For example, if the police and the military have to work closely together, then some kind of joint intelligence and operations centre with linkages to civilian authorities should exist. This enables proper sharing of information and joint tactical planning to take place. This methodology can be tailored to different kinds of intervention. For example, in a humanitarian emergency with a difficult security situation, NGOs and other international organizations will have to coordinate their activities with the police and the military, whose job might be to provide protection so that reconstruction can take place. Indigenous elements could also be included, for example on the political and security sides. Overall, effective civil, police and military coordination creates a coherent operation with properly focused effort. Intelligence and information The principle of intelligence and information concerns the central role of intelligence in operations in support of law-enforcement but also covers, more generally, how information should be handled. The processing of information from all sources (human, press, broadcasting and World Wide Web, for example) and turning it into intelligence informs the rationale for any type of intervention envisaged within the Petersberg Tasks. It goes without saying that the objectivity and provenance of intelligence is key for creating the right foundation. But the effective use of intelligence also pervades the strategic design of any operation and the way in which the intervention force operates on the ground. This emphasis contrasts with the way that intelligence has been largely ignored in traditional UN peacekeeping operations. It implies that the EU will either need access to or possess the machinery to ensure effective coordination and dissemination of intelligence and information, both in Brussels and in the field. In tailoring an intervention to the circumstances on the ground, a realistic understanding of what is happening is necessary. We take the view that the best source of intelligence is the local population. There needs to be an ongoing process of consultation and dialogue with people on the ground for early warning, prevention, learning and feedback during deployment and for the measures needed to ensure redundancy of missions. Proposals to establish a European External Action Service together with an expanded role for European Monitoring Missions, like those deployed in former Yugoslavia, are crucial to provide an initial bottom-up picture of the situation. These could be complemented by, for example, small teams of deployed observers and monitors who act as the eyes and ears of the EU before a major intervention is contemplated. In 2000–1, NATO and EU operations in Macedonia were characterized and shaped by small teams of OSCE and EU monitors acting in conjunction with NATO Field Liaison Teams. On the ground, operations were largely

242 Andrew Salmon and Mary Kaldor intelligence-led. In other words, intelligence shapes and focuses operations, which are then more precise in creating the right effect but which also include gathering more information, iteratively feeding operational planning. Overall, this means that missions and tasks are continually evolving to meet changing circumstances; any intervention then stands a much more reasonable chance of being successful, with decision-makers and commanders having access to good intelligence and information so that they can be relevant and proactive. The handling of information in general should be governed by openness and sharing unless there is a need to be secret about very specific facts. For example, information and intelligence concerning operations against war criminals has to be handled differently from explaining one’s own actions and intentions as an international institution. As with intelligence, a machinery is needed to ensure that communications and handling are coordinated. Methods are also required to deal with excessive amounts of information. In any crisis or conflict, how information is communicated and what information is provided can significantly affect perceptions and the outcome of an intervention. This is why information operations should be a central part of any operational planning, and the machinery for coordinating information should be part of the joined-up structures that run operations in the field.

Conclusions The principles of Legality, Appropriate Military Response, Clear Political Authority, Civil, Police and Military Coordination, and Intelligence and Information are not dissimilar to those highlighted in previous analyses of low-intensity operations, whether peacekeeping, peace-enforcement or counter-insurgency. What is new is the primacy of human rights as well as the way these principles have been chosen and tailored to reflect the new emphasis on law and order, which follows from the priority to protect individual human beings. There are several implications for European Security and Defence Policy, for European militaries, police and civilians, and for policy-makers. First of all, if European militaries are going to be guided by these principles then they will have to change part of their culture. Experience in the Balkans has highlighted the reluctance of military planners and commanders to engage in what are often perceived as non-military tasks (to be fair, they rarely receive the political authority to consider changes). They will have to be prepared to actively assist the police in the gathering of evidence. When intervening in a dire situation where there is complete breakdown of law and order with no police (EU or indigenous), the military are going to have to do this themselves. Even when working with police, soldiers will have to learn some of the relatively straightforward tasks of a policeman – forensic skills and simple scene preservation that

Implementing European security strategy 243 can be taught in a day. Recognizing constitutional context and historical precedent, some countries like Spain, France and Italy may prefer the active deployment of Guardia Civil, Gendarmerie and Carabinieri-type units. This will need to be examined. They will also have to be prepared to undertake civilian tasks as well, helping with reconstruction, for example, or accompanying children to school. Many military planners are nervous about what they call ‘mission creep’ – going beyond what are perceived to be military tasks. What is needed is a redefinition of the ‘mission’ to include those elements that are essential for a restoration of law and order. Nor is it merely a matter of undertaking new tasks. It is also about the qualities of the individual soldier – his or her mental training and ethics. It is fashionable to argue that the warrior ethic has been replaced by more mundane occupational and individualistic incentives and that soldiers are more risk-averse than in earlier periods (see Janowitz 1957; Moskos 2000; Coker 2001). This type of operation is very challenging and may indeed require many of the traditional values of soldiers – ‘offensive spirit’, courage, discipline or strength – though these may need to be combined with values such as patience, intelligence, sensitivity, independent responsibility and flexibility to achieve the right balance. Second, these operations will also have to involve civilian and police capabilities, which have been created, trained and exercised with the military. Again, much of the contemporary literature emphasizes the ‘civilianization’ of the military. But this usually refers to the use of civilians in logistics and support. We are talking about development experts, humanitarian aid agencies, civil society, legal experts and so on. These joint security and reconstruction teams, which are often described as ‘nation-building’ teams, must be used to working together and prepared for deployment. Finally, politicians are going to have to change the way they perceive the role of the military. The implementation of this vision of security will demand considerable political will: a willingness to put soldiers in tricky situations where previously the comfort of a tank or armoured vehicle has protected politicians concerned about casualties from domestic uproar. In this kind of intervention, a soldier risks his or her life to save others and, although these interventions are limited, they may be more risky than, for example, long-distance air campaigns. In fact, the public may be more prepared than politicians realize for this type of operation. Opinion polls in Europe show a good deal for support for operations involving the protection of human rights. And, indeed, many individuals do themselves volunteer to work in human rights organizations and are prepared to risk their lives. The growth of a worldwide media has, of course, affected public attitudes and has raised awareness of, and concern about, human rights violations in other parts of the world. Such operations also require a readiness to spend tax money on restructuring military forces for these

244 Andrew Salmon and Mary Kaldor operations. At present, there are some 1.8 million people under arms in Europe but only a fraction are capable of being deployed in the ways described, not only because of the way soldiers are trained and deployed but also because of inadequate deployment capabilities. There needs to be a new public consensus that taxes should be spent on a new security policy that is different from traditional perceptions of defence. Europeans tend to see increased stability in Europe as a good reason to cut defence budgets but they are also concerned about human rights worldwide and may be readier than politicians suppose to increase spending on a different type of security policy.

Notes *This paper was written in a personal capacity and does not reflect the views of the British government or Armed Forces. 1 These encompass humanitarian intervention, peacekeeping and peace enforcement; established in June 1992 at the Ministerial Council of the Western European Union (WEU). 2 The term comes from the classic text by Caldwell (1996). See also Boot (2002). 3 The term was used in the 1960s and 1970s to deal with threats that were not nuclear. See Osgood (1957). 4 This term was fashionable in the 1980s. The classic text was Kitson (1971). 5 For example, the procedures used to deal with captured insurgents represented considerable modification of normal law – the notorious ‘Diplock Courts’ did away with juries and allowed confession-based evidence, which accounted for the majority of convictions. Also, the IRA always insisted that it was political and not criminal, and the hunger strikes of 1981, part of a campaign to achieve political status for prisoners, mobilized considerable political support for the IRA. 6 Since soldiers are operating within the framework of law, they must, of course, respect disarmament law, especially the 1993 Convention on the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons. 7 Private Clegg received a life sentence for shooting an 18-year-old passenger in a stolen vehicle that failed to stop at an army checkpoint, but he was released after four years.

References Boëne, B. and Martin, M. (2000) ‘France: in the throes of epoch-making change’, in C. Moskos, J.A. Williams and D.R. Segal (eds) The Post-Modern Military: Armed Forces after the Cold War, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Boot, M. (2002) The Savage Wars of Peace: Small Wars and the Rise of American Power, New York: Basic Books. Caldwell, C. ([1896] 1996) Small Wars: Their Principles and Practice, Lincoln, NB: University of Nebraska Press. Coker, C. (2001) Humane Warfare, London and New York: Routledge. Council of the European Union (2003) A Secure Europe in a Better World: European Security Strategy, Brussels, 12 December. Available online at: http://www.ueitalia 2003.it/NR/rdonlyres/994663FB-368F-4562-9BF0-C7FE46E66F4C/0/1212Doc SolanaStrategiaEuropea_en.pdf (accessed 29 September 2004).

Implementing European security strategy 245 Janowitz, M. (1957) The Professional Soldier: A Social and Political Portrait, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Kitson, F. (1971) Low-intensity Operations: Subversion, Insurgency, Peacekeeping, London: Faber. —— (1977) Bunch of Five, London: Faber. Moskos, C. (2000) ‘Towards a post-modern military: the United States as a paradigm’, in C. Moskos, J.A. Williams and D.R. Segal (eds) The Post-Modern Military: Armed Forces after the Cold War, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ní Aoláin, F. (2000) The Politics of Force: Conflict Management and State Violence in Northern Ireland, Belfast: Blackstaff Press. Osgood, R. (1957) Limited War: The Challenge to American Strategy, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Pringle, P. and Jacobson, P. (2000) Those Are Real Bullets, Aren’t They?, London: Fourth Estate. Riley, J. (ed.) (1995) White Dragon – The Royal Welch Fusiliers in Bosnia, Wrexham: Royal Welch Fusiliers. Smith, R. (2001) ‘Wars in our time – a survey of recent and continuing conflicts’, World Defence Systems, 4: 120–2.

Part IV

Capabilities, resources and institutions

12 What colour is your elephant? The military aspect of European security Christopher Ankersen

Introduction The aim of the work of the Study Group on Europe’s Security Capabilities has been to explore ways in which Europe might react to the contemporary security environment, in essence, an attempt to figure out what mechanisms Europe needs in order to create and maintain ‘a secure Europe in a better world’ (Council of the European Union 2003). Strangely, perhaps, the military aspect of European security has been largely absent from this discussion. There is a wide range of missions that European armed forces could be expected to perform – from unarmed observation through peace enforcement to post-conflict reconstruction. Furthermore, there are many ways in which these missions could be carried out – in national ‘force packages’ or in centralized multinational mixed civil–military forces. Regardless of role or mission, there are fundamental military issues that must be addressed if an examination of security is to be said to be complete. The aim of this chapter is to provide that examination: to open the ‘black box’ that is the military and flesh out its peculiarities. I will do so with a series of metaphorical images that characterize the contemporary European military field. Each of these images refers, rather playfully, to an elephant, and is derived from English colloquial idiom. These images allow the reader to vividly apprehend the challenges facing the armed forces of (not just) Europe, as well as those of the analysts and decision makers responsible for their supervision and employment.

Image One: the lumbering elephant or ‘size matters’ The first elephantine image is that of a giant, cumbersome beast, powerful perhaps, but certainly not agile. This picture represents some aspects of the military very well. European countries have large militaries: there are almost 2 million men and women under arms within the 26 European Union (EU) countries alone. Largely the product of Cold War preparations, these forces tend to be heavily armoured conventional forces,

250 Christopher Ankersen Table 12.1 Defence expenditures and total armed forces State

Defence exp as % of GDP (2001)

Austria Belgium Cyprus Czech Rep. Denmark Estonia Finland France Germany Greece Hungary Ireland Italy Latvia Lithuania Luxembourg Malta Netherlands Poland Portugal Slovakia Slovenia Spain Sweden United Kingdom

0.8 1.3 3.1 2.1 1.6 1.7 1.2 2.5 1.5 4.6 1.8 0.7 2.0 1.2 1.8 0.8 0.8 1.6 1.9 2.1 1.9 1.4 1.2 2.0 2.5

European total

Total armed forces (2003) 34,600 39,260 10,000 49,450 22,700 5,510 31,850 260,400 296,000 177,600 33,400 10,460 216,800 5,500 13,510 900 2,140 49,580 163,000 43,600 26,200 9,000 177,950 33,900 210,450 1,923,760

Sources: SIPRI (2004); IISS (2002)

designed for so-called high-intensity combat operations against equally heavily armed opponents. In terms of fire-power, protection and sheer bulk, these forces can only be seen as mammoth (see Table 12.1). ‘Jumbo’ the force may be but, rather paradoxically, despite the healthy ‘top-line’ figures, available and usable European forces are rather in shorter supply. Most European countries have less than 10 per cent of their forces ready to be deployed in less than 90 days and sustained abroad for one year. Take the armed forces of Germany. Currently, the total number of active ground forces is approximately 212,000, but only 10,000 of those, representing 5 per cent of the total, could be deployed in less than three months. This is despite total defence expenditures in 2001 of $US26.5 billion. European ‘value for money’ in terms of usable military capability is not high (see Table 12.2) (Garden and Grant 2002). The reasons for this lack of agility are several, but largely relate to the fact that during the Cold War most European militaries were not designed for expeditionary operations. First, many armed forces in Europe were based on conscription, and retain a high proportion of conscripts in their

The military aspect of European security 251 Table 12.2 The global supply of projectable military force State

2001 defence budget ($USbn)

Total active ground forces (000s)

Deployable in 90 days sustainable 1 yr

% of total deployable

United States Netherlands Canada United Kingdom France Germany Italy Other European

310.5 6 7.3 34 33.3 26.5 20.5 10.5

649 15 19 121 152 212 138 95.4

400 4 4 25 15 10 5 5

62 27 21 21 10 5 4 1

Source: O’Hanlon (2003)

force structure today. Constitutional and quality issues preclude the deployment of most conscript forces, making a large portion of some European national militaries of little use for expeditionary operations. Second, unless a country had ‘colonial responsibilities’ (as did the UK and France, for example) its military was likely to be deployed in the defence of its own territory or that of West Germany. Forces were garrisoned near where they were to be deployed, and any movement would be effected by rail, road or cross-country manoeuvre. Large-scale ‘strategic’ mobility would have been the responsibility of the United States or the USSR, exercised respectively under NATO or the Warsaw Pact. This paradox notwithstanding, the EU has set for itself ambitious goals. In its Headline Goal for 2003 (HG 2003) the EU (1999) has stated that it wishes to create a contingent of 60,000 troops, able to deploy at short notice in support of Petersberg Tasks (Cussen 2004). This force, in theory equivalent to 15 brigades or a good-sized corps, would be large by any standards, but from a total of over 1.9 million troops should be attainable, even at low deployability ratios (as illustrated in Table 12.2).1 Indeed, as Bastian Gigerich and William Wallace (2004) have demonstrated, Europe has contributed many troops to several military intervention missions in recent years. Nevertheless, this force of 60,000 appears to be at once too big and too small. It may be too big for Europe to attain and sustain in the first place. Quite aside from the military aspects of readiness (the physical ability of forces to deploy and engage in operations at short notice), the reality is that many of these promised forces are actually ‘double-hatted’, already committed to other forces such as NATO or Eurocorps. This fact has caused consternation among some NATO members (most notably the US) since it means that countries may have to make an either/or decision (Hagman 2003). Which promise would a European country keep – the

252 Christopher Ankersen one to NATO, to a bilateral defence arrangement, or to the EU? The available pool of European defence assets is not large enough to allow all commitments to be honoured simultaneously. The Danes are perhaps the most honest in this regard: while they have pledged forces for territorial defence, the NATO Reaction Force (NRF), and the Multi-National StandBy High Readiness Brigade for United Nations Operations (SHIRBRIG), they have not made a commitment to the EU’s Headline Goals. Some have labelled this fear ‘hypothetical’ in that most potential missions would not necessitate such a choice. NATO commitments would likely be required for more combat-oriented operations, while EU forces would be needed only for Petersberg Tasks. This may or may not be the case, given that NATO continues to develop its ‘non-Article V’ missions2 (as evinced by its Balkan and Afghanistan deployments to date). Furthermore, while not necessarily ‘in competition’ for troops at a given point in time in the same place, NATO requirements could give way to EU ones in relatively short timespans (for example, a NATO mission for the first 90–180 days, replaced by an EU one thereafter), or geographically separate missions could require troops at the same time (for example, an EU mission in Africa at the same time as a NATO mission in the Greater Middle East). Having committed units to two stand-by tasks, in such a situation states would be forced to choose which pledge to honour. The number of ‘single-hatted’ personnel committed to the EU would, therefore, be far fewer than the 60,000 currently promised.3 At this point it is important to address the point made by Gigerich and Wallace: European countries have fielded a large number of soldiers in socalled out-of-area deployments. However, not many have been under the auspices of the EU. Gigerich and Wallace include in their totals troop numbers that cannot be assumed to be compatible with EU missions. For instance, Swiss and Turkish deployments do not shed light on the EU’s ability to project its military. Neither does the counting of British troops sent to Iraq. From an EU perspective, what matters is a realistic accounting of troops actually available for future EU missions. In this light, the 60,000 promise might be at the same time too small for Europe, not in terms of sheer numbers but in terms of capabilities. As Hagman (2003: 69) notes, ‘in terms of actual operational capability, the forces committed . . . do not constitute a fighting force, but rather are a mere catalogue of capabilities committed on a case-by-case basis by individual states’. The military Chief of Staff of the EU Military Staff, Maj.Gen. Jean-Pierre Heereweghe, makes it clear when he states ‘the EU only has capabilities – not forces’ (cited in NDA 2003: 10). While enough headquarters and combat brigades have been committed, there are critical deficits in several areas, such as air transport, air-to-air refuelling and satellite intelligence capability. In other words, countries have promised much in terms of traditional military assets, but ‘not always the right kind of units’ (Hagman 2003: 22). If Europe wants to have an autonomous capa-

The military aspect of European security 253 city to provide for security across the spectrum of scenarios envisaged, its current military holdings are insufficient. Armed forces that cannot get anywhere, are unaware of what is happening once they are deployed, and are unable to sustain themselves in their area of operations are of little use. In some cases these capabilities could be ‘borrowed’ from the United States, but this might not always be possible, let alone desirable.4 Already many accuse Europeans of under-investing in defence, in effect free-riding on the US, and not shouldering a fair share of the burden. This criticism has been made quite apart from the current operations in Iraq and reflects European performance in the Balkans, the Middle East and Africa (O’Hanlon 2003). Current EU plans have at their core a number of planning scenarios, one of which calls for EU troops to carry out ‘Conflict Prevention’ or at least a ‘Preventative Deployment’. This would involve deploying 60,000 troops up to 4,000 km from Brussels within 60 days of notification; this scenario would replicate the ground phase of NATO operations in Kosovo. However, a smaller task (that of sending approximately 70 per cent of that number of troops to Albania and Macedonia) took NATO (with US-provided sea- and airlift) far longer to carry out (Hagman 2003: 37). Despite the initial Headline Goal target date of 2003, many observers, such as former Chair of NATO’s Military Committee, retired German General Klaus Naumann, believe that it will not be until 2010 that the EU obtains the ability to mount and sustain independent ‘intervention’ operations of significant size (Keohane 2003: 33; see also NDA 2003). The realignment of expectations expressed in the HG 2010 document reflects these concerns (EU 2004). HG 2010 serves as a way of closing the gap between the ambitious HG 2003 goals and European defence capabilities. First, it increases the time available for the development of military capabilities to the end of the decade, in line with the realities of both procurement and organizational progress. Second, it recognizes the largely symbolic nature of the 60,000 force target by formalizing the ad hoc suggestions of battle or task groups proposed by the UK, France and Germany (the Big Three). These battle groups are based on battalion groups and will equate to approximately 1,500 soldiers, able to deploy within 15 days and sustainable for 30–90 days (Smit 2004; BBC Online News 2004). While the notion of creating a small number of highreadiness and inter-operable units is promising, it in effect draws a line in the sand: put up (that is, provide real units, which are capable, dedicated and identifiable) or shut up. Furthermore, these battle groups are distinctly national in composition, not multinational forces, reinforcing the EU’s real dependence on voluntary member states for military capability. Outside of the Big Three, few countries would be willing or are able to produce such immediate forces for EU use. The evolution of the Headline Goal from a force catalogue to dedicated stand-by force improves the

254 Christopher Ankersen potential quality of a European response, but significantly reduces the quantity of forces that can be expected.

Image Two: the elephant that’s afraid of a mouse, or ‘cultures matter’ Just as an elephant’s size limits its dexterity, so does its temperament. It is important to question the utility of today’s military forces across the spectrum of scenarios being contemplated. Are they agile enough to react quickly? Are they nimble enough to operate in a variety of situations, most of which would be well below the high-intensity threshold originally envisaged? What use, for example, are 70-tonne tanks or large-calibre selfpropelled artillery pieces in trying to keep the peace or protect civilians from human rights abuses? Beyond equipment issues, though, we might ask how good ‘warriors’ are at keeping and, one hopes, developing peace. There have certainly been cases that conjure up the image of a large elephant afraid of a tiny mouse, as when well-armed soldiers have been reluctant to get involved in delicate operations. Previous examples of military timidity in this regard include the UN handling of ‘safe areas’, NATO’s reluctance to apprehend war criminals in Bosnia, the blind eye and deaf ear some militaries turn to the problem of exploitation of women, and the recent hesitation of some national forces to intervene in the face of unrest in Kosovo. While military forces have proved to be extremely flexible in the past,5 there are practical limits to what soldiers can be asked to do. Asking soldiers to act as aid workers or police officers is not enough to bring about a change in ethos overnight (Watts 2001). Before new missions or even changes in emphasis (such as those envisaged in this volume) are to be assigned to the armed forces, a better understanding of how they might be decided upon and how they might be regarded is in order. In democracies, of course, the military by no means has the final say in this respect; once told what to do by legitimate political authorities, armed forces have no choice but to obey. However, the quality of the response and the skill with which duties are discharged does depend on the willingness of the military ‘to play ball’. The military’s organizational culture – the collective understanding of what is right and what is appropriate – can make a significant difference in terms of mission success. For armed forces with a war-fighting ethos, adopting a human security focus can require a great deal of rethinking. For one thing, training must be altered and reflect the kinds of tasks under consideration. Doctrine, attitudes towards aggression, approachability, concepts of restrictive rules of engagement, and notions about cooperating with civilian agencies must all be conceptualized, taught, and, one hopes, socialized if any real success is to be achieved. Ultimately, much of this comes down to questions of ‘attitude’, not only of the military but also of European and national decision-makers and

The military aspect of European security 255 ultimately of European citizens. This combination of attitudes, then, may be understood as ‘strategic culture’: the way in which a polity understands, decides and conducts military operations (Gray 1999: ch. 7; Katzenstein 1996). In this area, Europe faces a dual challenge. First, it must create a supra-national culture, one that expresses European values and norms relating to the use of force. This means that national (strategic) cultures will need to be appreciated and in some cases negotiated.6 Can it be assumed that all countries, from the large and central to the small and peripheral, regardless of their particular historical experience, share the same strategic perspective?7 HG 2010 states that a ‘commonality of security culture should . . . be promoted’ among member states, but gives no clue as to how this might come about (EU 2004: 4). Some suggest that an all-encompassing, pan-European strategic culture is impossible, and that similarly minded groups of countries will probably coalesce around particular issues or events (Rynning 2003). Others assume a continental homogeneity that may not be present (for instance, Kagan 2003). In the end, as the Director General of the EU Military Staff, General Rainer Schuwirth, puts it, ‘European decision makers will have to think and act “European” if they wish to develop and improve European capabilities’ (Schuwirth 2002).8 Second, Europe needs to decide what it wants its military to do, and then give it the necessary direction and resources. Just as an elephant’s fear of mice is potentially paralysing, so too is a military’s reluctance to engage in (for instance) the capture of war criminals or the protection of vulnerable civilians potentially crippling a new European security agenda.

Image Three: the white elephant, or ‘time matters’ Of course it is not only ideas that are difficult to change. Even with commitment and determination, substantial (not to mention radical) changes to force structure or organization are slow, nearly glacial. More than a decade after the end of the Cold War, much of the European defence organization remains the same as it has been for over 50 years. For a variety of reasons that will be mentioned below, militaries are to a large extent white elephants: you are stuck with them as they are. Although ‘transformation’ is the latest military buzz-word, it is unlikely that we shall see true ‘revolution’ in European military affairs (Unterseher 1999). Most significantly, since defence spending is unlikely to increase, technological advancements on the scale envisaged by the American military can be ruled out as too expensive. Technological advancement does not mean acquiring optional, luxury equipment. In some cases in Europe, modernization of communications gear, for example, is the sine qua non of inter-operability, and therefore the linchpin of concepts such as the Headline Goal. However, as is always the case, choices must be made; will it be guns or butter? As an illustration, the 2001 Czech decision to upgrade its

256 Christopher Ankersen Soviet-era aircraft fleet had to be ‘postponed’ in order to pay for the reconstruction of Prague after heavy flooding. At the same time, however, most countries have recouped their ‘peace dividend’ at the end of the Cold War and are either unlikely or unable to cut spending much further.9 In other words, there is a limited and fairly stable resource pool from which we might construct the military component of European security. Resource constraints affect military change in many ways. As already mentioned, one of the reasons for this is the sheer size of armed forces. Re-tooling (or demobilizing) tens of thousands of people in a short period of time is an enormous financial and logistical burden. Accordingly, military change tends to take place over the long term. For example, the ambitious American Joint Vision 2020 (the picture of what the future armed forces of the US would look like) is meant to take place over two decades. In the short and medium term, however, armed forces are left to struggle with interim and halfway solutions. Scale is not the only factor affecting progress: complexity of the proposed change is equally important. Complexity in this case refers not only to the technical specifications of military hardware, but also to the delicate political consensus that must be maintained in order to take advantage of continental economies of scale. Procurement of new equipment, therefore, can equally take long periods of time, and the longer it takes the more unlikely it is that the political consensus needed to see the project through can be kept alive. The European decision to acquire the A400M strategic lift aircraft, for instance, was finally agreed to by Germany in 2003, but it will not be fully operational until at least 2009 (Schuwirth 2002). In most cases, the radical nature of the new equipment is tempered by the long lead times necessary to bring it from drawing board to hangar. The Eurofighter project illustrates well the political, technical and commercial wrangling involved in delivering so-called state-of-the-art capability. The plane, when finally deployed at the end of the decade, will embody an idea that is nearly 20 years old. Force structure, or the balance of the types of personnel within a military, is also extremely ‘sticky’. European armed forces on the whole still consist of motorized or mechanized infantry soldiers and large tank and anti-tank forces, supported by heavy artillery. While these forces may have been useful for exploiting or blocking the Fulda Gap in a Cold War engagement, they are less useful for more sophisticated, expeditionary operations. As noted above, there is a chronic lack of logistical capability, while military police and ‘civil affairs’ units, presumably in high demand, are also thin on the ground. Even seemingly flexible medical and engineering personnel are equipped and trained in the martial applications of their professions, not in the intricacies of paediatric preventive medicine or agricultural development. Changing force structure means changing recruiting patterns, developing new training regimens for new recruits,

The military aspect of European security 257 and retraining existing personnel currently assigned to traditional roles. It means conceiving of and writing new doctrine, something which is especially difficult in view of Image Two above. Finally, new roles are usually added to a military’s duties, but old tasks are seldom removed: many militaries are charged with keeping the peace and defending their territory, among other things such as rescuing lost hikers, preventing and repairing flood damage, and stopping illegal migration, overfishing and drug smuggling. For these reasons, despite more than a decade of experience with peacekeeping and peace support operations, military force structure has remained remarkably static throughout the western world. What this means is that so-called contingency operations are conducted as ‘come as you are’ affairs. If all you have is armoured forces, equipped with tanks, trained to win wars, then that is what you send to keep the peace. Any envisaged large-scale changes to military structures may take up to a generation to become reality. At least in the short and medium terms, then, the white elephant is here to stay. As has been seen, it is often easier to change the deadline than to change the military; hence the Headline Goal slips from 2003 to 2010.

Image Four: the elephant in the room, or ‘military matters’ The fourth elephantine image refers to the fact that, while the military is immanent in any discussion of security, it is often overlooked. It is in the room but people would rather talk around it rather than mention it, let alone discuss it at length. This leads to rather bizarre formulations that avoid mentioning the ‘m-word’. The European Security Strategy, for example, makes scant use of the word (Council of the European Union 2003). Other studies concentrate on the legal aspects of military activity, not on the quality or capacity of the military per se (see, for example, Ortega 2000). This distaste for military discussions is perhaps understandable, in that Europe would like to portray itself as a ‘soft power’, a polity that relies on its strengths in other areas in order to shape the world around it (Sokolsky 2003). So Europeans speak of diplomacy rather than military force, and of dialogue or influence rather than power. Indeed, for the past five decades peace and democratic rule of law have prevailed in some of Europe,10 and therefore these conditions may seem natural now. Also, perhaps much of this discourse can be attributed to a ‘differentiation strategy’ aimed at making Europe appear eminently non-American. However desirable and effective this strategy might be, avoiding all discussion of armed force and its ‘proper’ employment is foolhardy. However much we avoid talking about the elephant, it is with us nevertheless. There are many good reasons that the military must be included in any serious discussion of European security. As Cooper (2004) reminds us, the whole world does not march to the beat of a European drummer. While

258 Christopher Ankersen Europeans may have happily buried the hatchet and prefer welfare to warfare, the same cannot be said of other areas of the globe, many of which the EU considers to be of interest. The kinds of missions upon which, and the kinds of places in which, EU forces may find themselves will not necessarily engage in substantive dialogue in the first instance. In order to facilitate these kinds of discussions, force, or the threat of force, may need to be used to achieve a kind of ‘negative peace’ or, in politicomilitary parlance, ‘a safe and secure’ environment. As the European Security Strategy states, ‘security is a precondition of development’ (Council of the European Union 2003: 2): the two are complementary but not synonymous. Concentrating solely on the latter while ignoring the former is a risky strategy. Furthermore, the kinds of ambitious goals set out by the EU or discussed in this volume require at the very least a modicum of advanced military capability. Early warning and prevention missions require real-time intelligence and surveillance information. Even civil missions abroad require transportation to and within the mission area, communications, life support (in the form of shelter, food, water and medical assistance), and an element of control and coordination. While in the long term these capabilities may be developed, or transferred, outside of the military sphere, in terms of current European holdings the military is the easiest and best source of them. More ominously, the historical record of the 1990s is replete with examples of situations where some kind of armed force was necessary in order to save lives, of either aid workers or vulnerable populations. Granted, many of these situations may have been avoided if more active, pacific measures had been taken earlier; prevention should be seen as preferable to reaction. However, there are no guarantees that prior conversations or better diplomacy would have saved the men and boys of Srebrenica from their fate. In the event, it was the international community’s lack of a clearly understood, common vision of how force might be best applied that doomed those Bosnians. Similarly, in Rwanda during the dark night of the genocide, calls were being made for more military capability, not less (Dallaire 2003). If Europe gives up its ability to effectively apply force, either by choice or through neglect, it risks being unable to protect the very people it aims to help. Equivocation, prevarication and under-resourced military forces are not a recipe for peace and harmony, but rather an invitation to others to test European resolve. Some may hope for a tidy solution whereby ‘someone else’ does the heavy lifting while Europe concentrates on conflict prevention and reconciliation. According to this view, Europe need only maintain some form of gendarmerie or even ordinary police capability.11 Attractive as it may be in theory, it is a dangerous fancy. Conflicts do not follow timetables or linear phases; in many cases the suffixes ‘pre’ and ‘post’ are nothing more than misnomers. Even though EU forces may deploy to

The military aspect of European security 259 ‘non-hostile’ or ‘permissive’ environments in the first instance, there is no guarantee that these situations will remain docile. As recent events in Kosovo illustrate, violence may surface at any time. Less than capable troops will have few choices left to them in this event: stand by and let the violence run its course, putting countless civilian lives in danger, or risk their own safety and the overall success of the mission, intervening with less than adequate means. Calling for ‘immediate back-up’ from NATO or the US will not always be a feasible option.

Concluding Image: beware of the pink elephants The Petersberg Tasks are perhaps seductive in that they commit EU forces to the lower end of the combat spectrum, concentrating as they do on search and rescue and peacekeeping tasks. In reality, however, they include ‘all military missions with the exception of collective defence’ (Schuwirth 2002) up to and including ‘a full Kosovo-type operation’ (Lindley-French 2001). To speak plainly, this means that the Petersberg Tasks include all the kinds of operations undertaken by NATO up until now.12 Petersberg Tasks are not ‘light housekeeping’: taken literally, in order to competently prepare for them, the EU must have all the capabilities necessary to consider, plan, mount, conduct and sustain military operations in support of wider civil and political goals. By no means does this mean that the EU needs to adopt a ‘force first’ posture; neither does it mean that states increase defence spending, or necessarily acquire the ‘latest and greatest’ military technology. What it does mean is that the EU develops the ability to (a) provide protection for the civil capabilities of its own that it may choose to deploy, (b) provide protection for vulnerable populations in the areas to which it chooses to deploy, and (c) judiciously but robustly apply force against any party that chooses to violently interfere with its political objectives. As discussed above, this means ensuring that Europe addresses several issues. The size of Europe’s armed forces must be considered, especially with an eye towards how many of those armed forces are usable and useful. Certain items of equipment, providing flexible and vital aspects of independent capability, may need to be acquired. These challenges would be daunting enough if planners were dealing with a blank sheet of paper; that the existing militaries of 26 countries are involved, many with significantly differing security concerns and experiences, complicates matters further. The way in which militaries are developed and trained must be examined, in the knowledge that changes to military culture will take long periods of time to be effective. Most fundamentally, Europe must come to grips with the concept of the use of force. Political leaders and officials must ensure that they are clear about the limits to, and the consequences of, military action and inaction. Otherwise, both transparency and effectiveness will be impaired.

260 Christopher Ankersen Placing soldiers in the field, in harm’s way, is not a decision that should be taken lightly. In the context of the nation-state, effective civil–military relations – striking the correct balance between authority, responsibility and accountability – is difficult to achieve, and existing arrangements have been tried and tested in the ‘new wars’ of the 1990s. The Dutch experience in Srebrenica ultimately resulted in the fall of a government, a testament to the seriousness of the event and to the link between military action and political responsibility. How might such a catastrophe be played out with an EU force in the future? Where would the buck stop? The role of military force may be changing in importance within Europe, but its functionality is not completely disappearing. At this time, it is important not to substitute the analytical with the normative. As the ESS declares, the military is not the only solution to the complex challenges facing Europe today, but that does not mean that it is not part of the solution. Drunken in its growing self-confidence, Europe must guard against trusting in ‘pink elephants’ – its vision must not be obscured by illusions.

Notes 1 For purposes of illustration, creating a 60,000-strong stand-by force from a total of 1.8 million people would represent a 3.1 per cent deployability rate. So that a force of 60,000 is available for operations, over 100,000 European military personnel have been earmarked (Novosseloff 2002). Compare this with the numbers in Table 12.2, noting that the Headline Goal force would be made up of land, sea and air forces, not just the land forces listed in the table. 2 Article V of the North Atlantic Treaty states, ‘The Parties agree that an armed attack against one or more of them in Europe or North America shall be considered an attack against them all’. So-called ‘non-Article V missions’ are missions which do not involve collective mutual defence (NATO 1949). 3 ‘Many member states are simultaneously engaged in several missions around the world and may not, therefore, be in a position to make certain force elements available for EU purposes’ (Schuwirth 2002). See also Hagman (2003: 22). 4 The EU does have an arrangement (‘Berlin Plus’) with NATO that allows for access to NATO planning and command capabilities. In terms of strategic airlift capacity, many countries around the world rely on US, Russian or Ukrainian assets. See Keohane (2003). 5 See Ankersen (2004) for an example focusing on NATO’s operations in Kosovo. 6 It has been long assumed that the strategic cultures of the NATO countries were compatible, sufficient to form what has been called a ‘security community’ (Deutsch 1957). However, the EU must incorporate countries from a variety of strategic traditions, including neutrals, and many non-NATO nations. This diversity may prove to be extremely challenging and has not been sufficiently analysed. See van Staden et al. (2000) and Rynning (2003) for a more detailed examination of European strategic culture. 7 ‘Central’ and ‘peripheral’ in terms of Europe’s geography, with relation to its boundaries or borders. For a discussion of the perspectives of eastern European states, see Seifter, Chapter 10; Edmonds (2003).

The military aspect of European security 261 8 Schuwirth does not spell out the exact nature of ‘thinking European’. The fact that it is often implicit and not explicit in discussions surrounding the Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP) and a European Security and Defence Identity (ESDI) is troublesome, as history does not bear it out. See Durwood (2000) for a discussion of European performance in the Balkans during the 1990s. The range of opinions about what European security is and should be can be neatly illustrated in a comparison between this volume and that of the organization calling itself the New Defence Agenda (Acke et al. 2004). 9 The armed forces of some countries are too small to be downsized any further. For others, there may be domestic reasons for maintaining military forces at their current size; these might include, for example, internal operations, foreign commitments, commercial/industrial incentives to maintain defence and armament markets, or the shock of massive unemployment. 10 It must be remembered that much of Eastern, Central and even some of Western Europe has only recently come to enjoy the democratic rule of law. 11 The Headline Police Goal states that by 2003 at least 5,000 police will be able to deploy within 60 days and be sustained for at least one year. These police, however, are seen as filling ‘traditional’ police roles, and not acting as the muscle for wider EU missions. See Cussen (2004) and Novosseloff (2002). 12 NATO’s primary purpose, that of collective defence, as enshrined in Article V of the Atlantic Charter, has never been operationalized. To date, all NATO actions have been ‘non-Article V’, or crisis-management, operations.

References Acke, G. et al. (2004) ‘Fresh perspectives on Europe’s security’, New Defence Agenda, Winter. Available online at: http://www.forum-europe.com/publication/NDADigital DiscussionPaper.pdf (accessed 30 September 2004). Ankersen, C. (2004) ‘Praxis versus policy: peacebuilding and the Canadian forces’, in T. Keating and W. Knight (eds) Building Sustainable Peace, Edmonton/Tokyo: University of Alberta Press/United Nations University Press. BBC Online News (2004) ‘EU backs elite battle group plan’, 17 May. Available online at: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/3722655.stm (accessed 30 September 2004). Cooper, R. (2004) The Breaking of Nations, London: Atlantic Books. Council of the European Union (2003) A Secure Europe in a Better World: European Security Strategy, Brussels, 12 December. Available online at: http://www. ueitalia2003.it/NR/rdonlyres/994663FB-368F-4562-9BF0-C7FE46E66F4C/0/1212 DocSolanaStrategiaEuropea_en.pdf (accessed 29 September 2004). Cussen, S. (2004) ‘Background paper on the existing arrangements and cooperation within the framework of CFSP and ESDP’, London: Study Group on Europe’s Security Capabilities, Centre for the Study of Global Governance, London School of Economics. Available online at: http://www.lse.ac.uk/Depts/ global/StudyGroup/BackgroundPaper.htm (accessed 30 September 2004). Dallaire, R. (2003) Shaking Hands with the Devil, Toronto: Random House. Deutsch, Karl (1957) Political Community: North-Atlantic Area, New York: Greenwood Press. Durwood, R. (2000). ‘European approaches to peacekeeping: the muddled legacy of the Yugoslav wars’, in D. Gordon and F. Toase (eds) Aspects of Peacekeeping, London: Frank Cass.

262 Christopher Ankersen Edmonds, T. (2003) ‘NATO and its new members’, Survival, 45: 145–66. EU (European Union) (1999) ‘Headline Goal 2003’. Available online at: http://ue.eu.int/ueDocs/cms_Data/docs/pressdata/en/ec/ACFA4C.htm. —— (2004) ‘Headline Goal 2010’. Available online at: http://ue.eu.int/ uedocs/cmsUpload/2010%20Headline%20Goal.pdf (accessed 30 September 2004). Garden, T. and Grant, C. (2002) ‘Europe could pack a bigger punch’, Financial Times, 17 December. Gigerich, B. and Wallace, W. (2004) ‘Not such a soft power: the external deployment of European forces’, Survival, 46/2: 163–82. Gray, C. (1999) Modern Strategy, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hagman, H.-C. (2003) ‘European Crisis management and defence: the search for capabilities’, Adelphi Paper 353, Oxford: Oxford University Press for International Institute for Strategic Studies. IISS (International Institute of Strategic Studies) (2002) Military Balance 2002–2003, Oxford: Oxford University Press for International Institute for Strategic Studies. Kagan, Robert (2003) Of Paradise and Power. New York: Knopf. Katzenstein, P. (ed.) (1996) The Culture of National Security, New York: Columbia University Press. Keohane, D. (2003) ‘Moving the goalposts’, The Parliament Magazine, 22 September, 33–4. Lindley-French, J. (2001) European Defence: Visions and Realities? Working Paper 2001/4, Copenhagen: Danish Institute of International Affairs. NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization) (1949) North Atlantic Treaty. Online. Available online at: http://www.nato.int/docu/basictxt/treaty.htm (accessed 30 September 2004). NDA (New Defence Agenda) (2003) ‘European capabilities and security aims: will Europe meet its headline deadline?’, 29 September. Available online at: http://www.forum-europe.com/publication/SOD_29_September_2003with participantslist.pdf (accessed 30 September 2004). Novosseloff, A. (2002) ‘The European security and defence policy: current issues and objectives’, presentation made to the Henry L. Stimson Center, Washington, DC, 25 November. O’Hanlon, M. (2003) Expanding Global Military Capacity for Humanitarian Intervention, Washington, DC: Brookings Institution. Ortega, M. (2000) Military Intervention and the European Union, Chaillot Paper No. 45, Paris: Western European Union Institute of Strategic Studies. Available online at: http://www.iss-eu.org/chaillot/chai45e.pdf (accessed 25 October 2004). Rynning, S. (2003) ‘The European Union: towards a strategic culture?’, Security Dialogue, 34: 479–96. Schuwirth, R. (2002) ‘Hitting the Helsinki Headline Goal’, NATO Review, Autumn. Available online at: http://www.nato.int/docu/review/2002/issue3/english/ art4.html (accessed 30 September 2004). SIPRI (Stockholm International Peace Research Institute) (2004). Facts on International Relations and Security Trends (FIRST). http://first.sipri.org. Smit, N. (2004) ‘EU to create battle groups by 2007’, EUPolitics.com. Available online at: http://www.eupolitix.com/EN/News/200404/f43dff69-4b6e-40ab89da-28d9c77d7cee.htm (accessed 30 September 2004).

The military aspect of European security 263 Sokolsky, J. (2003) ‘The power of values or the value of power? America and Europe in a post-9/11 world’, paper prepared for Columbia University International Affairs Online (CIAO). Unterseher, L. (1999) Europe’s Armed Forces at the Millennium: A Case Study of Change in France, the United Kingdom, and Germany, Global and Regional Issues Monograph, Washington, DC: The Project on Defense Alternatives. van Staden, A., Kees, H., Kreemers, B., Pijpers, W. and de Wijk, R. (2000) Towards a European Strategic Concept, Clingendael Paper, The Hague: Netherlands Institute of International Relations. Available online at: http://www.europeansecurity. net/Documents/documents/m1.pdf (accessed 30 September 2004). Watts, L. (2001) Whose professionalism? Separating the Institutional Roles of the Military and Police, Occasional Paper M23, Sandhurst: Conflict Studies Research Centre, UK Defence Academy.

13 Civilian tasks and capabilities in EU operations Renata Dwan

Introduction Civilian crisis management is an ambiguous element of the European Union’s Security and Defence Policy (ESDP). To some degree, this is a problem of language: ‘civilian crisis management’, as a term, is broad and difficult to define. Potentially, it denotes any policy or instrument directed at the management of crises that is not a military policy or a military instrument – a description that raises more questions about the definition of ‘military’ and ‘non-military’ than it answers. As a subject, civilian crisis management is particular to the EU and has no parallel in the lexicons of UN, OSCE or non-European regional organizations. Its uniqueness as a phrase has not prompted wider curiosity in the subject. Political and media attention is fixed on the development of Europe’s military capabilities and there is a pervasive assumption that only through better war-fighting capabilities will the EU be taken seriously as an international security actor (see for example Everts et al. 2004; Bertelsmann Foundation 2004). The function of civilian crisis management, from this perspective, is ‘to back up military crisis management’. The EU Security Strategy echoes this notion of crisis management hierarchy, defining civilian crisis management as ‘helping restore civil government after crises’ (Council of the European Union 2003a). None of the big EU states (France, Germany, Italy, Spain, UK) has put particular emphasis on civilian crisis management, and the European Commission remains suspicious of, if not hostile to, the intergovernmental development of a sphere in which it sees itself as a long-standing actor. The idea of EU non-military capabilities may have broad general support but sustained attention and resources for capability development have not been forthcoming. Partly as a result of this, developments to date have been shaped more by the institutional parameters of the EU than by a comprehensive assessment of the non-military policies and instruments that are required to address crises and of how the EU should go about developing them. Paradoxically, civilian crisis management is the area in which the EU

Civilian tasks in EU operations 265 has made fastest operational progress. Three of the EU’s four crisis management operations have been civilian – the EU Police Mission in Bosnia and Herzegovina (EUPM), Operation Proxima in FYROM and the EU’s rule of law mission in Georgia, EUJUST THEMIS. The two have a considerably longer time-line than the military operations Concordia and Artemis, and are, at present, the EU’s only active operations. The EU takeover of responsibility from NATO-led SFOR forces in Bosnia at the end of 2004 will see EU civilian and military crisis management capabilities side by side on the ground and will raise the issue of civil–military coordination and joint operations in EU crisis management. Meanwhile, crises beyond the Balkans – Afghanistan, Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), Haiti, Iraq and Liberia – are provoking increasing policy and academic debate on the applicability of military instruments to crisis situations, the contexts in which they may or may not prove helpful, and the additional perspectives and instruments that need to accompany or replace military approaches to crisis management. At the root of this debate is a fundamental concern over the extent to which humanitarian intervention can be carried out in accordance with the principles that motivate it and the extent to which it can achieve its goals. These issues are not particular to the EU and confront equally the UN, regional organizations and intervening states. The path the EU charts in developing non-military dimensions of crisis management is thus a new one and is at least as important for the future of international crisis management as the practical tools and assistance it brings. This chapter argues that the EU should devote significant attention and resources to civilian capabilities, for three important reasons. First, civilian crisis management lies at the core of a human-security-based approach to global security. If a European security strategy is to be built on this foundation, then the elaboration of policies and instruments focused on the needs of people in vulnerable crisis or conflict situations is an essential element. An important component of this is making good on the EU Security Strategy commitment to preventive engagement, wherein civilian crisis management instruments have a potential advantageous role. Second, civilian crisis management is an area in which the EU can make a distinct and unique contribution to global security, reflecting the values and principles it seeks to promote. This is particularly the case in the interface between military and civilian crisis management. Third, the EU has committed itself to developing non-military capabilities. To do so successfully, it must move beyond the rigidities of the EU institutional framework and comprehensively address the conceptual and practical ambiguities of civilian crisis management. In so doing, the EU will have to negotiate difficult questions about what civilian crisis management can and cannot do, about the boundaries between crisis management and longer-term development and about where EU crisis management priorities might lie.

266 Renata Dwan

The crisis origins of civilian capabilities Public order in the Balkans To understand how civilian crisis management has developed since 1999, we need to trace its origins (see also Dwan 2002). Civilian crisis management, as a concept, grew out of European states’ experience of crisis management in the Balkans and, in particular, the attempt to bring peace to Kosovo after the NATO-led intervention in the then Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (FRY) in March 1999. There, the greatest difficulty was not the war-fighting but rather the enforcement and building of some semblance of peace. In the first year of the international post-conflict presence, notwithstanding the presence of 42,500 NATO-led forces in the province, the international community presided over the reversal of the same ethnic cleansing that had provided the grounds for non-UN sanctioned intervention in the FRY. The flashpoint was (and remains) Mitrovica, the divided city in which the international military and police presence failed to prevent repeated deadly clashes between Kosovar Albanians and Serb civilians. The absence of NATO or UN strategies to address public order challenges, the inability of the military presence to negotiate civil violence and the lack of readily available international police personnel for deployment to Kosovo added up to a fundamental turning point for European governments which had supported the nonUN-sanctioned intervention on the grounds that the protection of human rights from widespread abuse was an international responsibility. The lack of police was a particular gap: despite appeals by the head of the UN in Kosovo, Bernard Kouchner, and a personal appeal from the newly installed Secretary General/High Representative (SG/HR) for the Common Foreign and Security Policy, Javier Solana, fewer than 2,000 of the 4,718 civilian police authorized to the UN Mission in Kosovo (UNMIK) were in place by early 2000. Only 22 per cent of these came from EU states (Fitchett 2000).1 This was not the first time that the Balkans had demonstrated the gaps in international crisis management capabilities. It was a riot in Brcko, Bosnia and Herzegovina, in August 1997 that nearly overran a company of heavily armed US soldiers, and resulted in the evacuation of the international police officers stationed in the town, which led to the establishment of a Multinational Specialized Unit (MSU) as part of the NATO-led force, SFOR (Perito 2004, esp. chs 1 and 4). The Bosnian experience demonstrated the limitations of military personnel in terms of equipment, training, policing and mediation skills in transitional phases of conflict. The US conclusion was that international constabulary forces were required to take responsibility for tasks such as crowd control, election security and returnee protection. For the Europeans, however, the issue was less clear-cut: many felt the US position reflected a reluctance to main-

Civilian tasks in EU operations 267 tain a strong military presence in the Balkans rather than a concern for the proper and most effective division of labour between military and policing forces in post-conflict peace operations. Only Italy agreed to provide three companies of ‘constabulary police’ – carabinieri – to form the basis of the MSU. It was nearly eight months before the Italian-led MSU deployed to Sarajevo.2 The preoccupation with the so-called ‘security gap’ remains a dominant theme today, not least for the Multinational Force in Iraq. However genuine and difficult a problem it poses, the focus on security gaps has had negative consequences for the development of a more humansecurity-based approach to international crisis management. First, it has limited policy thinking on non-military (civilian) capabilities in post-conflict contexts to the provision of public order. Why people are rioting and what can be done to pre-empt such action tend to be regarded as secondary considerations. This was evident particularly in US policy in Iraq immediately after the fall of Saddam Hussein. Second, and as a consequence of the concern with public order, prioritizing the security gap has focused civilian capabilities wholly on the immediate post-conflict environment rather than on the development of a set of policies and instruments that can be brought to bear at all stages of the conflict. Not least of these is the pre-conflict, preventive phase before the collapse of state structures and authorities, when international non-military tools might offer a less coercive and more positive way of engaging with a volatile, troubled state. Third, and most significant, it has tended to paint a picture of civil society as a dangerous and volatile factor to be controlled and subdued. The fact that much of the discourse on ‘public security’ argues for assertive international postures and the identification of and active opposition to obstructionists/spoilers creates a context in which the civil society is, if not an enemy, then far from a partner (see, for example, Stedman 2001; Covey et al. 2005). This notion of the international–local community relationship stands in stark contrast to the way in which police and other civilian officials are trained to regard it in a domestic context, that is, as a relationship based in good measure on trust in which the civilian instruments of the state exist to serve, not subdue, the community. International post-conflict administration Of course, civilian crisis management in Kosovo, it was quickly realized, was very much more than the provision of a secure environment and public order. The transitional administration established by UN Security Council Resolution 1244, like that in East Timor four months later, involved no less than the assumption of the authority and functions of the state and its administration. These functions, in essence, are the services provided by the state to its citizens: the glue that regulates their relationship. They include the establishment and implementation of a democratic

268 Renata Dwan and transparent rule of law, judicial and correctional systems, public safety and protection provisions, regulation and administration of public utilities, social welfare mechanisms, economic development and growth. In a post-conflict context these functions must be carried out in parallel with, and sometimes secondarily to, disarmament and demobilization of excombatants, the return of refugees and internally displaced persons (IDPs), physical, social and economic reconstruction, justice and reconciliation and the (re-)creation of a democratic political system. The international community in Kosovo divided these tasks into four broad areas: (a) police and justice, (b) civil administration, (c) democratization and institution-building and (d) reconstruction and economic development. UNMIK took responsibility for the first two areas while the OSCE and EU were assigned to lead and coordinate activities in the third and fourth areas respectively. This framework of areas to be addressed in a post-conflict context is not limited to international transitional administrations: the tasks are the same regardless of whether indigenous governance structures are in place and capable of taking them on or whether the international community assumes responsibility for them. Their execution, moreover, requires a large and diverse number of civilian experts. It is not simply that court administration is not a job for the average military officer: it is not a job for the average civilian. The realization that the international administration of war-torn territories, as Richard Caplan describes it, requires skilled peacetime administrators has been a painful, if instructive, lesson for international actors (Caplan 2002; Chesterman 2002). As one former UNMIK official described it, ‘In the event, we in the regional headquarters were overwhelmed with the enormity of the many tasks before us: there were too few international officials; those who did arrive generally lacked experience in handling the prosaic issues of administration; and few knew anything about Kosovo’ (Baskin 2003: 162). The question of appropriately skilled civilians has taken on a particularly horrific twist in the current examination of prisoner abuse by US military police in the Abu Gahraib prison in Iraq (Symon 2004). Civilian crisis management entails not only rendering humanitarian assistance and service to civil society but providing the specialized and often highly technical skills of administration and governance. Those skills must also be adaptable and responsive to the different and distinct social, political and economic contexts of the countries in which they may be engaged. Important as Kosovo and East Timor have been in demonstrating the gap in international crisis management capabilities to address the protection, safety and welfare of societies during and after conflict, there is a danger in equating civilian crisis management too narrowly as an alternative provider of state services in the face of weak or absent state structures and authorities. Focusing on administration and order, however much a precondition to sustainable peace-building, tends to encourage a very technical view of the state, its services and their consumers. As a con-

Civilian tasks in EU operations 269 sequence it may well be seen as unresponsive to local views and input. This reaction has been frequently voiced by local community leaders in East Timor and Kosovo. To be successful, civilian crisis management must be capable of incorporating local perspectives. A first step to enable this may involve facilitating the expression of local community needs – community (re)building, in other words. The social aspect of civilian crisis management may be quickly forgotten if its focus is defined only in terms of government structures and capacity. Similarly, the emphasis on developing capacities to handle state administration in post-conflict contexts undercuts the potential of civilian crisis management as a pre-conflict tool to prevent or mitigate crises from complete implosion. This potential can include advisory, monitoring, training and technical assessment tasks or operations, mediation, confidence-building or reconciliation tasks, as well as technical assistance in reform of specific areas such as security, media or criminal justice.

EU capabilities in civilian crisis management today Progress since 2000 The Kosovo experience continues to directly affect the way in which the EU approaches the practical development of civilian capabilities. At the Feira Council in June 2000 four priority areas were established: police, rule of law, civilian administration and civil protection. These remain the priority areas for civilian crisis management, although work is currently underway in the Committee for Civilian Crisis Management (CIVCOM) and the Council Secretariat’s directorate for civilian crisis management on establishing monitoring capacities and general support capacities to the EU Special Representatives as additional priority areas (Council of the European Union 2003b). The focus in each of the four priority areas has been on developing rapid reaction capabilities for crisis interventions either for EU autonomous operations or as part of an EU contribution to UN- or OSCE-led operations. The method adopted to build capacity modelled the approach used to generate military capacity: establishment of concrete, quantitative targets in each area to be met by 2003 (Headline Goals), followed by pledging conferences in which member states voluntarily committed a specific quantity of resources. CIVCOM was tasked to work on the elaboration of concept and planning guidelines in the four priority areas. Police is the area which has received the most attention and in which capacity development has progressed fastest. Member states agreed to provide 5,000 to cover the range of police operations from advisory, assistance and training to ‘substitution’ (executive) missions and to commit themselves to a rapid-reaction capability of 1,400 police in 30 days. This was achieved at a police capability conference in November 2001 where

270 Renata Dwan France and Italy also offered to provide four mobile police mission headquarters, of which two were for rapid deployment.3 Gendarme-type police forces from four countries (France, Italy, Spain and Portugal) make up almost 25 per cent of the 5,000. A number of concept documents have been elaborated on potential operation scenarios (‘substitution’ and ‘strengthening’ missions), command and control in police operations, training and equipment requirements and inter-operability of gendarmetype police forces. Planning for EUPM and Operation Proxima drew, to some extent, on these documents, although the generic EU Crisis Management Concept (a document drawn up principally by the EU Military Staff) proved the main guide. Rule of law was the next priority area, where a target of 200 experts for crisis management operations was set during the Gothenburg Council in June 2001. In May 2002 EU states committed up to 282 officials: 72 judges, 48 prosecutors, 38 administrative personnel and 72 penitentiary personnel. Of these, 60 are committed to rapid deployment (30 days) (European Council 2002b). An EU concept for missions in the field of rule of law has been elaborated (Council of the European Union 2002b; Secretariat officials, personal communication). The Greek presidency, in mid-2003, presented a follow-on paper addressing the potential contributions of non-state organizations and experts to rule-of-law operations at all phases of the mission. A significant step forward was made at the end of the Irish presidency in June 2004, when EU Foreign Ministers agreed to establish a small rule-of-law mission in Georgia (Council of the European Union 2004). The targets set in civilian administration are not as precise as those for police or rule of law. EU states have committed to voluntarily providing a pool of experts capable of covering a broad spectrum of tasks for quick deployment in crises. Some guidelines for civilian administration missions have been developed with the emphasis on setting up or ensuring the existence of a functional administrative framework while promoting transition to local ownership as early as possible (Council of the European Union 2002a). Civil protection has been the most contested area for civilian crisis management capacity development. Although fairly precise targets were set in 2001 (2–3 assessment and/or coordination team of ten experts capable of dispatching within three to seven hours; intervention teams of 2,000 for rapid deployment, and additional or more specialized means which could be dispatched within two to seven days as needed), and although a call for contributions was launched in June 2002, little real progress was made in this area by early 2005. Some argue that civil protection in crisis situations is a subdivision of civilian administration (this is how it is structured in UNMIK) and does not merit a separate approach. The strongest opposition, led by the European Commission, comes from those that believe that civil protection has less to do with security policy and more with humanitarian assistance (see, for example, House of Lords

Civilian tasks in EU operations 271 2003). In this respect, the Commission has energetically defended its competence in civil protection, a capacity that developed, in part, out of the EU attempt to provide emergency relief assistance to Turkey after the massive earthquake there in 1999. In October 2001, four months after the Council set its targets, a Community civil protection mechanism was established.4 The protection mechanism is directed at short- and longterm protection cooperation between member states in the event of natural, technological, radiological or environmental catastrophes covering the areas of search and rescue, fire-fighting, specialized medical and forensic services, evacuation, environmental pollution and emergency relief. Although intended for civil protection within the Union, the mechanism can be used for external missions where it meets the requirements of EC humanitarian aid regulations and with financing from the humanitarian assistance budget. In November 2002 the Council declared that it had met or even exceeded the targets set in the four civilian priority areas (having already declared operationality in crisis management one year before); and by January 2003 the first ESDP operation, the EU Police Mission in Bosnia and Herzegovina (EUPM), had begun. While the progress made to date is to be welcomed, the approach falls far short of addressing what is really required for civilian crisis management. In many ways the EU has trailed conceptual and practical developments taking place in UN and OSCE concepts and, so far at least, is not bringing the ‘added value’ to international crisis management that has been its clarion call from the start. Personnel capabilities A basic structural problem has been the methodology for raising civilian capabilities. The four priority areas have been conceived of and negotiated separately (a ‘police’ mission, a ‘rule of law’ mission) rather than being addressed as part of a continuum of interdependent tasks. This has limited thinking about what is actually required. A police mission, for example, cannot function without a functioning rule of law, and any police reform and assistance that is not accompanied – even preceded – by rule of law reforms is doomed to failure, as diverse examples of international police reform in Bosnia, Haiti and El Salvador have shown. Similarly, and as the High Representative/EU Special Representative Lord Ashdown has highlighted in Bosnia, economic reconstruction and development can make no headway without a regulatory framework, institutions and rule-bound procedures.5 What is required is a much more integrated approach that establishes the rule of law as the framework within which police and judicial and penal experts work alongside civil administrators and human rights experts. A ‘package’ approach is what is needed, bringing together different civilian components depending on the tasks identified on a case-by-case basis by mixed assessment teams. It is,

272 Renata Dwan in addition, also the way in which the UN system has been trying to develop. Already in 2000 the Brahimi Report called for a doctrinal shift in the use of civilian police and other rule-of-law elements (United Nations 2000). As a consequence, the UN Department of Peacekeeping Operations now has a small judicial component.6 The limitations of the EU approach were evident from the outset in planning for the EUPM where, because of its ‘police’ identity as a mission, it was extremely difficult to incorporate non-police expertise (for example, financial, budget and management experts) into the mission. This was difficult both because of the resistance of many police personnel to the idea of non-police officers being an important part of a police mission and because of the structure of the recruitment process in participating states, which was handled largely by the police authorities in EU countries. In a domestic context, civilian personnel capabilities are a particular challenge to provide because so many government authorities are involved: interior, justice and development in addition to the traditional external-security-focused defence and foreign ministries. The administration and, crucially, the funding of civilian crisis management tasks must be divided between the different departments, a process that in the past, at least, tended to lead to bureaucratic in-fighting and delays. To this extent, civilian crisis management development carries significant practical consequences for domestic policies and practices in the EU, arguably much more so than military crisis management. A second weakness of the methodology adopted is that resources committed on paper do not reflect the reality of the civilian capabilities that the EU can actually bring to bear in a crisis management operation. It also provides little guidance in identifying specific civilian expertise. On paper, the EU has 72 judges available for deployment. But at any one time all of these judges are in service in their domestic legal systems and there is no guarantee that they will be in a position to answer a call for international deployment. The fact that they deploy in a voluntary capacity – a fundamentally different consideration from that of a professional military – is also not captured in quantitative Headline Goals. Moreover, capacity in civilian crisis management is not as interchangeable as that within the military: a prosecutor specializing in domestic abuse is not equivalent to one with an expertise in organized crime. The rosters of resources drawn up by the EU in civilian crisis management do not identify experts even though the individuals involved would be included of their own volition and free to accept or decline requests for missions abroad. Yet this is the level of detail that is required to bring together the appropriate mix of expertise at short notice for crisis mission activities. To that extent, therefore, the numbers committed by EU states remain only indicators of the total number of individuals they would be prepared to fund and support for external crisis management tasks, some of whom may already be deployed to crisis management operations. Thus, when the second EU

Civilian tasks in EU operations 273 police mission, Proxima, was launched, personnel recruitment proved just as much a challenge as it traditionally has for UN civilian police (CivPol) operations. The mission, mandated as 180 police officers, began operations in December 2003 with a goal to be at full strength two months into the operation. By February 2004, however, Proxima still faced a personnel shortfall of 30 per cent. EUPM, considerably larger with almost 500 police personnel, is experiencing increasing difficulty in filling posts with every rotation of personnel. This difficulty, again, reflects domestic constraints within EU member states. In contrast to the military, the civilians often required for crisis management operations are usually in short supply and in high demand at home. The stable space that is Europe means that armies are not required for domestic duties on a full-time, permanent basis. Civilian capacity is much more conditional and, to date, states have been reluctant to lend out much-needed police, judges and civil experts. Moreover, for the individuals themselves there is usually little career or social incentive for external service. These personnel are rooted in local systems, trained and employed to work – usually – in a domestic context and are rarely ‘internationalized’. Much can and should be done within EU member states to (a) internationalize the cultures of professions such as police, judicial, correctional, civil administrators and social work and offer incentives for service in EU crisis management; (b) provide training for international service abroad;7 and (c) explore inter-operability among experts working in similar relevant fields. Yet, for real progress to be made in civilian capacity for crisis management, new personnel must be recruited. This could be envisaged at the national and/or European level. For example, at the national level, member states could undertake to expand overall police forces by, say, 5 per cent. A more realistic approach, however, might be for each member state to recruit a smaller additional number but to earmark a cadre of between 30 and 200 police officers (depending on the size or the population of the state) for international crisis management. This cadre would receive regular and international policing training (which could include specialized training in public order and crowd control, refugee protection, dealing with traumatized victims, war crimes, police training and institutional development issues) and would commit to participate in a minimum of two EU crisis management operations during their career. When not in service abroad, these officers could either serve in the domestic force(s) or, alternatively, work within the bureaucratic structures as advisers and planners to foreign, justice, interior or defence ministries or as consultants to development assistance actors (for example, the growing number of police and security sector reform advisers working for national development assistance agencies and non-governmental organizations such as Saferworld) on the understanding that they were available for rapid deployment. The proposal by France, Italy, Spain, the Netherlands and Portugal to establish a European gendarme force is one option for increasing the

274 Renata Dwan number of available personnel at European level.8 Although the limited participation potential of this proposal is bound to raise problems for some states (not least over who pays for it), such a gendarmerie would open the possibility of a rapidly deployable EU police force in crisis situations, and merits serious consideration. A second, more limited, option is the creation of a small professional EU leadership capacity, based in the ESDP structures in Brussels and capable of taking on, at short notice, leadership roles of a civilian mission or element. While SG/HR Solana has suggested that after the Intergovernmental Conference (IGC) attention will have to look at the issue of the creation of a permanent and professional core staff for civilian crisis management, there has been little (public) development of what that might comprise.9 Although the discussion above focuses on police personnel, elements are applicable to rule of law and civil administration specialists. While the bulk of this expertise will remain located within national state structures, it is easier to conceive of professional European cadres in these fields. The Commission has been developing rosters of non-state experts available for potential short- and mid-term emergency relief and assistance that, contrary to the Council priority area rosters, include names and details of the individuals.10 Were EU civilian crisis management to have such a roster among its capacities, it would mark a real advance on current and past practice in the UN and OSCE. It could conceivably be supplemented by member-state-supported schemes whereby civil servants, public prosecutors, judges and so forth could sign up to the list for a specific time period (two to four years) on the basis that their government authorities would (a) give them leave to serve in operations abroad and (b) continue to provide their salary (this would, in essence, be secondment). Another potential option is the notion of a European voluntary corps, paralleling the UN volunteer service.11 Although a potential valuable addition to civilian crisis management, such a corps, unless narrowly defined, would be inevitably limited in its degree of technical expertise and professional know-how. What it could bring is capacity to expand crisis management efforts among the local community and help address a wider range of tasks (social support, community engagement and support). The bulk of such a voluntary corps could comprise younger Europeans (for example, graduates) and offer a mechanism through which a wider European public could engage in EU external action. A permanent core staff would be required to lead and support any corps. The creation of EU-level personnel capacity raises fundamental questions for the financing, training, management and accountability of such personnel – questions that have, to date, not been addressed. EU member states deploying individuals to EU crisis management operations assume responsibility for the funding, the training and, ultimately, the discipline of seconded personnel. The small number of non-seconded civilian personnel recruited to EU operations is financed out of the mission’s budget, receives no pre-

Civilian tasks in EU operations 275 deployment training and is accountable, ultimately, to local laws. While the Commission has sought, through its roster of individual experts and framework agreements with non-governmental organizations (NGOs), to promote the use of non-state actors in the Union’s conflict-prevention and post-conflict reconstruction activities, it has not taken significant steps to develop non-state-actor capacities for crisis management. Equipment and logistics capabilities Apart from gendarme-type forces, civilian personnel come unequipped. Many civilian tasks do not require much heavy or specialized equipment but they do depend on a basic infrastructure – computers, cars, electricity generators, telephones, office supplies – that may either be destroyed or be limited in availability. So far, EU civilian capacity development has paid almost no attention to this issue, in part because CFSP budget funding for civilian crisis management operations is intended to cover start-up and common costs. The EUPM and Proxima experiences have shown that, under the current Community financing system, the shortest possible time in which operation procurement and delivery can take place is between six and nine months (Council of the European Union General Secretariat and European Commission 2003). A number of options exist and all are required if the EU is to make good on its commitment to operationality: •

•

•

•

the establishment of standing start-up kits. The UN holds start-up kits of key transport and communications equipment at its base in Brindisi while the OSCE has made some arrangements for stand-by equipment (held in a warehouse in Vienna). No such EU capabilities exist at present; pooled cooperation between coalitions of EU states; for example, cooperation between Scandinavian countries for civil emergencies or standardized equipment pooled between countries with gendarmetype forces. This could enable burden-sharing in equipment-raising and logistics and thereby contribute to inter-operability between civilian actors; civilian use of military assets in EU civilian operations and the provision of military support in logistics and equipment in complex EU operations. Joint planning and coordination are, clearly, central to this; and subcontracting to private companies for provision of equipment and logistical support. This is not only a long-standing element in US crisis management but also a growing feature of UN operations. While the administration of subcontracting lies with the Commission under Community competence (and as such is subject to EC tendering procedures) and may often be answered best by local contractors on the

276 Renata Dwan ground, rapid capability requirements raise the question of whether framework contracts might be envisaged for the provision of equipment and/or logistical support (for example, Ericsson for telecommunications). The issue of subcontracting inevitably raises the question of private security companies – not least given the safety considerations involved for civilian actors. Where civilians operate alongside the military in an EU operation, the task of their protection might be expected to fall within the military’s mandate. In an EU civilian-only operation, however, safety is a consideration. The EU has already availed itself of the option of private security contractors for the provision of bodyguards to the head of EUPM. This raises important questions of accountability, transparency and administration. To date, however, this issue does not appear to have come on the EU crisis management radar or, for that matter, the EC development one.12 Planning capabilities The development of EU civilian capabilities has taken place in such an ‘un-joined up’ fashion largely because of the absence of an EU strategic planning capacity for civilian crisis management. The insistence on an intergovernmental approach to ESDP can make crisis management capability committee-bound. Committees such as the Political and Security Committee (PSC), CIVCOM and the politico-military group are staffed overwhelmingly by professional diplomats. Many of them have no direct operational experience and, in some cases, little background in multilateral crisis management. In many cases, delegates on EU committees have little idea of parallel activities – in UN, OSCE or NATO crisis management. There is often duplication between the committees and a lack of regular exchange. The risk of reinvention of the crisis management wheel is high in Brussels. Civilian crisis capabilities have been further hampered by the perception that this is less of an expert-led field than is the military. Whereas the establishment of a sizeable military staff (134) was one of the first steps undertaken in the military capability’s development, a police planning structure of seven seconded police officers was not set up until the summer of 2001 within the civilian crisis management directorate of the Council Secretariat. Not before the second half of 2003 was there formal recognition of the need for EU mission planning and support capacity.13 In December 2003 agreement was reached on the establishment of an EU civil–military planning cell. If it is to succeed, however, it will need to be robust and also balanced. The relative size difference between the EU military staff and civilian crisis management component, and the fact that the planning cell is to be based within the military staff itself, suggest that the balance may be already heavily tilted in the military direction.

Civilian tasks in EU operations 277

Building civilian capabilities through coordination It has become a cliché that the added value that the EU brings to global security is the range of instruments, military and non-military, it has at its disposal. In theory, this is true but in practice it has been avoided. The most crucial and difficult prerequisite to making good the EU’s commitment to providing non-military tools and a genuinely integrated crisis management capacity is improved coordination between civilian capabilities and two distinct constituencies: the military and the humanitarian and development arms of ESDP. Civil–military coordination requires ambitious and comprehensive approaches if it is to break the moulds of member states’ national patterns. However, it is arguably in the area of civil–civil coordination that the most significant challenges lie for effective EU civilian crisis management capabilities. Civil–military coordination The challenge of coordination between the military and civilian elements of crisis management has been a predominant theme of the evolution of peacekeeping into what is often called ‘complex peace operations’ or ‘second-generation peacekeeping’ throughout the 1990s (Berdal 2003). The interrelationship between the military and civil is usually characterized as one between distinct entities with the military providing support and back-up to the civilian presence in the field. This support is grounded in the military’s ability to wield overwhelming force (Hill 2001). Thus, the military are the principal providers of the secure environment that is usually regarded as a prerequisite of civilian crisis management efforts. The mandate of an international military presence usually includes responsibility for the security of international civilian staff, and military logistics, equipment and communications capacities usually provide essential enabling and back-up support to civilian elements in multilateral peace operations. It is only relatively recently that policy and research attention has focused on the military–civilian relations in peace operations as a joint operation and begun to address what an integrated approach might imply. In the EU context, civil–military coordination (CMCO, in EU parlance) has been acknowledged as an area to be addressed and an Action Plan on the subject was introduced in October 2002 (European Council 2002a). This grew out of the experience of the first crisis management exercise, CME02, which demonstrated a substantial number of shortcomings in civil–military coordination problems. The thrust of the Action Plan, however, was not integrated planning and operational capabilities so much as the development of formal guidelines for internal coordination across the conflict phase (with particular emphasis on who is the lead actor in what phase) (Dwan and Lachowski 2003: 224). To some extent,

278 Renata Dwan this reflects a wider civil–military cooperation culture in which mutual respect combined with healthy distance has been a dominant theme.14 Coordination at the EU level is also complicated by multiple national civil–military cultures which often manifest very different approaches to cooperation with the police (gendarme or civilian) and to the substance of the relationship between the military and external civil actors (often termed CIMIC). The lack of a common model for civil–military coordination in crisis management potentially offered an opportunity for innovative thinking on integrated civil–military crisis management in EU operations. This has not turned out to be the case, however, for a number of reasons, not least the divide between the military and the ‘Eurocrats’. A walk through the headquarters in the Secretariat where the military and civilian staffs are collocated feels different from the mixed NATO Secretariat in the same city. Partly it is an issue of time: ESDP structures are new and still developing. In part, however, it is also a question of dominance: in NATO the military is a much more predominant actor. In the EU, by contrast, it is the EU fonctionnaires that dominate the institutions along with, in ESDP at least, member states’ representatives. The complex and byzantine world of EU policy-making encouraged the first round of officers to the EU military staff to retreat somewhat into the more familiar and logical world of military structures. This may have benefited intercultural cooperation within the military staff and may be important in helping the development of a future EU military culture. It has not, however, been particularly helpful in building close civil–military links in EU crisis management. Another practical constraint, touched on earlier, has been the size imbalance between the military and civil components in the Secretariat. This meant that the military were responsible for setting the framework and drafting the first texts for EU crisis management concepts and guidelines. Civilian input came later and did not generally result in a fundamental rethinking of the framework offered. Part of this problem was, again, who the civilians were. The lack of civilian crisis management experts meant there were few alternatives to the strategic planning approach put forward by the military. Added to this, of course, is the traditional reluctance of potentially relevant development experts (with emergency relief planning experience) to engage with the military – experts located primarily in the Commission. One of the first tasks that a joint civil–military planning cell might wish to undertake, therefore, is a review of core planning documents such as the Crisis Management Concept, CIMIC concept and CMCO concept. Addressing civil–military coordination in terms of crisis management functions rather than of conflict phases might be one way in which a more integrated approach could be developed for EU operations. The draft ESDP training project for joint civil–military training has identified nine

Civilian tasks in EU operations 279 civil–military interfaces around which training modules will be developed.15 These include public order and organized crime, border security, DDR, civilian protection, elections, intelligence, security provision to humanitarian actors, transportation and telecommunications. Welcome as this is, it is important that a functional approach towards doctrine and training in civil–military coordination goes beyond traditional areas (provision of military equipment and logistics support and emergency evacuation to civilians) and addresses the full range of civilian crisis management tasks. This includes questions of cooperation in less traditional areas, such as human trafficking, organized crime, witness protection and security sector reform, which bring together a wide range of state and non-state expert actors. Again, the Balkans continues to be the laboratory for the development of EU crisis management. SFOR and KFOR have been involved in ‘nontraditional’ tasks such as those identified above; and it has been in these areas (such as raids on brothels or banks) that difficulties in civil–military coordination have been most acute (see Hansen 2002; Perito 2004). The EU belatedly confronted operational civil–military coordination in preparation for its takeover of the international military presence in Bosnia at the end of 2004. Planning was deadlocked for weeks in the spring of 2004, however, over the question of the role of the SFOR MSU – whether its function should remain restricted primarily to public order or whether it should take on a greater role in tackling organized crime; and, even more important, whether it should be under the control of EUPM, the military EU operation or a combination of both. It is inevitable that the transition of an operation from one organization to another will pose problems, given the fundamentally different natures of NATO and the EU. However, the fact that the EU takeover of SFOR has not prompted wider rethinking of the entire EU crisis management presence in Bosnia and the extent to which the military and various civilian elements can be integrated in a unified presence gives some indication of the distance between civilian and military capabilities in ESDP. Training will be a key element in ensuring operational coordination. In order to maximize short training courses, however, planners may wish to assess a range of potential models for operational civil–military coordination. Joint military–police patrols are one area in which the potential for common EU doctrines or standards might be useful. This could then pave the way for common training programmes (within, for example, the future European Security and Defence College envisaged in the European Convention). The fact that most EU militaries have significant Balkan experience suggests that models used in Bosnia and Kosovo, the latter based on the UK experience in Northern Ireland (in turn developed from British colonial counter-insurgency efforts in Malaysia), might be appropriate starting points for the development of an EU approach. The Provincial Reconstruction Team (PRT) concept being developed in Afghanistan is a

280 Renata Dwan more comprehensive model of civil–military joint operations that might be suitable for unstable, disparate and/or rural environments, although they are, largely, mono-national in composition (Oakley and Hammes 2004). Moreover, the PRT concept appears to have developed in a fairly ad hoc way with significant differences in structure and operation between national teams. Training based in such real-life scenarios may allow diverse civil and military actors to bring their different experiences to address a common challenge rather than prescribing any single model. Joint training is likely to be the only way in which a commonly understood, genuinely unified body of theory and guidelines for integrated civil–military operations can be developed over the longer term. Command and control remains, however, the thorniest issue in EU civil–military coordination. The military chain of command in EU operations is, currently, distinct and separate from the civilian side. An EU Special Representative (EUSR), if present, may have no authority over the military command despite his or her being the leading political representative of the EU on the ground (the military commander takes political instruction from the PSC in Brussels). Given the political nature of any international intervention and the particular sensitivities of a context in which the EU is potentially represented by a variety of actors on the ground, it is important that an EUSR have some coordination role over all EU actors (in line with the UN Special Representative of the Secretary General’s authority in a UN operation). The link between the EUSR, as the senior EU civilian representative, and the EU Force Commander is especially important. Liaison and coordination between them on all matters should not be left solely to the good sense and personalities of individuals: it is worth thinking about integrating the senior civilian actor into the military operation’s chain of command. Other steps which could facilitate an integrated approach include (a) collocation of civil and military crisis management elements (probably not advisable for humanitarian/development actors); (b) a joint political advisory unit; (c) joint reporting mechanisms to HQ; and (d) joint media office in the host country. Civil–civil coordination In addition to ESDP crisis management capabilities, the EU has a wide range of possible instruments to address human security needs. Most of these are long-term political, trade, development and cooperation assistance measures administered by the European Commission. In addition, the Commission also has civilian crisis instruments that can be employed on a short-term emergency basis. However, cooperation between Community instruments and ESDP capabilities has been far from comprehensive, notwithstanding the current financing arrangements for civilian crisis management operations. At the strategic level, there is little linkage between Community assistance and the Union’s external priorities. The

Civilian tasks in EU operations 281 decision to launch EUPM in early 2002, for example, prompted no reassessment of the Commission’s funding and programmatic priorities in Bosnia or the wider region. Yet an essential objective of the Commission’s activities there (under the CARDS programme – Community Assistance for Reconstruction, Development and Stabilisation) is respect for democratic principles and the rule of law through, among other things, institutional reform. The first joint meeting between CIVCOM and the EU Development Committee took place only in April 2004, and no institutionalized dialogue is yet in place between civilian crisis management and development structures in Brussels. Although the Commission administers the CFSP part of civilian crisis operations’ budgets, no fundamental assessment of the changes to contractual, funding, disbursement and procurement procedures that are required for crisis management has, as yet, taken place. The effect of this institutional fencing off has been to separate rather than to integrate the EU’s broad range of non-military tools. The emphasis remains on distinguishing competences within the civilian area; and this is often played out in debates over state versus non-government instruments/expertise, and crisis management versus longer-term development policies and tools, with the intergovernmental Council espousing the former and the Commission staking its claim to the latter. To some extent, the lack of coordination in EU external action is a function of bureaucratic politics and may be mitigated by strong leadership and good communication both within the Commission and between it and the Council. Efforts at better coordination at the strategic level have been initiated through regular reviews of the coherence of the EU’s external policies and instruments. An explicit focus could be developed on coherence between EU development assistance and EU crisis management activities in a given context. At the more practical level, crisis management planning could be facilitated by the incorporation of specific EC development personnel and expertise into the civil–military planning cell. Another important step in EU crisis management planning would be the incorporation of conflict impact-assessment analyses into generic and specific scenario planning, an approach with which many development experts are familiar. The constitutional reforms proposed in the draft European Convention, notably the appointment of a European foreign minister and the creation of a Joint European External Action Service, might over time mitigate further the structural barriers to a coherent EU external policy. This integration process in itself, however, will be an enormous challenge. Many of the practical coordination challenges present themselves at the operational level. In the EU operations that have taken place to date in the Balkans, the biggest challenge has been the sheer number of different EU actors on the ground. There is growing recognition of the merits to all parties of a more coordinated and visible EU presence and semi-formalized arrangements such as regular EU Heads of Missions meetings in

282 Renata Dwan Bosnia and Herzegovina, Kosovo and FYROM (and elsewhere). While coordination, as opposed to subordination, remains the order of the day, the idea that the EU Special Representative, where present, should organize and chair meetings of EU operational actors is gaining ground. Such coordination is particularly important in terms of the articulation and maintenance of a common EU position to the host authorities and in relation to crisis management efforts. In FYROM weekly meetings of EU operational representatives were initiated by former EUSR Alexis Brouhns in 2002 and look likely to be established in BiH under Lord Ashdown as EU prepares to take over the NATO-led SFOR military operation.16 Collocation of EU crisis management actors with the Commission delegation in a country is another option being explored in Bosnia: in volatile situations or where infrastructure is very weak, it may be a necessity. A third area where the merits of coordination are obvious is media reporting and campaigns targeted at public opinion. The proposed common external service provides potential grounds for improving the chain of command between EUSRs and Commission delegations. Beyond intra-EU bureaucratic struggles, however, there are genuine questions to be raised as to where the boundaries of civilian crisis management can and should lie. The increased willingness of multilateral and individual actors to forcibly intervene in states and to assume responsibility for the administration of governance has introduced to crisis management tasks and functions that previously tended to be classified within the framework of humanitarian and development assistance. In many ways, this is to be welcomed as part of a growing understanding of the roots of conflict and the requirements of sustainable peace. Yet there are some within the humanitarian and development communities who view this with apprehension. Civilian crisis management, for some, is a further step in the blurring of the distinction between security and development – a linkage that runs the risk of politicizing aid and removing the focus from longer-term people-centred poverty alleviation.17 This concern is all the more real given the short time perspective of crisis management – Haiti is only one recent example of the errors of overly optimistic assumptions about what can be done to build sustainable peace in a crisis management context. The development of civilian crisis management must start with an acknowledgement of the limitations of external state-building, and focus on the essential prerequisites for human security in a crisis or immediate post-conflict context. These are the (re-)establishment of the basic structures and functions of the state and the framework of governance in which civil society can develop and be sustained.18 Longer-term development policies and instruments are essential to help sustain these basic structures and, viewed from this perspective, involve instruments and policies that are distinct from civilian crisis management priorities (police, rule of law, civilian administration and civil protection). Civil–civil

Civilian tasks in EU operations 283 coordination in this context is about acknowledging the centrality of a longer-term approach and putting in place a framework that allows this perspective to be adopted from the outset of a crisis management operation rather than at the end. This approach would go some way to addressing the concerns of the development community and also to ensuring that the development of EU civilian crisis management does not duplicate capacities already existing among European development actors. At the same time, it would be an important step in recognizing the need for a more ‘joined-up’ approach between EU crisis management and development instruments at all phases of the conflict cycle. Cooperation between EU civilian crisis management actors and longerterm development programmes is particularly important in the area of mission programme planning. Preparations for civilian crisis operations will require at least one assessment mission, of which the appropriate Commission expert should be part. The elaboration of the substance of mission activities, however, will take place on the ground, and the projects initiated, whatever the field, will set the framework for longer-term reform and development. This is vital for complex areas such as refugee protection and return, DDR, border management and security-sector reform. It is important, therefore, that Commission field delegations are brought into that process. Buy-in could also be explored through earmarked crisis management operation support funds intended to facilitate the implementation of the mission’s mandate and the establishment of a framework that would allow a smooth transition from crisis management activities to longer-term development activities.19 Finally, the termination of EU crisis management operations and the possible transition of programmes and activities to longer-term EU actors require substantial preparation (EUPM, for example, is scheduled to end in December 2005). The UN, for its part, has been putting considerable emphasis on how transitions from peace operations can be better managed – the EU has yet to address the issue comprehensively (although some experience was gained in the follow-up to Operation Artemis in DRC) (United Nations 2001; Council of the European Union 2003c). Finally, the emphasis on distinguishing civilian crisis management from development instruments should not undercut the EU’s potential for conflict prevention action. This would be also to undercut the potential for civilian crisis management and runs contrary to the emphasis on preventive engagement of the EU Security Strategy. Civilian crisis management capabilities are, this chapter has argued, uniquely placed to contribute to vulnerable pre-conflict situations. They are not as intrusive as military tools and can be a way of engaging with weak and failing states in a manner that offers carrots as much as sticks. At the same time, they are more assertive than the EU development assistance tools (political dialogue, sanctions) that have repeatedly failed to impact on crisis situations in countries as diverse as Belarus, Zimbabwe, Haiti and Côte d’Ivoire in

284 Renata Dwan recent years. Thus, while it is important to acknowledge and address the overlap between short-term and longer-term conflict management and development, the framework for civilian crisis management should avoid too narrow and rigid a definition.

Conclusion Civilian crisis management is, in essence, an instrument for international actors to help create the structures and capacities that enable the state to provide for the security and safety of its population. It is not a ‘soft’ option for intervention but a fundamental element in building a sustainable peace. Civilian crisis management represents a new way of thinking about, organizing and conducting international efforts to prevent and address conflict, an approach that is centred not on the application of overwhelming military force but rather on the provision of security and safety to the citizens of a state through a human-rights-based rule of law. It is thus an area where the EU can add to, rather than duplicate, existing multilateral and national crisis management tools. This very newness poses challenges. At the national level, civilian crisis management puts new demands on government structures and authorities, and blurs traditional distinctions between external and domesticoriented institutions and policies. At the EU level, it raises questions about the sustainability of the current EU institutional separation between the intergovernmental ESDP and the Community’s external and development assistance policies and programmes. These challenges pose substantive issues, not least over who provides the resources, where their financing is to come from and what the contexts for their engagement are. This chapter has argued that the EU has, to date, been slow to grasp the significance of its commitment to civilian crisis management, and less than ambitious in its development of civilian capabilities. Substantive improvement requires a rethinking both of how civilian crisis management capabilities are to be developed and the resources that are required. As a first step, the civilian Headline Goals should be revised with the emphasis on an integrated approach to civilian tools. Flexible, needsbased, case-by-case assessment should guide the provision of EU civilian crisis management capacities, incorporating all elements of police, rule of law, civilian administration and civil protection.20 In addition, the EU’s concept of civilian capabilities should be expanded beyond a technical approach to the administration of state services after conflict and include capacities to address social needs. These include capacities in human rights, community-building and reconciliation processes. Greater emphasis on an integrated approach is also required in coordination with the military dimension as well as the longer-term development dimension of EU activities. This coordination, this chapter suggests, might be best organized around functional areas such as DDR, and

Civilian tasks in EU operations 285 needs to take place at the strategic and operational level. At the strategic level, the proposed joint civil–military planning cell represents an important opportunity to begin integrated planning for operations and requires additional civilian experts to fill positions. Given that the only civilian capacity that has been institutionalized so far in the Council Secretariat is a small police unit, experts in the rule of law, civilian administrators and human rights are particularly required. There is a need to bring development expertise and perspectives, particularly capacities for conflict impact assessment analysis, into the cell. Coordination with development actors is, in addition, particularly important at the level of mission programme planning, so as to ensure that the activities of any crisis management operation assist and facilitate longer-term development goals. It is, moreover, a prerequisite to successful transition from a crisis management operation to sustainable peace-building. At the operational level, areas for improved civil–military and civil–civil coordination include information sharing, joint media and press policies and collocation, as well as integrated chains of command. Ultimately, a genuinely capable EU civilian crisis management requires increased resources – personnel, equipment and financial. Civilian crisis management depends heavily on personnel seconded from EU member states, personnel that are in short supply. Their effective and timely deployment requires national states to increase their numbers and also the incentives for service abroad, so as to make it a feasible option for individuals who voluntarily elect to participate in an operation. At the EU level, a basic core professional staff in the Council Secretariat is the minimum required to enable mission planning and support as well as to provide a core leadership capacity for rapid deployment and mission startup. The provision of Commission fonctionnaires (seconded or on leave of absence) to this staff could be a valuable way of bringing in technical, budgetary and/or country-specific expertise. A third area, so far underexploited, is the engagement of non-state experts in civilian crisis management. Their participation could be explored in a variety of ways including through the Commission’s rosters of experts, engagement with NGOs and, more ambitiously, through the establishment of a civilian voluntary-type corps. Personnel capacity is the central challenge to effective civilian capability but equipment and logistic capabilities are also important. In cases where military and civilian capacities are simultaneously engaged, military logistics can be expected to provide support to civilian actors. This cannot be relied upon in all cases, however, and this chapter has set out some options that might be explored to enable civilian capabilities to deploy with some speed and effectiveness. In the end, however, improvements in this area will depend as much upon the political will of EU member states to address the financing of civilian crisis management as upon the EU’s willingness to increase the overall budget for Common Foreign and Security Policy and better coordination between structures in Brussels.

286 Renata Dwan Civilian crisis management, this chapter has argued, is about the functioning of the state and its relation to its citizens. The EU inevitably brings to this a cultural and historical vision of the democratic and functioning state. The model may be relatively flexible but it is founded on Western European ideas about the state and its relationship to its citizens. The EU has not shied away from describing itself as a system of values and principles. Putting this into practice, however, means negotiating domestic support for civilian crisis management within the EU and also among the local populations in the countries in which EU civilian crisis capabilities are employed. These challenges are not particular to the civilian dimensions of crisis management but they are highlighted to a far greater degree there than in the military dimension. Capability development in this area has yet to even begin.

Notes 1 For figures on UNMIK, see Dwan (2000). 2 The MSU was made up of 350 carabinieri with minor contributions from the Argentinean Gendarmeria Nacional, the Romanian Politia Militari and the Slovenian Military Police. 3 The original target for rapid deployment was 1,000. The Declaration of 19 November 2001 Capabilities Conference is reproduced in Rutten (2002). 4 Council Decision of 23 October 2001/792/EC. 5 As reflected in the Ashdown slogan, ‘First justice, then jobs’. 6 A lawyer covering judicial reform and a penal management expert. 7 A number of national and EU-level civilian expert training initiatives are under way; see background paper prepared for the Study Group by Sarah Cussen (2004). 8 Made at the EU Defence Ministers meeting on 17 November 2003. 9 For an overview of the opposing positions of the Commission and the Council Secretariat on how civilian planning and mission support capacities should be developed, see Tappert (2003). 10 The profile of such experts is likely to be individuals who have moved from the state sector to work as (often highly paid!) consultants to EU assistance programmes (PHARE, TACIS, humanitarian, relief and development programmes) and who usually compete for EU contracts on the basis of winning tenders. 11 In 2001 the European Parliament proposed the creation of a European Civil Peace Corps, to be placed under the responsibility of the Commission. See European Parliament (2001). 12 Responses by Commissioner Nielsen at a meeting in Stockholm, 13 May 2004. 13 Documents dealing with the development of the Secretariat’s mission planning and support capacity are not publicly available. However, unreferenced details of the Secretariat’s proposal and the Commission’s (negative) response are given in Gourlay (2004). 14 This is in part shaped by Western approaches to the role of the military in democratic societies, especially the influential Huntington approach of the military isolated from power through its professionalization. See Huntington (1957). 15 A project being developed by the Folke Bernadotte Academy in Sweden. See also background paper prepared by Sarah Cussen (2004).

Civilian tasks in EU operations 287 16 It is complicated in Bosnia given Ashdown’s dual role as a High Representative and EU Special Representative. On FYROM, see Chapter 3 by Denisa Kostovicova. 17 For example, Macrae and Harmer (2003). Many in the Commission share this view: see the tentative Commission Communication on Governance and Development COM(2003)615, October 2003. 18 A point made by Kaldor (2003: 132). 19 The Commission earmarked a small amount of CARDS funds for EUPMsupport-related activities in BiH and for CIMIC activities in Operation Concordia. An example might be Commission-funded training courses for senior police or judges that have been identified by the crisis management operation as potential leaders. 20 At the time of writing the EU was about to agree an Action Plan for civilian aspects of ESDP that may well go some way to overcoming this segregated approach.

References Baskin, M. (2003) ‘Post-conflict administration and reconstruction’ (review article), International Affairs, 79/1: 161–70. Berdal, M. (2003) ‘Ten years of international peacekeeping’, International Peacekeeping, 10/4: 5–11. Bertelsmann Foundation (2004) A European Defence Strategy. Available online at: http://www.cap.uni-muenchen.de/download/2004/2004_Venusberg_Report.pdf. Caplan, R. (2002) A New Trusteeship? The International Administration of War-torn Territories, Adelphi Paper 341, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Chesterman, S. (2002) ‘Walking softly in Afghanistan: the future of UN statebuilding’, Survival, 44/3: 37–46. Council of the European Union (2002a) ‘Basic guidelines for crisis management missions in the field of civilian administration’, doc. 9369/02, Brussels, 30 May. —— (2002b) ‘Comprehensive EU concept for missions in the field of Rule of Law in crisis management, including annexes’, doc. 141513/02, Brussels, 19 November. —— (2003a) A Secure Europe in a Better World: European Security Strategy. Brussels, 12 December. Available online at: http://www.ueitalia2003.it/NR/rdonlyres/ 994663FB-368F-4562-9BF0-C7FE46E66F4C/0/1212DocSolanaStrategiaEuropea_en. pdf (accessed 29 September 2004). —— (2003b) ‘Presidency Report on the European Security and Defence Policy’, doc. 10598/03, Brussels, 17 June. —— (2003c) ‘Council Conclusions on Operation Artemis’, doc. 12784/03, Brussels. Available online at: http://europa.eu.int/abc/doc/off/bull/en/200306/ p106017.htm (accessed 1 October 2004). —— (2004) General Affairs and External Relations, Press Release 10191/04, 14 June. Council of the European Union General Secretariat and European Commission (2003) ‘Lessons from the planning of the EU Police Mission in Bosnia Herzegovina (EUPM), Autumn 2001 – December 2002’, doc. 11206/03, Brussels, 14 July. Covey, J., Dziedzic, M. and Hawley, L. (eds) (2005) The Quest for Viable Peace: International Intervention and Strategies for Conflict Transformation, Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace.

288 Renata Dwan Cussen, S. (2004) ‘Background paper on the existing arrangements and cooperation within the framework of CFSP and ESDP’, London: Study Group on Europe’s Security Capabilities, Centre for the Study of Global Governance, London School of Economics. Available online at: http://www.lse.ac.uk/ Depts/global/StudyGroup/BackgroundPaper.htm (accessed 30 September 2004). Dwan, R. (2000) ‘Armed conflict prevention, management and resolution’, SIPRI Yearbook 2000, Oxford: Oxford University Press/SIPRI. —— (2002) ‘EU policing for peace operations: what does it mean?’, St Anthony’s College, University of Oxford European Interdependence Research Unit (EIRU) Discussion Paper, EIRU/023. Dwan, R. and Lachowski, Z. (2003) ‘The military and security dimensions of the European Union’, SIPRI Yearbook 2003, Oxford: Oxford University Press/SIPRI. European Council (Copenhagen 12–13 December) (2002a) ‘ESDP presidency report: Action plan for the further strengthening of civil–military coordination in EU crisis management’, doc. 13480/1/02, 29 October. European Council (Seville 21–22 June) (2002b) ‘Presidency report on ESDP: Annex I: Rule of Law Capabilities Commitment Conference Declaration’. Reproduced in ‘From Laeken to Copenhagen. European defence: core documents’, Chaillot Papers, no. 57, vol. 3, February 2003: 82–4. Available online at: http://www.iss-eu.org/chaillot/chai57e.pdf (accessed 1 October 2004). European Parliament (2001) Resolution on the Commission Communication on Conflict Prevention, doc. no. A5/0394/2001, 13 December. Available online at: http://www.bits.de/CESD-PA/EU131201.pdf (accessed 1 October 2004). Everts, S., Freedman, L., Grant, C., Heisbourg, F., Keohane, D. and O’Hanlon, M. (2004) A European Way of War, London: Centre for European Reform. Fitchett, J. (2000) ‘In a cop-out, Europeans fail to supply promised police’, International Herald Tribune, 22 February. Gourlay, C. (2004) Feasibility Study on the European Civil Peace Corps, Brussels: International Security Information Service (ISIS). Available online at: http://www.berghof-center.org/publications/other/ECPC_0104.pdf (accessed 1 October 2004). Hansen, A. (2002) ‘Civil–military cooperation: the military, paramilitaries and civilian police in executive policing’, in R. Dwan (ed.) Executive Policing: Enforcing the Law in Peace Operations, SIPRI Research Report No. 16, Oxford: Oxford University Press/SIPRI. Hill, A. (2001) ‘The inherent limits of military forces in policing peace operations’, International Peacekeeping, 8/3: 79–98. House of Lords (Select Committee on the European Union) (2003) EU: Effective in a Crisis? HL Paper 53, London: Stationery Office. Available online at: http://www.publications.parliament.uk/pa/ld200203/ldselect/ldeucom/53/53. pdf (accessed 1 October 2004). Huntington, S. (1957) The Soldier and the State: The Theory and Practice of Civil– Military Relations, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Kaldor, M. (2003) Global Civil Society: An Answer to War, Cambridge: Polity. Macrae, J. and Harmer, A. (eds) (2003) Humanitarian Action and the ‘Global War on Terror’: A Review of Trends and Issues, HPG Report 14, London: Overseas Development Institute. Available online at:
Civilian tasks in EU operations 289 Oakley, R. and Hammes, T. (2004), ‘Securing Afghanistan: entering a make or break phase?, Strategic Forum, no. 205, March. Available online at: http://www.ndu.edu/inss/strforum/SF205/SF205.pdf (accessed 1 October 2004). Perito, R. (2004) Where Is the Lone Ranger When We Need Him? America’s Search for a Post-Conflict Stability Force, Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace. Rutten, M. (ed.) (2002) Police Capabilities Commitment Conference, Brussels, 19 November 2001, ‘From Nice to Laeken. European Defence: Core Documents’, Chaillot Papers, no. 51, vol. 2: 92–4. Available online at: http://www.isseu.org/chaillot/chai51e.pdf (accessed 1 October 2004). Stedman, S. (2001) ‘International implementation of peace agreements in civil wars’ in C. Crocker, O. Hompsen and P. Aall (eds) Turbulent Peace: The Challenge of Managing International Conflict, Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace. Symon, F. (2004) ‘US Senate hears prisoner abuse testimony’, Financial Times, 11 May. Tappert, M. (2003) ‘Developing civilian crisis management capabilities’, European Security Review, no. 20 (December): 6–9. Available online at: http://www.isiseurope.org/ftp/download/esr,%20issue%2020.pdf (accessed 1 October 2004). United Nations (2000) Letters dated 21 August from the Secretary-General to the President of the General Assembly and the President of the Security Council, UN doc. A/55/305-S/2000/809. —— (2001) Report of the Secretary-General, ‘No exit without strategy: Security Council decision-making and the closure or transition of UN peacekeeping operations’, UN doc. S/2001/394.

14 Equipment, resources and inter-operability Geneviève Schméder

Introduction The human security approach is based on the idea that responding to new forms of violence is not just a military issue. This means that non-military tasks are as important as military tasks and should not be regarded as of ‘collateral utility’, and that any use of armed force not directly aimed at law enforcement should be eschewed. Such an approach does not preclude the use of force as a last resort, since several categories of limited military operations to support or enforce peace may be necessary, as when some of the combatants do not agree to cease hostilities. But it imposes severe limits on the level of intensity with which military forces should be prepared to engage. Although peacekeeping (high consent level and low force requirement) and peace enforcement (low consent level and high force requirement) may differ both in the lethality of their operations and in the capabilities they require, even when fighting cannot be avoided the objective is to enforce and build some semblance of peace. Possible military tasks also include protection of electrical installations, oil wells or industrial complexes, release of hostages, arrest of war criminals, and so forth. Such an approach, which has strong implications for types of engagement and war-fighting capabilities, means a complete rupture with the old mode of warfare derived from the Second World War and the Cold War, centred on technologically driven mass slaughter. In sharp contrast with the US approach (see next section), it excludes ‘pre-emptive’ action and the use of intensive-destruction military means, in particular those used in aerial offensive actions, whose lethality is particularly inappropriate in situations where the stake is protecting civilians and building confidence. Even in situations that appear intractable by any means short of the use of force, the military means to be used should be restricted to those necessary and sufficient to ensure compliance, and equipment and technology should be subject to certain principles and standards of ‘appropriateness’ (see third section). Previous experience of external intervention shows a clear gap between the financial efforts devoted to security in EU countries

Equipment, resources and inter-operability 291 and actual military capabilities, most of which are inappropriate to the new security situation (see fourth section). The concept of human security implies effort and resources, which already partly exist, but are partly to be created or developed further. A main obstacle is the long-standing ban on using EU financial resources for military purposes, which leads to redundancies and duplications. In the fifth section, some figures on costs are given and some suggestions are made on how to improve efficiency in the use of existing resources. As savings in existing resources appear to be the main way that new capabilities can be financed, the main issue is the pooling of European resources and the development of joint procurement, operations and maintenance.

A misleading comparison: the USA Any approach on EU security policy should exclude any misplaced analogy with US standards, which during the Cold War were imposed on the rest of the world. Whereas the trend in the 1990s was a narrowing of the spending gap between the EU and the US, the Bush administration has reversed it by dramatically increasing US spending in recent years. As a result, the US spends more on military activities, in both absolute and relative terms, than the rest of the G7 countries combined. In 2004, it devoted 3.5 per cent of its GDP to defence, compared with an average of 1.5 per cent for the five biggest European spenders (the UK, France, Germany, Italy and Spain). The same increasing gap exists in military R&D, procurement and capabilities. In 2002, the ratio between the US and the EU was 5 to 1 in military R&D according to the OECD, 4 to 1 in

Table 14.1 US military budget, 2000–5 (in constant $US billion) 2000

2001

2002

2003

2004

2005

288.8

310.0

343.2

396.1

399.1

422.0

Source: Adapted from IISS (2001)

Table 14.2 Equipment expenditures in the EU and the US, 1997–2000, in constant $US billion prices and exchange rates 2000

NATO EU members* USA

1998

1999

2000

2001

2002

2003

21,524 74,076

23,094 72,373

23,773 66,121

22,687 78,072

23,172 93,668

23,331 99,183

Source: SIPRI (2004) Note *EU (15) without Austria, Finland, Ireland and Sweden.

292 Geneviève Schméder military equipment according to NATO. In 2004 the US spent $70 billion on weapons. However, the notion of a ‘gap’ between the US and the EU is misleading, since their security projects are clearly different. While the explicit objective of the US is to maintain an overwhelming military superiority to the rest of the world – whatever the price in terms of external overindebtedness – the EU’s approach to security emphasizes multilateral institutions and the rule of law. In terms of a broader understanding of security, which includes such efforts as Third World aid, financial contributions to the UN, diplomatic and police activities, support for civil authorities, post-conflict reconstruction, and so on, the consolidated contribution of the EU to global security is no longer a pale reflection of the US contribution. Indeed, it is quite the reverse: European countries contribute three times more to aid and put twice as much into the UN budget as the US (Chalmers 2000). Moreover, while a major factor increasing US military expenditure after 2001 was the so-called war on terrorism, European countries, several of which have long experience of terrorist activities on their territories, have chosen to respond to it in non-military ways.

Technological implications Even though what is required in the kind of complex, high-stress, civil–military interactions involved in peace support operations has more to do with smart manpower than with technology, the importance of technology should not be underestimated. The concept of human security would not have gained currency without advances in technology, in particular in transportation, which has allowed rapid projection of civilian and military forces to trouble spots, or in information and communication, which have created the ‘global village’ in which people are increasingly informed and concerned about what happens in the world at large. Troops on the ground also need sophisticated technology to deal with complex operations, and all operations now take place in a high-tech world characterized by the Internet, mobile communication devices and near-real-time news broadcast by channels that operate around the clock. In considering the technological needs associated with the human security concept, an important distinction should be made between two dimensions of technology, which are, however, complementary. The first and most obvious one has to do with the material dimension of equipment, weapons and platforms – the ‘hardware’ – which determines the capacity to fight or to threaten to do so. More important, however, though less directly perceptible, is the second, non-material dimension, which reflects the fact that military interventions, like any other collective enterprise, are vitally dependent on the exchange of information. The two dimensions should be considered separately, since their implications are quite different, particularly in terms of the EU’s strategic dependence:

Equipment, resources and inter-operability 293 while for much of the material equipment some external dependence is both unavoidable (given the costs involved) and acceptable (as long as suppliers do not exert monopoly power), the situation is different for observation and communication capacities, to which more attention should be paid. Information and communications technology (ICT) plays a crucial role across the entire peace–war spectrum in human security interventions. During armed interventions, it enables forces to deploy fewer troops and equipment, and to manoevre, command and control more rapidly, efficiently and economically. In those situations that fall between peace and war, ICT helps to foster transparency, impartiality and credibility, and to minimize mistrust and fear. In both cases, it fulfils crucial functions of observation and telecommunication. Although the process of information-gathering should be based primarily on day-to-day contacts with the local population, it has to be supplemented by non-intrusive technological means, such as unmanned aerial vehicles (UAV) or satellites, which provide reliable, neutral and precise information on ground activity, ranging from military installations and refugee movements to securitythreatening and security-enhancing developments (Dorn 1987). Information-sharing, which makes it possible to organize and control action and to promote the coordination of effort from headquarters to military and police on the ground, is particularly important in the dispersed and dynamic environment of peace support operations, in which instantaneous and independent decision-making is often required. As experience in the Balkans, Afghanistan and other crises has shown, European dependence on ICT is far less acceptable that in any other field of technology, equipment or platforms. Given the critical importance of ICT capabilities in peace support operations and its very unequal distribution and access, the EU should capitalize upon it. This is all the more important given that, because of its dual and strategic character, much of it is subject to the same non-proliferation preoccupations and procedures as military items, though in theory it is available to all comers since it consists primarily of civilian and commercial technologies crucial for the functioning of contemporary economies. As far as material equipment is concerned, technology and devices should conform to some general rules and practical requirements; and it should be borne in mind that attaining credibility is essential in peace support interventions and that high standards are a crucial component of maintaining such credibility. Harmlessness, non-toxicity, non-offensiveness Interventions should minimize unnecessary suffering, of both local people and interveners, and not harm the environment. The latter requirement should exclude, for instance, the use of platforms that incorporate

294 Geneviève Schméder depleted uranium, while the former rules out the use of mines and of those bombardment technologies that end up immolating citizens. The killing of civilians is impossible to justify as a ‘collateral’ and unintended consequence of interventions whose aim is precisely to prevent genocidal behaviour; and destroying physical structures – such as electricity, water supplies or sewage systems – also has terrible consequences in human terms. The upshot is that aerial bombardment is absolutely inappropriate to human security interventions. In such circumstances troops on the ground are the only acceptable military response, and the only one that is compatible with the political and legal measures needed. Technology cannot protect people, patrol and give locals a sense of security. Similar restrictions should be applied also to the so-called less-than-lethal weapons, whose potential anti-personnel applications should be carefully assessed before being adopted. Another major problem in peacekeeping is the detection and removal of abandoned anti-personnel mines. Most existing technologies, such as shock waves projected downward from a fuel-air blast, which can detonate some mines within the radius of the blast, are suitable only for wartime conditions. In post-conflict situations, mines must generally be removed by hand and detonated in a remote area, so that they do not contaminate the area with debris and thus make further mine detection even more difficult. Although techniques for non-destructively de-mining large tracts of land already exist, considerable R&D is still needed before an adequate technology becomes available.

Deployability An important need in projection operations is mobility, both strategic and tactical. Though probably the most expensive components of a deployment force, ‘prime movers’ (aircraft, transport ships and helicopters) are indispensable, as are heavy-drop air-supply capabilities. Vehicles and equipment should be relatively small and light, in order both to suit the capacities of vessels and aircraft and to be usable on any road or bridge. They should also be robust, adaptable, and easy to handle and to maintain far from their base in a state of immediate readiness.

Dual use and collateral utility Collateral utility may be defined as the capacity to be used in diversified military and/or civilian tasks. Though very expensive, means of transport (aircraft, transport ships and helicopters) have very great collateral utility, both collectively and separately, since they may be used in other types of military functions or missions and for all kinds of civilian services, such as search and rescue, responses to natural disasters, flood relief and refugee

Equipment, resources and inter-operability 295 assistance. A transport aircraft, for instance, may be suitable for an air-toair refuelling role. Similarly, a surveillance satellite can be used to manage several types of crises, including those caused by natural catastrophes, such as volcanic eruptions or earthquakes. By contrast, many of the most expensive components of a ground force (main battle tanks, self-propelled artillery systems, long-range anti-tank, anti-aircraft and anti-personnel munitions, guided anti-aircraft missile systems, and so forth) have very little collateral value. Cost/affordability A substantial part of military equipment required in peace support operations – individual and collective protection equipment, light artillery and armoured capability, communication devices – is relatively cheap. Conversely, many sophisticated functions which tend to increase the cost of ground equipment (stealth, armour reactivity, integration of electronic devices and computer-assisted use of data-links) are not required in peace support operations. However, in some areas, such as transport, telecommunication infrastructures or space observation and detection, some hightech–high-cost technologies are needed. In both cases, in terms of costs the situation is more favourable when civilian and military needs are similar. Civilian technologies may fulfil the need and most equipment is available off the shelf. The advantages of resort to dual-use or commercial technology stem not only from the more rapid and more efficient development of civilian technology, but also from the fact that economies of scale tend to reduce unit costs. When military needs are distinct from civilian ones and the divergence between civilian and military uses requires distinct operational systems, rationalization and improvement of mass production processes and devices in military production require long series, technological standardization and thus inter-operability of military equipment. Compatibility and inter-operability Combining multinational forces necessitates inter-operability, which has three main dimensions: integrated logistics systems, common training of troops and compatibility of equipment, which requires the development of common standards. The recent creation of the European Defence Agency should help promote such standardization, even though some members of the Union are still reluctant to remove Article 223 of the Treaty of Rome (Article 296 of Treaty of Amsterdam), which exempts arms procurement from the Union competence. A field where compatibility and inter-operability is particularly important is that of communications, for effective information-sharing between military personnel, UN administrators and NGOs. More generally, compatibility is needed not

296 Geneviève Schméder only between the equipment of different countries but also between the military and civilian tracks, which should also be actively promoted.

Actual efforts and capabilities Quantitative indicators used to identify military efforts – defence expenditures, military staff and equipment, procurement and R&D – reflect exclusively inputs. Output indicators – statistical methods of scoring operational capacity – are lacking. Between quantitative data and military realities, however, the gap is flagrant. As Lord Robertson, Secretary-General of NATO, put it in 2000: The European Allies spend about 60% of what the United States spends on defence, but they have nowhere near 60% of the capability . . . Even though Europe has two million soldiers in uniform, which is half a million more than the United States, it still struggled to scrape together 40,000 for the peacekeeping operation in Kosovo. This represents about 2 per cent of the forces Europe has on paper – and if you can only use 2 per cent of your forces when you really need them, then you have a problem to deal with. He concluded that troops were needed ‘who are trained, equipped and ready for actual use, and not just forces that exist on paper alone’ (NATO 2000). The problem of military ‘efficiency’ should be kept in mind when we consider actual figures, at both national and European levels. Though useful, figures on spending, procurement or research, development, test and evaluation (RDT&E) are of only limited value to assess military effectiveness, which is the result of a complex quantitative and qualitative ‘mix’ in which the training and preparedness of troops and equipment have a critical and growing importance. Indeed, military capability is more than the simple possession of equipment. It is generally considered as having three pillars: (a) force structure (size and composition); (b) readiness (ability to provide capabilities required to execute the assigned missions); and (c) sustainability (ability to maintain the necessary level and duration of operational activity to achieve military objectives). The problem thus is not only one of funding, it is also organizational and institutional. The overlapping of the different aspects is illustrated by the case of Germany, where a global troop projection limit has been reached with 8,360 soldiers stationed abroad (mainly in Afghanistan and the Balkans) out of a total of 283,000 (3 per 10,000). Of the remaining 275,000 German troops, 30,000 are required for rotation, 92,000 in the Luftwaffe and Navy are not allowed to take part in peacekeeping missions, 100,000 conscripts cannot be deployed for combat and 22,000 studying at Bundeswehr universities are exempt from tours of duty (Mangasarian 2003).

Equipment, resources and inter-operability 297 Financial efforts Taken together, the member states of the EU spend annually between C160 billion and C175 billion on defence. Yet the sum of national resources in a space that includes countries with very different historical and cultural military traditions and whose individual armed forces vary considerably in size, nature and capabilities does not reflect the EU’s ‘capacity to function’ in the military field. Taken separately, member countries devote very unequal efforts and resources to military activities, both in absolute and in relative terms. Though making an inventory of existing resources is an impossible task, which would require obtaining insights into 25 national ‘black boxes’ that are heterogeneous in terms of both content and accounting procedures, it is possible to identify some general trends within the EU. In all countries throughout the 1990s, military budgets were cut to an average of less than 2 per cent of GDP. The cuts were not so much a response to the challenge of a new security context as an attempt to secure a ‘peace dividend’ in a period of reduced economic growth. In capability terms, the result was reduced training, cancellation of new equipment programmes and delays in orders for replacement equipment, ammunition and spares. Similar macroeconomic considerations were at work in the second part of the 1990s, when countries sought to meet the economic convergence criteria – including strict limits on public borrowing – imposed by the creation of the single European currency. There was no deterministic relationship between the fiscal situation and military spending, however, as different countries interpreted their obligation to limit their deficits to 3 per cent of GDP in different ways. In Germany, for instance, military spending was cut in the face of lower budget deficits than those in France, where military spending was increased. After 2000, only the UK and France announced substantial increases in real terms of their military budget. Other EU countries did not follow. Germany cited the cost of reunification to justify freezing defence spending in nominal terms (a decrease in real terms) until 2006. According to some defence experts, extra money would be required for Europe to implement its Common Security and Defence Policy. Some countries have suggested that defence spending should be excluded from national public deficits in order to increase the commitment of national resources to defence. In the Barnier report on defence presented to the European Constitutional Convention, a ‘convergence pact’ was proposed, which would commit the EU member states to some minimum level of global military spending as a proportion of GDP (European Convention 2002). It has been objected that gross spending does not guarantee output. The main obstacle, however, is the general loss of legitimacy of military expenditures among the European public. There is a common feeling, when taxpayers have to arbitrate between social and defence

3,020 1,151 2,526 33,590 27,740 5,264 925 21,061 169 6,204 3,052 2,503 7,079 4,582 36,035 335,706

Belgium Cz. Rep. Denmark France Germany Greece Hungary Italy Lux. Netherl. Poland Portugal Spain Sweden UK USA

Source: SIPRI (2003) Note *Change 1999–2000.

Total 2002

Country

1.3 2.1 1.6 2.5 1.5 4.6 1.8 2 0.8 1.6 1.6 2.1 1.2 2 2.5 3.7

% GDP

2,100 441 1,306 20,420 17,078 3,408 390 15,994 97 3,036 1,897 1,803 4,476 – 13,633 11,822

Personnel 2000 185 231 353 6,377 3,804 972 99 3,214 6 1,018 568 141 906 – 9,181 66,121

⫺3.8 ⫺61* ⫺12.7 ⫺0.7 ⫺0.9 13.8 12.1* 7.7 ⫺2.2 ⫺2* 7 0.7 – 1.8 0.8

Equipt 2000

% change 98–00

12.1 ⫺22.6* 73 15 – ⫺2.5 ⫺11

⫺11.4 42* 7.2 ⫺2.8 6.3 ⫺4.7 ⫺36.7* 28.5

% change 98–00 2,135 534 1,290 20,273 16,679 3,482 398 15,134 113 2,866 1,976 1,953 4,622 – 14,182 116,447

Personnel 2002

⫺5.7 4.2 8.2 3.3 – 4.1 2.5

1.9 3.2 ⫺1.2 ⫺0.8 ⫺2.3 2.1 2.7 ⫺5.4

% change 00–02

Table 14.3 Defence expenditures (total and by category) in $US million at 2000 prices and exchange rates

244 201 443 6,599 3,380 750 103 2,810 33 1,053 313 140 973 – 8,739 83,593

Equipt 2002

3.4 ⫺6.8 0 7.5 – ⫺4.8 25.2

12.2 ⫺10.4 24.5 3.5 ⫺11 ⫺24.2 5.1 ⫺5.7

% change 00–02

Equipment, resources and inter-operability 299 Table 14.4 Military expenditures compared with budget situations, 2003 Country

Military expenditures in 2003 as a % of GDP

Anticipated budget surplus in 2003 as a % of GDP

France Germany Greece Italy Netherlands Spain United Kingdom

2.5 1.5 4.4 1.9 1.6 1.1 2.4

⫺2.5 ⫺2.9 0.8 ⫺2 ⫺0.8 0 ⫺0.8

Source: SIPRI (2003)

Table 14.5 Military expenditures per capita in the five biggest European spenders in 2002 (in $US) UK

France

Germany

Italy

Spain

528

773

471

348

214

Source: SIPRI (2003)

expenditures in a context of slow growth and strong budgetary constraints imposed by the European monetary union, that spending on ‘weapons’ should not have priority. Military capabilities Since the Petersberg meeting in 1992, the Union has nonetheless been slowly but irresistibly moving towards the acquisition of a European military capability. After NATO’s operation in Kosovo in 1999, the political decision was taken in Helsinki in 1999 to create a European armed force – the European Rapid Reaction Force – which should be capable of significant crisis management, peacekeeping or humanitarian activities. The goal was a crisis management force of 60,000, provided by the EU member states, deployable within 60 days and sustainable for at least one year. In order to develop such European military capabilities, the EU Military Staff carried out a survey in the member states of all military capabilities relevant to the Helsinki Headline Goal (HHG). Shortfalls were identified in terms of the differences between requirements – estimated by simulating generic scenarios – and the contributions offered by the member states. Although the process was declared operational at the Laeken European Council in 2001, much remained to be done, both quantitatively and qualitatively. Thus, the EU member states launched in February 2002 the European Capability Action Plan (ECAP). Multidisciplinary panels of

300 Geneviève Schméder experts, each piloted by one or two countries, reduced to 24 the 42 shortfalls identified in the first Capabilities Commitment Conference, and addressed what were identified as the most serious capability deficiencies. In March 2003, in a new conference on European capabilities, national offers were made to meet those capability shortfalls. The EU established in 2004 a new Headline Goal of achieving complete inter-operability of the forces called upon to cooperate in European missions in 2010. In parallel to this bottom-up approach, a top-down approach was adopted with the creation of a European Defence Agency, in charge of harmonizing weapons production and acquisition among member states and of supporting research into military technology. There is still much to do, however, by way of adapting the military supply to the new demand of human security. After the recent engagements in crisis management activities in and outside Europe, five main shortages or inadequacies in military capabilities have been identified (Mawdsley and Quille 2003). 1 Deployability and mobility Only a few European countries, such as the UK or France, have some capabilities in the area of strategic lift due to their long tradition of deployment abroad. In the other member states, mobility capacities are still shaped by the Cold War conception of a territorial defence against the former Warsaw Pact, which privileged land movement within Europe and gave little attention to strategic transport requirements. While the situation is satisfactory for sealift, there is a clear shortfall with airlift, which led to the development of the military Airbus A400M programme. 2 Sustainability and logistics This category includes in particular air-to-air refuelling (AAR), to which inter-operability and common acquisition are crucial. The problem could be solved by a European procurement programme and the acquisition of common platforms. The pooling of such new assets would probably bring lower operational costs than the pooling of existing national platforms and AAR devices, which would not be as effective given the substantially different logistical needs and procedures. Another item in this category is medical equipment, which contributes to civilian aspects of interventions and can also be used in civil emergencies arising from events like natural disasters or terrorist attacks. 3 Effective engagement Given the high risks of collateral damage, very few of the expensive capabilities in this category (like precision-guided weapons, precision-strike,

Equipment, resources and inter-operability 301 anti-air-defence penetration and damage assessment) are relevant. One exception might be capabilities that make it possible to neutralize, destroy or temporarily degrade ground-based enemy air defences. 4 Survivability of force and infrastructure ‘Survivability’ means the capacity to continue to exist or function in extremely adverse conditions. This category includes activities, such as search and rescue capabilities or physical and collective protection against nuclear, biological and chemical agents, in which there are strong synergies between the civilian and military tracks. Means of civilian protection, for instance, are useful in case of accidents or terrorist attacks. Helicopters are also crucial to a broad range of tasks. The problem there is less one of availability than one of coordination and inter-operability between European integrated forces. 5 Command, control and infrastructure (CCI) CCI is one of the crucial and challenging aspects of operating a multinational force, from intervention (force headquarters) to deployment (field headquarters), especially in remote areas. Capabilities in that field also relate to intelligence assets. Under the current HHG process, the EU has not yet decided to have its own panoply of headquarters and integrated planning systems, whether tactical or strategic. It relies on those existing within NATO.

Costs, burden-sharing and potential sources of savings The cost and financing of EU external operations Since in most countries priority is still to give domestic forces the capacities to fulfil their sovereign missions and/or to NATO capacity requirements, the combined contributions to the ESDP and external operations does not yet represent a very high proportion of national budgets. The ESDP budget itself is very modest: C40 million compared with the C175 billion that member states spend on defence. It includes the European Defence Agency, created in 2004 (C2 million in 2004) (Brehon 2004), but it excludes external operations. Costs of external military operations The costs of external military operations include those associated with sending personnel to the theatre, which are additional to normal costs of operating and training of troops (wages and other costs, such as equipment, training or infrastructure which would not have been incurred but for the operation). Since the EU is not allowed to finance military

302 Geneviève Schméder operations out of the common budget, the principle is that member states assume the entire cost of their troop deployments. In 2002, however, a dispute arose among the member states. While Greece, Luxembourg and Portugal defended the principle that ‘all costs are common’ (shared costs), Austria, Germany, Ireland, Spain and the UK defended the principle that ‘costs lie where they fall’ (individual costs). The dispute ended with a compromise supported by France, the Netherlands and Italy, in which three categories of costs were distinguished: •

•

•

common costs, for headquarters (C30 million in 2004) (Brehon 2004) and shared services (administration, public information, medical costs), which are difficult to properly allocate to individual member states; costs which the Council decides on a case-by-case basis at the launch of the operation whether they will be common or individual member states costs (transportation of forces, barracks, lodging of forces); and individual costs, in line with the principle that ‘costs lie where they fall’.

To remove the need for a Council decision establishing a mechanism for each mission (thus increasing the speed at which operations can be launched), a permanent financing mechanism (Athena) was set up in 2004 to finance the common operational costs of EU-led military missions. Such a step has strong symbolic value but very few financial and political consequences. In contrast with the civilian–military operations, which are included in the common budget (C62 million in 2004), Athena does not have a standing fund but is financed from member states’ contributions, which are calculated on the basis of their gross national incomes and are activated according to the operational needs of individual operations. Supervision is carried out by a special committee, which is made up of one representative of each contributing member state and takes decisions by unanimity. In practice, most costs remain the responsibility of individual member states, which finance their external operations through different procedures. While in the UK and (previously) Germany for instance, interventions are financed from the government’s central reserve, in France external operations are not included in the public budget voted by the parliament but are covered a posteriori (by ‘décrets’ or ‘loi de finance rectificative’). As a result, the costs are highly uncertain. In 2004, for instance, the figure varied between C531 million (according to the French Ministry of Defence) and C600 million to C800 million (according to the French Ministry of Finance) (Fay and Gattegno 2004). Even though some figures exist based on NATO, the UN or individual countries’ sources, estimating the global and individual costs of peace operations is a very conjectural and hazardous exercise. In Bosnia, where NATO deployed 50,000 peacekeeping troops at a total cost of $US10

Equipment, resources and inter-operability 303 billion per year (Leach 2003), the average cost was $200,000 (C166,600) per peacekeeper per year ($160,000 or C133,000 excluding transportation costs). In Kosovo, it was estimated to be around $250,000 (C208,000) per year (US Congressional Budget Office 2002), more than the cost of a US soldier in Desert Storm ($117,000 or C100,000 excluding air- and sealift costs) (US House Budget Committee 2002). The global cost of postconflict operations led by a force of some 10,000 soldiers was estimated to be £1.2 billion (C1.8 billion), a unit cost of £120,000 (C180,000) per person per year (Brigot 2004). In France, external operations (OPEX) officially cost less, though individual costs, especially of equipment, vary and overall costs increase (C2 million for Concordia, C46 million for Artemis, C80 million in Bosnia) from one intervention to the other (National Assembly 2003; Brehon 2004). Differences between French and British data are partly due to differences in accounting rules. In the UK, for instance, equipment depreciation and upgrading and some civilian expenditures are included in the figures, while in France maintenance and some other costs are excluded (Brigot 2004). As a result, British figures are probably more reliable than French ones. Costs of equipping a specific European force The costs of external military operations are distinct from those of equipping an autonomous European Rapid Reaction Force (RRF), for Table 14.6 Approximate unit cost of external operations per soldier per year in France in 2003 (in C) Sphere of operation

Equipment costs

Wages/op. costs

Total

Africa Balkans Afghanistan Other

3,335 5,050 6,500 1,810

36,055 41,420 37,270 26,920

39,390 46,470 43,770 28,730

Source: National Assembly (2003)

Table 14.7 Recapitulation of costs per person per year of some external operations (in C)

With transport Without transport

Bosnia (NATO)

Kosovo (NATO)

166,600 133,000

208,000

Desert Storm (US)

UK

France

180,000 100,000

30,000– 50,000

Sources: Leach (2003); US Congressional Budget Office (2002); US House Budget Committee (2002)

304 Geneviève Schméder which the EU has made no public cost estimates. According to a report commissioned by the British government, the additional spending for member states would be $25 billion over 10–15 years. Such a figure is based on acquisition and initial running costs. The amount is much higher if the cost of supporting additional systems is taken into account (Dempsey and White 2001). The following figures, which do not include Operations and Maintenance (O&M) costs, are taken from a RAND study, which considers four different models (Wolf and Zycher 2001). The first model is based on the cost of acquisition of major systems identified as being needed by the RRF for the high level of Petersberg tasks. The estimate is $37 billion–$47 billion (at 2000 values), excluding the RDT&E associated with adapting them to the EU force and organizational circumstances. The second model assumes entirely new outlays and is based on US expenditure for new military investment and RDT&E per soldier per year. The estimate is $23.5 billion–$31.4 billion. The third model assumes the RRF to be similar to a US marine expeditionary force and suggests an investment of $52.4 billion. The fourth model, based on the cost of a US mobile army division plus the capital costs for air and sea transport, gives a cost of $35 billion–$56 billion However, none of these models give a good prognosis for the cost of a human security operation. The problem of resources In the RAND study, Wolf and Zycher (2001) suggest four ways of meeting the bill: (a) generating additional resources through economic growth and allocating them to military spending and investment; (b) reallocating part of the existing government expenditures to defence spending; (c) reallocating existing procurement spending from ‘old-fashioned’ equipment to the equipment needed by the RRF; and (d) making savings by liberalizing and consolidating the European procurement and defence industry. Although greater military budgets would certainly help to reduce the mismatch between EU intentions and actions, there is little sign that European taxpayers will allow member states to increase their military spending very much, and so the way forward is clearly to use existing resources better. Limited means are a powerful incentive to rationalization, both qualitative and quantitative, and EU members should improve the efficiency with which military funds are spent. Improving EU performance implies changes in military priorities and procedures at the national level, where many sources of inefficiency can be identified, and increased coordination, cooperation and integration at the EU level. Six major fields of action can be identified (Mawdsley and Quille, 2003).

Equipment, resources and inter-operability 305 1 Changes in funding priorities Many weapons systems that are still developed and deployed no longer correspond to urgent or immediate security threats. Nuclear weapons in France, for instance, though no longer coupled to any clear strategic concept, still represent 20 per cent of the military equipment budget (the corresponding figure is 3 per cent in the UK). 2 Changes in procedures At the national level, budgetary constraints have produced some imaginative new procedures. In the UK, for instance, the Smart Procurement (or Smart Acquisition) Initiative, a new equipment procurement policy launched in 1998, is expected to achieve a significant reduction in acquisition costs over a ten-year period. Another defence efficiency initiative is Resource Accounting and Budgeting (RAB), whose aim is to produce performance indicators and information on unit costs (Hartley 2001). Since 2003/4, its objective has been to better assess the total cost of resources used by the Ministry of Defence and the armed forces. Cashbased accounts have been replaced by resource-based accounts so as to bring accounting practices in line with the private sector and to show that equipment, land and spares are not cost-free. The problem is that best practice in defence may differ from best practice in the private sector. Defence efficiency targets, in particular, are notorious for giving unexpected and potentially undesirable results, like those resulting from economizing on spares. 3 Privatization In contrast to the traditional view of defence as a public good involving both public finance and public provision, defence activities tend to be increasingly privately provided and privately financed. The outsourcing of some specific services to private corporations is seen as one way to meet the challenge of budgetary constraints. Private contractors, which bid for non-core functions and activities traditionally undertaken in-house by the armed forces (supply of food and uniforms, accommodation, housing, information systems, training, support equipment, strategic sealift, inflight refuelling services, repair of aircraft, ships and vehicles, and so forth) are supposed to reduce payrolls, to reduce costs and to improve performance through quality management programmes. One of the most aggressive countries in pursuing such private sector involvement is the United Kingdom, where the Ministry of Defence (MoD) contracts for support services from private industry through the Private Defence Initiative (PDI) and Public Private Partnerships (PPP). PDI requires the MoD to determine whether its requirements can be better met by a private

306 Geneviève Schméder contract than by the purchase and ownership of assets and equipment (Hartley 2001). In addition to public–private competition, PPP involves a partner relationship, in which the private contractor invests in assets that provide defence support services and is allowed to market them when they are not required by the armed forces for military purposes. It may, for instance, use aircraft and ships to carry cargo for commercial use. Unlike outsourcing, privatization shifts some or all of the responsibility and risk for planning, organizing, financing and managing a programme or activity from the army to private contractors. The MoD claims that PDI and PPP contracts have resulted in cost savings of between 5 per cent and 40 per cent (RAND Corporation 2000). While some commercial options, such as leasing, may be satisfactory ways to provide, for instance, means of transport, there are some concerns about policies of outsourcing and privatization that award monopoly rights to the private contractor, create dependence and do not always yield the expected savings. Efficiency improvements may compromise operational effectiveness, since they can be achieved at the expense of military capability; and long-term contracts (from 10 to 30 years) are hardly compatible with changing conditions, like those stemming from conflicts. In such circumstances, strict enforcement of the contract may involve costly legal disputes and/or incentives for the contractor to economize on those parts that are more difficult to specify and enforce (those related to quality). A counter-model here is the Pentagon, which spends billions of dollars hiring private companies to do work once done by the military. The privatization of government functions – a source of lucrative contracts awarded to big companies – is often done without competitive bidding, oversight and monitoring, when those functions are not given to the contractors themselves (Schlesinger 2004; Scherer 2004). The disturbing result of such a policy can be seen in Iraq, where private back-up troops, amounting to more than 20,000 people, represent the second coalition force. 4 Common procurement and industrial policy Obstacles to a European armaments policy stem less from Article 296 of the Treaty of Amsterdam, which explicitly excludes the arms market from EU competition policy and assigns the management of military resources to the national level, than from national divisions, vested corporate interests and the fear of displeasing the US. While inter-operability is impossible to achieve when countries buy equipment from a diversity of sources, economies of scale and cost reductions are more easily obtained within the framework of coordinated procurement cycles and international programmes. Although some key cooperative programmes, such as the A400 transport aircraft, are already developed on a multinational basis, European governments have different views on the way to develop a competi-

Equipment, resources and inter-operability 307 tive and efficient defence industry. In spite of the general acknowledgement that the EU needs equipment produced cooperatively and in a costeffective way, they have different approaches to competition and foreign ownership and they disagree on whether to pursue a ‘buy European’ policy or to strengthen transatlantic industrial links. While in France, for instance, competition is traditionally limited to national companies and privatization is organized in such a way that cross-capital participations allow still significant state ownership, in the UK foreign ownership is fully authorized and foreign companies may compete for 50 per cent of armaments contracts. In Germany, the government has a legal right (that it has never used) to block foreign investment for reasons of national security or economic concerns. Other national barriers to the setting up of a Single Defence Market are governmental subsidies, which contribute to maintaining inefficient over-capacity at the national level. However, although a defence industrial policy at the EU level should not become a defence version of the Common Agriculture Policy (CAP), one should keep in mind that competition in the military field is distorted anyway by the massive character of US procurement, which far exceeds European subsidies. Prevented from developing a global armament and defence policy, the EU tends to address defence industry problems through its civilian industry policy, as many industries are dual. In July 2002, for instance, the Commission denounced the high level of US military expenditures as a ‘hidden subsidy’ to the US civilian aerospace industry and recommended that the European military sector should develop a common arms policy and joint R&D programmes, promote armaments cooperation and create an integrated military equipment market (Sköns and Baumann 2003). In January 2003 it proposed the development of a satellite-based defence and security policy on an entirely European base; hence the Galileo space programme, a dual programme planned to be fully in service by 2008, which will duplicate the American military Global Positioning System (GPS). Another project with security relevance is the Global Monitoring for Environment and Security (GMES). 5 R&D policy The organization of military R&D is not well adapted to European security requirements. Though European R&D would be necessary, if only to fulfil the crucial objectives of inter-operability and connectivity, the EU plays no role in military R&D, which is dispersed, lacks coherence and is insufficiently oriented towards standardization (Molas-Gallart and Hawkins 1999) and more generally towards the requirements of a human security approach. European cooperation between academia and defence institutions remains particularly low, hindering the transfer of results in both directions.

308 Geneviève Schméder 6 Pooling of resources The integration of some national assets in shared capabilities, though not a panacea for meeting European military shortfalls, would tremendously increase the cost-efficiency of a human security policy. European forces duplicate headquarters, planning, logistics support, procurement, training, research and other capabilities. Pooling would more easily apply to new capabilities, since in existing capacities it could result in significant costs associated with base closures and building infrastructures, and to common equipment capabilities that already exist but are managed on a national basis. Some countries already have bilateral arrangements for sharing specific resources in order to cut costs. Examples are the common headquarters and support services of the Belgian and Dutch fleets, and the integrated joint Nordic units, including troops from Denmark, Finland, Norway and Sweden, engaged in peacekeeping in the Balkans in close cooperation with civilian components (Norway Mission to the UN URL). Aircraft capabilities, in which the high costs of infrastructure would lead to high dividends stemming from rationalization, could immediately and easily be pooled: air language and procedures are already common and several countries operate similar equipment. For significant costs to be realized, aircrew should be multinational, but there should be a single headquarters and a single organization for supporting the force. This could be done with transport aircraft as with air-to-air refuelling. The experience of the jointly owned and operated NATO Airborne Warning and Control System (AWACS) force shows that this is a realistic proposition. Pooling of transport ships would also be easy. In operational capabilities things would not be so simple, except in communications, medical services and protection against nuclear, biological and chemical warfare. By chance, the fields in which national pride is most at stake, such as sophisticated weaponry, are the least required in the human security approach. Progressive pooling of building blocks would facilitate common training, release funds and resources and enhance further cooperation and convergence. It would, however, require more common financial resources. This would have important political implications. An intergovernmental security budget corresponds to a logic of alliances; a common security budget, which would be voted on by the European Parliament, would correspond more to a logic of solidarity, to which some countries are still opposed. Such an approach would indeed mean a major step forward for the European Union.

Equipment, resources and inter-operability 309

References Brehon, N.-J. (2004) ‘Le budget dans l’Union, la défense au compte-gouttes’, Le Monde, 26 October. Available online at: http://www.financeseurope.com/article.php?id⫽75&lien1⫽&lienplan⫽&liendoc⫽ (accessed 10 November 2004). Brigot, A. (2004) ‘Le prix des opérations extérieures’, Le Débat Stratégique, 73, March. Available online at: http://www.ehess.fr/cirpes/ds/ds73/opex.html (accessed 28 October 2004). Chalmers, M. (2000) A Transatlantic New Deal: What Europe should Pay to Promote US Engagement’, Policy Brief No. 2, London: The Foreign Policy Centre. Available online at: http://fpc.org.uk/fsblob/73.pdf (accessed 19 October 2004). Dempsey, J. and White, D. (2001) ‘Not rapid enough: lack of money and clear goals is hampering plans for an EU defence force’, Financial Times, 19 November. Dorn, W. (1987) ‘Peace-keeping satellites: the case for international surveillance and verification’, Peace Research Review, 10/5–6. European Convention (2002) Final report of Working Group VIII on Defence, The European Convention, CONV 461/02, Brussels, 16 December. Available online at: http://register.consilium.eu.int/pdf/en/02/cv00/00461en2.pdf (accessed 19 October 2004). Fay, S. and Gattegno, H. (2004) ‘M. Sarkozy prêt à une bataille budgétaire contre Mme Alliot-Marie’, Le Monde, 18 April. Hartley, K. (2001) The Common European Security and Defence Policy: An Economic Perspective, York: Centre for Defence Economics, University of York. Economy, IoD Economic Paper, London: Institute of Directors. Available online at: http://www.york.ac.uk/depts/econ/research/documents/hljuly.pdf (accessed 19 October 2004). IISS (International Institute for Strategic Studies) (2001) The Military Balance 2000–2001, London: Brassey’s. Leach, G. (2003) War and the World Economy, IoD Economic Paper, London: Institute of Directors. Available online at: http://www.internetprnews.com/ xpress/33/vppfiles/War%20and%20the%20World%20Economy.pdf (accessed 19 October 2004). Mangasarian, L. (2003) ‘Cuts stretch German army to the limits’, Berlin: Deutsche Presse-Agentur, 11 October. Available online at: http://www.aljazeerah. info/Opinion%20editorials/2003%20Opinion%20Editorials/October/11%20o/ Cuts%20Stretch%20German%20Army%20to%20the%20Limit,%20Leon%20M angasarian.htm (accessed 19 October 2004). Mawdsley, J. and Quille, G. (2003) Equipping the Rapid Reaction Force: Options for and Constraints on a European Defence Equipment Strategy, BICC Paper 33, Bonn: Bonn International Center for Conversion. Available online at: http://www.bicc.de/ publications/papers/paper33/paper33.pdf (accessed 19 October 2004). Molas-Gallart, J. and Hawkins, R. (1999) Standardisation Systems in the Defence Industries of the European Union and the United States, Report to the European Commission (DG 3), Brighton: SPRU, University of Sussex. National Assembly (2002) Avis n°1267, Commission de la Défense sur le collectif budgétaire pour 2003, Paris: National Assembly. Available online at: http://www. assemblee-nat.fr/12/rapports/r1267.asp (accessed 19 October 2004).

310 Geneviève Schméder NATO (2000) Speech by Secretary General Lord Robertson to the Annual Meeting of the NATO Parliamentary Assembly, 31 January. Available online at: http://www.nato.int/docu/speech/2000/s001121a.htm (accessed 19 October 2004). Norway Mission to the UN (URL) The Nordic Countries and International Peace-Keeping Operations. Available online at: http://odin.dep.no/ud/norsk/publ/ veiledninger/032091-990214/index-dok000-b-n-a.html (accessed 28 October 2004). RAND Corporation (2000) Proceedings of a conference on the British experience with privatization and its applicability to the US Army, Ditchley Park, Oxfordshire, England, 14–16 April. Scherer, M. (2004) ‘Contracts with America’, MotherJones.com, May–June. Available online at: http://www.motherjones.com/news/feature/2004/05/04_401.html (accessed 19 October 2004). Schlesinger, R. (2004) ‘The private contractor – GOP gravy train’, Salon.com, 11 May. Available online at: http://www.salon.com/news/feature/2004/05/ 11/private/index_np.html (accessed 19 October 2004). SIPRI (Stockholm International Peace Research Institute) (2003) SIPRI Yearbook 2003: Armaments, Disarmament and International Security, Oxford: Oxford University Press. —— (2004) SIPRI Yearbook 2004: Armaments, Disarmament and International Security, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sköns, E. and Baumann, H. (2003) ‘Arms production’, Ch. 11 in SIPRI Yearbook 2003: Armaments, Disarmament and International Security, Oxford: Oxford University Press. US Congressional Budget Office (2002) ‘Estimated costs of a potential conflict with Iraq’, September. Available online at: http://www.cbo.gov/showdoc. cfm?index⫽3822&sequence⫽0 (accessed 28 October 2004). US House Budget Committee (2002) Assessing the Cost of Military Action against Iraq: Using Desert Shield/Desert Storm as a Basis for Estimates: An Analysis by the House Budget Committee Democratic Staff, September. Online: Available online at: http://www.house.gov/budget_democrats/analyses/spending/iraqi_cost_report. pdf (accessed 28 October 2004). Wolf, C. and Zycher, B. (2001) European Military Prospects, Economic Constraints and the Rapid Reaction Force, Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation.

15 Embedding a bottom-up approach to European security Stefanie Flechtner

Introduction Europe’s security arrangements are undergoing a process of profound change. This change is usually associated with the end of the Cold War and the consequent transformation of Europe’s security environment. However, the transformation has been limited neither to the geo-political realm nor to the European continent, but comprises also a global conceptual shift in respect of what constitutes ‘security’. During the Cold War, security in Europe was generally associated with threats (largely military) directed against the state, including the threat of nuclear escalation. Subsequently, security agendas were dominated by the idea of territorial defence and deterrence. However, with the end of the Cold War the notion of security has changed, in two respects. First, the perception of threat is no longer limited to (traditional) warfare but includes a broad range of military, political, economic, social and environmental security risks. Subsequently, security agendas are considerably expanded. Second, threats to security are seen as directed primarily not against the state but against individuals or societies. As a consequence, the principle of state sovereignty is increasingly challenged by the need for humanitarian intervention (see Webber 2004). This conceptual shift in the notion of security has led to the revision of policy agendas and institutional arrangements. However, reforms are far from comprehensive and coherent. One reason for this is that restructuring of security arrangements has been incremental and driven by ad hoc decisions. Furthermore, despite the general agreement on a changed meaning of security, there is still no commonly accepted concept of security and security policy in Europe. The bottom-up approach to European security presented in this volume conceptualizes European security as reflecting the changing nature of security described above and offering a comprehensive framework for policy and institutional reform. This chapter assesses the implications of this concept in the institutional framework of the European Union. It starts by identifying a set of institutional principles in the

312 Stefanie Flechtner bottom-up approach to European security. Then the existing institutional framework of EU security policy is analysed. Finally, the chapter identifies institutional shortcomings and presents some ideas on reform. Although the chapter is limited to the European Union, it is assumed that the institutional principles presented can be also applied to other security institutions like the United Nations, NATO, or national security institutions.

Institutional principles of a bottom-up approach to European security The bottom-up approach to European security presented in this volume conceptualizes security policy as a policy whose goal . . . should be to establish and maintain what might be termed ‘human security’. It should be founded on the primacy of individuals, not states. The process through which it operates should be a multilateral commitment to international law and international institutions at the global level, and a bottom-up approach at the local level. The means it uses are based on law enforcement rather than war-fighting, premised on the equal value of all human life instead of privileging one side . . . and situated within a framework of international law. (Glasius and Kaldor, Chapter 1, Conclusion) This concept of security rests not only on moral and legal grounds but also on the enlightened self-interest of Europeans, as the threats Europeans face today are mostly rooted in areas of severe insecurity. Therefore, the only way ‘to make the world safer for Europeans’ is ‘to address the real security needs of people in situations of severe insecurity’ (‘A Human Security Doctrine for Europe’, annexed to this volume). The process of building a European security policy should therefore start not by discussing the relative advantages of different security institutions but by analysing situations of severe insecurity and by developing capabilities to address the security needs of people in such areas (see Glasius and Kaldor, Chapter 1). This bottom-up perspective contrasts sharply with institutional approaches to security. Yet, despite the deliberate break with institutional thinking – which has been traditionally very strong in the EU – the bottom-up approach undoubtedly has very important implications for security institutions because even a bottom-up security concept has to be instituted top-down, that is, through a well-defined institutional framework built on a certain set of principles. The ‘institutional principles’ that derive from a bottom-up approach to European security can be summarized under: (a) bottom-up effectiveness; (b) coherence; and (c) ‘inclusive’ legitimacy.

Embedding a bottom-up approach 313 Bottom-up effectiveness: ‘Be active but do no harm!’ One core prerequisite for any political institution is effectiveness. Effective institutions deliver a framework which enables political instruments to achieve the goals they have been designed for. Bottom-up effectiveness means that policies have to be designed according to the security needs of people in situations of severe insecurity and have to be able to address these needs effectively. The minimum criterion for effectiveness is to ‘do no harm’ because any form of security intervention, even of a civilian nature, is justifiable only if it does less harm than what it was designed to prevent. Bottom-up effectiveness further implies the idea of ‘appropriate means’. This does not exclude the use of force, but entails a clear primacy for prevention. Prevention requires security policies to be proactive rather than reactive, and decision-making institutions to be designed accordingly. In sum, effective security institutions should act on the maxim: ‘Be active but do no harm’. Coherence: ‘coordinate or integrate’ Coherence can actually be seen as a sub-category of effectiveness, as it is an important criterion for effective policy implementation. However, it should be treated as a separate principle as its importance is directly linked to the changed notion of security described above. Whereas the traditional approach was mainly limited to the military, security policy today includes a broad spectrum of instruments ranging from military intervention to civil, diplomatic and economic means. This new understanding of security makes coherence a core condition for European security policy and institutions (see Duke 1999). In institutional terms there are two means of securing coherence: coordination and integration. In terms of implementing coherence the two options are of the same value, but in institutional terms they have very different consequences. While integration demands far-reaching reform of security institutions (due to the institutional legacy of the traditional security concept), coordination requires a constant and time-consuming commitment by all parties involved to avoid policy inconsistency. ‘Inclusive’ legitimacy Political legitimacy is first of all linked to democratic governance. Yet, though democratic policy-making is a core prerequisite for legitimizing European security policy, it is not a sufficient one. The legitimacy of European security policy depends also on how it is perceived at the international level and in the region affected by a security intervention. Therefore, the principle of ‘inclusive’ legitimacy has three dimensions: (a) democratic control; (b) international legitimacy; and (c) bottom-up

314 Stefanie Flechtner accountability and responsiveness. In fact, bottom-up effectiveness as described above could be seen as a fourth dimension of the legitimacy principle – the output dimension – since the legitimacy of any security policy depends on delivering the results it has been designed for. •

•

•

Democratic control. Democratic control of the security sector is a core requirement of democratic societies and a principal source of legitimacy for European security policy. Key elements of democratic control are parliamentary scrutiny, transparency and accountability. The capacity of a parliament to scrutinize and control security policy is closely linked to its legal authority, notably the power to authorize the deployment of security forces and the power to control the security sector budget (see Born 2004). Furthermore, parliamentarians must be able to obtain and process information on security policy, which requires adequate resources on the parliamentary side, but above all a transparent policy- and decision-making framework on the executive side. Moreover, transparency requires a clear definition of policy purposes and means. International legitimacy: multilateralism and legality. The principle of international legitimacy is closely related to the idea of multilateralism and legality, that is, a commitment to work with international institutions and to adhere to international law. The first point of reference for European security policy in this context is obviously the institutional and legal framework of the UN. Yet international legitimacy can also relate to cooperation with other regional organizations. The EU–NATO relationship figures prominently in this respect, due to overlapping membership and shared assets. However, particularly in the case of EU interventions outside Europe, cooperation with security organizations of the respective region (for example, ECOWAS or AU in Africa, or OAS in the Western hemisphere) could become very important for legitimizing a security operation. European security policy therefore requires the institutional capacity for multilateral cooperation beyond the EU framework. Bottom-up accountability and responsiveness. Although there is general agreement that the success of a security mission depends heavily on how it is perceived by the people affected, the question of how to legitimize security interventions vis-à-vis the people ‘on site’ is barely raised. Conventional approaches seem to assume that international and output legitimacy – that is, a UN mandate (or simply a ‘just cause’) and the delivery of proposed mission goals – suffices to legitimize an intervention vis-à-vis its objects. No doubt these aspects play an important role, but they are not adequate if European security is to be rethought from the bottom up. One core idea of the bottom-up approach is to treat people as citizens. Yet as citizens people must have a say and the right to deter-

Embedding a bottom-up approach 315 mine their fate as a society. Consequently, it must be the ultimate goal of any human security intervention to return power to the people as quickly as possible. However, the restoration of legitimate governance structures after a conflict takes time. One therefore needs to think about institutions and procedures that ‘give people a say’ early on in the post-intervention transition process. Responsiveness and accountability are key principles in this context. The EU needs institutions and procedures that make sure that European security policy is responsive to the needs and interests of the people affected by it. Furthermore, the local population subject to an intervention has to have the means to hold the intervening powers to account, in particular in the event of members of the intervening forces exceeding their mandate or violating human rights. The institutional principles described above are no doubt very demanding. There might even be some inherent tensions between them. Nevertheless, they should constitute the benchmark against which to measure the institutional framework of European security policy and to inspire institutional reform. In what follows the chapter analyses the existing institutional framework of EU security policy – that is, the institutional framework established by the Treaty of Maastricht (1993) and consolidated by the Treaties of Amsterdam (1999) and Nice (2003) – with the aim of identifying shortcomings in the institutional principles presented above.

The institutional framework of European security policy: characteristics and shortcomings The most characteristic institutional feature of EU security policy is the allocation of the relevant policies to two separate ‘pillars’, each pillar following a procedural and institutional logic of its own: on the one hand, the intergovernmental Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP; Pillar II) comprising diplomacy as well as military and civilian crisis management; and, on the other hand, the integrated ‘external activities’ of the European Community (EC; Pillar I) covering policies of financial and economic diplomacy and technical and humanitarian assistance. Most observers locate the core of European security policy within CFSP, as this is where the EU security agenda is laid down. However, from a human security perspective and also in terms of financial resources one could argue that the EU plays a role in security more through the ‘soft’ EC than the ‘hard’ CFSP policies (see Bono 2002). The highly complex structure of European security policy is further complicated by the fact that the institutional framework is still ‘in the making’, that is, subject to constant change, either via a formal revision of the EU treaties or via decisions taken outside the formal process and formalized afterwards. Furthermore, EU security policy, like European

316 Stefanie Flechtner integration in general, still lacks a ‘finalité politique’, that is, a comprehensive and commonly agreed conception of the purpose and ultimate scope of integration. Decision-making Decision-making procedures and institutions in EU security policy differ significantly, first of all according to the institutional pillar in which a specific policy is located, but also within the two pillars. Despite its name, CFSP is dominated not by communitarian but by intergovernmental modes of decision-making. The general rule of voting is unanimity. Qualified majority voting (QMV) applies only in some cases including decisions based on a unanimously adopted ‘common strategy’, decisions relating to ‘joint actions’ or ‘positions’, and the appointment of an EU special representative. Yet even in these cases a national veto right is preserved by the member states’ right to block QMV ‘for important and stated reasons of national policy’ (Treaty of the EU, art. 23(2)). All decisions with military or defence implications are exempted from QMV. The decisionmaking bodies of CFSP are the European Council and the Council of Ministers. The former decides on ‘principles and general guidelines’ as well as on ‘common strategies’; the latter is responsible for implementing the adopted strategies via ‘joint actions’ and ‘common positions’ (Treaty of the EU, art. 12). Due to the rule of unanimity, framing political compromise within the Council is of primary importance. This key task is the responsibility of the (rotating) presidency of the Council, making it a driving force in CFSP decision-making. The European Parliament (EP) has no decision-making authority in CFSP except for some very limited budget authority (see below). In contrast to CFSP, security-relevant policies within the EC pillar are organized at a supranational level and bound by common decisionmaking of the EP and the Council of Ministers. Decisions are taken either by co-decision or by assent. In co-decision, EP and Council act as colegislators. The procedure comprises several readings and, if there is no majority in the EP after the final reading, no act is adopted. In the case of assent, the Council has to obtain the EP’s approval before adopting a decision, yet the EP cannot amend the proposal of the Council. In both cases the general rule of voting in the Council is QMV, the EP decides by an absolute majority. Whereas most security-relevant decisions within the EC pillar are taken by co-decision, assent is used in case of association agreements and other major agreements with third countries. Criticisms of decision-making in European security policy generally focus on CFSP procedures. And indeed, from the standpoint of the principle of bottom-up effectiveness, CFSP decision-making is rather obstructive. Cumbersome compromise-building in a system of unanimous voting contradicts the objective of proactive policy-making. Moreover, CFSP

Embedding a bottom-up approach 317 decision-making is dominated by member states and their particular interests, with the common interest of the Union hardly represented at all. The prevalence of particular interests hampers coherent policy-making, particularly in terms of continuous policy development. This deficiency is further aggravated by the rotating presidency system, with each presidency pushing a policy agenda of its own. Yet there are also justifiable concerns about the introduction of supranational decision-making in European security policy (above all in highly sensitive issues such as deployment of armed forces) relating to the so-called ‘democratic deficit’ of the EU (see below). Policy development and formulation At the EU level, European security policy is developed and formulated by two institutions, the Council and the European Commission. This relates to the right of initiative: whereas in the area of EC ‘external activities’ the Commission holds an exclusive right of initiative, in CFSP, policy proposals can be submitted either by the Commission or by member states, giving the Council a central role in CFSP policy development. The accelerated integration of European security policy in recent years has led to institutional reform and the setting up of new structures in both the Council and the Commission. One of the most outstanding reforms was the introduction of a High Representative (HR) for CFSP in the Amsterdam Treaty. The HR ‘shall assist the Council in matters coming within the scope of the common foreign and security policy, in particular through contributing to the formulation, preparation and implementation of policy decisions’ (Treaty of the EU, art. 26). In terms of formal competences the HR is rather weak, neither being involved in decisionmaking nor having the right of initiative. Nevertheless, since the appointment of Javier Solana as HR in 1999, the office has gained considerable political authority, being commonly regarded as the Union’s ‘voice’ in CFSP and the only institution credibly representing the common interest in the Council. The HR is supported by the Policy Planning and Early Warning Unit (PPEWU). The PPEWU mandate includes monitoring, analysis and assessment of international developments. Additionally, a new policy-making structure was created in the Council which in some respects runs parallel to traditional structures (namely, COREPER, the Permanent Representatives Committee). At the top of this structure is the Political and Security Committee (PSC), which takes the leading role in defining EU policies in the area of military and civilian crisis management. The PSC is composed of representatives at senior or ambassadorial level of the member states and the Commission. It is to provide ‘political control and strategic direction to crisis management operations’ and can be authorized by the Council to take policy decisions during crisis management operations. On the military aspect of crisis

318 Stefanie Flechtner management the PSC receives advice and recommendations from the European Union Military Committee (EUMC). The EUMC is the highest military body of the EU, composed of the Chiefs of Defence, and is responsible for developing overall military crisis management. The EUMC is supported by the EU Military Staff, a working unit responsible for implementing policies and decisions of the EUMC and for providing early warning, situation assessment and strategic planning for crisis management operations. As for the non-military aspects of crisis management, the new Committee for Civilian Aspects of Crisis Management (CIVCOM) is to ‘provide information, formulate recommendations and give advice’ to the PSC and COREPER. Despite the creation of CIVCOM, institutional capacities for planning and policy formulation in civilian crisis management are still much weaker than on the military side. There are no specialized working units for assessment and analysis of civilian crisis management and no professional personnel like the EU Military Staff (see Dwan, Chapter 13) Parallel to Council reforms, the Commission has undertaken a fundamental restructuring of its external services. At the centre of the new structure is the External Relations Commissioner, responsible for coordinating all external relations services of the Commission. His directorate-general, DG RELEX, is in charge of developing the Commission’s contribution to CFSP and the Union’s strategy and policies concerning relations with international institutions and third countries (except for accession countries as well as African, Caribbean and Pacific (ACP) countries and Overseas Countries and Territories (OCTs) where responsibility lies with DG Enlargement and DG Development respectively). Within DG RELEX a new working unit specializing in civilian crisis management was created in 2000. The socalled Conflict Prevention and Crisis Management Unit (CPCMU) develops Commission policy in training civilian experts. It further manages the Rapid Reaction Mechanism, an instrument created in 2001 to enhance the EU’s civilian capacity to intervene in crisis situations by mobilizing existing resources and instruments more quickly and effectively. CPCMU works closely with DG Development, the second important Commission actor in the security area. DG Development is responsible for formulating the Union’s development cooperation policy. As part of this work it is active in conflict prevention, human rights and other security-relevant policies. To summarize, the split of responsibilities for policy formulation between two lead institutions of the EU clearly does not enhance the coherence of European security policies. Moreover, Council and Commission represent two different institutional cultures, one oriented towards the interests of the member states, the other towards the common interest of the Union, competing for control of the policy-making process. Both Commission and Council have tried to keep pace with the increasing engagement and interest of the EU in security by forming new institutional structures and reforming existing ones. Yet the competencies of the

Embedding a bottom-up approach 319 various units and actors are not yet clearly defined and delineated, with an overlap of policy responsibilities in various areas (for example, civilian crisis management, early warning). Besides, the complex institutional framework for security policy formulation and development is not balanced. Particularly within the Council, the administrative capacities clearly tilt towards the military, with civilian crisis management being rather weakly resourced and represented. Democratic control The hybrid and complex nature of the institutional framework of European security policy implies serious challenges when it comes to democratic control. This is first of all related to the well-known democratic deficit of the EU (see Chryssochoou 2000; Höreth 1998). In the area of security policy, however, this deficit is aggravated by a serious lack of institutional transparency and a ‘double deficit’ (Born 2004) in parliamentary scrutiny, involving both the EP and national parliaments. Transparency is a well-known problem of security policy. The security sector has a long tradition of secrecy and the flow of information is often hampered by restrictive classification and confidentiality procedures. At the EU level, the problem is, however, aggravated by the aforementioned blurring of policy- and decision-making responsibilities among various actors and institutions. The lack of institutional transparency undermines political accountability. Parliamentary scrutiny of European security policy constitutes an even greater challenge, despite the fact that – or precisely because – 26 parliaments are involved. As the core of European security policy is intergovernmental, the primary role of parliamentary scrutiny belongs to the 25 national parliaments of the member states. In theory, national parliaments can hold their government to account for decisions reached in the European Council or Council of Ministers, given that the decision is taken by unanimity. In practice, however, effective oversight is difficult to realize due to very uneven scrutiny practices in the member states. Thus, for example, the Danish, Dutch and German parliaments have a right of prior authorization of military operations, while in the UK, France, Spain, Portugal and Poland there is not even a right of a posteriori authorization. Furthermore, national parliamentarians rely exclusively on the information provided by their own executives. There are no mechanisms for EU institutions to report directly to member states’ parliaments. Scrutiny by the European Parliament is mostly limited to EC policies. In CFSP the EP has a say only via the budget. The CFSP budget is charged to the EC budget and therefore handled under EC decision-making rules. However, as all expenditures arising from operations with military implications or cases where the Council decides by unanimity are charged to the member states, this authority is very limited. Finally, parliamentary scrutiny of

320 Stefanie Flechtner European security policy faces the challenge that there is not one executive but a number of them to be controlled, consisting of Commission, Council and national governments.

Bridging the gap: some thoughts on reform The current institutional framework of European security policy clearly falls short of any of the institutional principles of the bottom-up approach to European security. But this rather severe assessment must be moderated in two respects. First, there are inherent and insoluble tensions between the three institutional principles, in particular concerning the output and input dimensions of legitimacy, that is, effectiveness and democratic legitimacy. The aim, therefore, is not to implement one of the cited principles thoroughly but rather to find an optimum solution which balances all three. Second, with regard to some of the principles the EU is performing much better than other security actors, in particular nationstates. This is specifically true of ‘international legitimacy’. Multilateralism is one of the guiding principles of European integration and is deeply embedded in the EU’s legal framework (see Commission of the European Communities 2003). The recently adopted European Security Strategy makes ‘the development of a stronger international society, well functioning international institutions and a rule-based international order’ (Council of the European Union 2003: 10) a key objective of European security policy. The EU is doubtless one of the major driving forces in promoting international norms and the legalization of international relations. Nevertheless, it is important to note that with regard to other institutional principles there are not only shortcomings but also serious gaps. This is particularly true of ‘democratic control’, ‘coherence’ and the institutional embedding of the bottom-up approach. Although the democratic deficit of European security policy is widely acknowledged, there have been few serious reform efforts. This fact can be partly explained by the inherent dilemma of European integration: while there is doubtless a great need for democratic legitimization of EU governance, the EU has developed into ‘a new type of political system which lacks many of the features we associate with democratic governance . . . [and thus] poses fundamental questions to the established principles and concepts of democratic theory’ (Höreth 1998: 4). Attempts to transfer democratic institutions to the supranational level are obstructed by the lack of important social preconditions – above all a developed European ‘demos’ – for such institutions to function properly. Hence, proposals for transforming European security policy to a fully supranational endeavour (that is, giving the EP full but also exclusive power of parliamentary scrutiny) run the risk of merely transferring the problem to another level (see Höreth 1998). Yet, while in the medium term a fully satisfying solution of the democratic deficit might not be in sight, there are still a

Embedding a bottom-up approach 321 number of proposals for, at least, bridging the democratic gap of European security policy (see Bono and Mawdsley 2002; Born 2004). These include: •

• • •

enhancing transparency by assigning clear responsibilities to the various policy-making institutions and actors; increasing parliamentary and public access to CFSP documents; refining the strategic and legal framework of European security policy; enhancing and standardizing the rights of member states’ parliaments in the authorization of EU security operations; enhancing the EP’s scrutiny power, for example by extending its budget authority in CFSP; and strengthening cooperation between member states’ parliaments but also between national parliaments and the EP.

Unfortunately, the Constitutional Treaty adopted by the European Council in June 2004 and now to be ratified by the member states has taken up hardly any of these ideas. In contrast, ‘given the extensive nature of the new measures proposed by the Draft Treaty, the failure to give new rights of scrutiny to the EP and national parliaments [in CFSP] represents a backward step in democratic practices’ (Bono 2004: 14). In terms of enhancing the coherence of EU security policy, however, the Constitutional Treaty does involve some significant innovations. The most important innovation envisaged is a Foreign Minister, merging the posts of the High Representative and the External Relations Commissioner. Having an important say in all aspects of foreign and security policy in both the Council and the Commission, the Foreign Minister would make an important contribution to increasing the coherence of European security policy. Furthermore, the Foreign Minister would have the right of initiative in CFSP, thus promoting the common interest in CFSP as against the particular interests of the member states. He or she would be further supported by an integrated European External Action Service composed of officials from the Council, the Commission and national diplomatic services. The Constitutional Treaty and other recent reform efforts indicate a trend within European security policy towards resolving the problem of coherence by integration, not, as previously, by increasing coordination efforts. This trend might result from a certain disenchantment with intergovernmental coordination that has so far not delivered on the Union’s ambition of ‘speaking with one voice’. Besides, EU enlargement is making coordination an increasingly unmanageable task. The trend towards deepening integration in European security policy is surely a positive development, opening up new institutional options. However, if pursued in an unbalanced way, integration could also cause new problems. Thus, if integration of decision- and policy-making is not matched by a strengthening of

322 Stefanie Flechtner democratic control mechanisms, the democratic deficit of European security policy will widen further. Moreover, integration of European security policy must not take place at the expense of other policy objectives. While the new security agenda comprises a broad range of policies, not all of them have security as their primary objective, as is the case, for example, with development policy. Conflicts of policy objectives might be unavoidable but they can be moderated by a clear assignment of responsibilities and resources. Whereas the challenges of institutionalizing coherence and effective democratic control in European security policy are widely recognized and discussed, embedding the principles of bottom-up effectiveness, responsiveness and accountability is virtually new ground. In institutional terms the first two principles are closely related, calling for institutions and procedures that ensure that EU policies are designed and implemented in accordance with the security needs of people ‘on site’. A key means in this context is the institutionalization of consultation mechanisms in European security policy, that is, a comprehensive inclusion of local expertise in the process of security policy formulation. In this context European security policy should also draw on the extensive network of EU local representations, particularly the Delegations of the European Commission and the Missions of Member States. Bottom-up accountability has both legal and political dimensions. Legal accountability demands that EU operations take place within a well-defined and enforceable legal framework (see Chinkin, Chapter 8). Political accountability requires the EU to be answerable to local citizens affected by European security policy. The introduction of a new institution, a ‘Security Mission Ombudsman’, could be a means of enhancing both legal and political accountability. The ombudsman concept is very familiar to the European Union. Besides, several member states have a special ombudsman for defence (for example, Finland, Portugal and Germany). Yet, in contrast to these ombudsmen, the Security Mission Ombudsman would be accountable not to European citizens but to the local population subject to an EU intervention. He or she would be responsible for investigating complaints by local citizens regarding abuses or offences committed by European security personnel. The Security Mission Ombudsman would report regularly to the EP and possibly also to national parliaments in cases related to personnel or entities of a specific member state. Besides, the ombudsman could operate as some kind of legal information and education service provider informing the local population of their rights and the legal provisions in place during an intervention. Political accountability could be further enhanced by the institutionalization of bottom-up policy evaluation, particularly through impact assessment missions. Whereas in development cooperation regular and thorough evaluation of policies has become the order of the day, there is almost no such evaluation of crisis management policies. The regular study of the impact of European secur-

Embedding a bottom-up approach 323 ity policies may not only enhance accountability but also start a process of policy learning within the EU.

Conclusion In recent years the European Union has made substantial progress towards the goal of establishing itself as an important and credible security actor. The European Security Strategy adopted in December 2003 clearly states the EU’s responsibility for global, not only European, security. Moreover, the EU has started to reform and strengthen the institutions that frame EU security policy-making. So far, however, institutional reforms in Europe are driven more by ad hoc decisions than by a comprehensive agenda, let alone a common conception of the nature of European security. Moreover, the future of the Constitution’s innovations is now in doubt. The bottom-up approach to European security presented in this volume offers a policy concept that accounts for the profound changes in Europe’s security environment and that is based on the enlightened selfinterest of Europeans as well as on universal ethical norms and international legal obligations. Embedding this concept within the EU will call for important institutional reforms. The proposals illustrated in this chapter represent only some first thoughts on reform. However, there can be no doubt that the EU’s ability to make an effective, coherent and legitimate contribution to European and global security will depend as much on its military and civilian capabilities as on the institutions that frame security policy in Europe.

References Bono, G. (2002) European Security and Defence Policy: Theoretical Approaches, the Nice Summit and Hot Issues. Bradford: Peace Studies Department and Research and Training Network, Bradford University. Available online at: http://www. europeansecurity.net/Documents/documents/ESDP&Democracy.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004). —— (2004) The European Convention and Common Foreign and Security Policy: More Defence, Less Scrutiny? Peace Studies Papers No. 7. Bradford: Bradford University. Available online at: http://www.brad.ac.uk/acad/peace/pubs/psp7.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004). Bono, G. and Mawdsley, J. (2002) ‘Bridging the accountability gap in European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP)’, edited paper prepared for the UACES 32nd Annual Conference, Belfast, Queen’s University, 2–4 September. Available online at: http://www.esdpdemocracy.net/word/UACES.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004). Born, H. (2004) ‘The “Double Democratic Deficit”, Parliamentary Accountability and the Use of Force under International Auspices’, presentation given at conference on Tackling the ‘Double Democratic Deficit’ and Improving the

324 Stefanie Flechtner Accountability of the ESDP, Brussels, European Parliament, 29 April. Available online at: http://www.dcaf.ch/news/Democratic_Deficit/Born_speech.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004). Chryssochoou, D. (2000) Democracy in the European Union, London and New York: Tauris Academic Studies. Commission of the European Communities (2003) The European Union and the United Nations: The Choice of Multilateralism. Brussels: COM (2003) 526 final. Available online at: http://europa-eu-un.org/documents/en/COM%202003526%20EN%20FINAL%20PDF1.pdf (accessed 11 October 2004). Council of the European Union (2003) A Secure Europe in a Better World: European Security Strategy, Brussels, 12 December. Available online at: http://www.iss-eu.org/solana/solanae.pdf (accessed 29 September 2004). Duke, S. (1999) Consistency as an Issue in EU External Activities. Working Paper 99/W/06, Maastricht: European Institute of Public Administration. Höreth, M. (1998) The Trilemma of Legitimacy – Multilevel Governance in Europe and the Problem of Democracy, ZEI Discussion Paper C 11, Bonn: Centre for European Integration Studies, Friedrich Wilhelm University. Available online at: http://aei.pitt.edu/archive/00000340/01/dp_c11_hoereth.pdf (accessed 18 October 2004). Webber, M. (2004) ‘The governance of European security’, Review of International Studies, 30: 3–26.

Annex

A Human Security Doctrine for Europe The Barcelona Report of the Study Group on Europe’s Security Capabilities

1 Introduction Many people in the world lead intolerably insecure lives. Sometimes, their insecurity has natural causes, like earthquakes or disease. In many cases, however, insecurity is the consequence of conflicts in which civilians are deliberately targeted with impunity. In Western Sudan, hundreds of thousands of people have been forcibly displaced from their homes as a result of killings, rape, abductions and looting by government-sponsored militias. In Armenia, Azerbaijan and Georgia, hundreds of thousands of refugees and displaced people are unable to return to their homes or settle, as their lasting insecurity has become a political tool manipulated by politicians in support of their positions in the conflicts. In Palestine, people live in daily fear of land seizures, demolition of houses and assassination; the inability to protect one’s self, family and property produces an overwhelming sense of humiliation and insecurity among Palestinians. In turn, daily activities like going to the market or to a café have become perilous undertakings for ordinary Israelis because of suicide bombings. In the Democratic Republic of Congo, more than three million people have been killed over the last decade, and millions more have been forced to flee their homes. And as has happened in many other places, tens of thousands of women have been raped; gang rapes, rapes of children as young as four and women as old as 80 have been reported, contributing to the HIV/Aids epidemic in the region. Perpetrators go unpunished. It is these conflicts that become the ‘black holes’ generating many of the new sources of insecurity that impact directly on the security of the citizens of the European Union. The South Caucasus and the Balkans export or transport hard drugs and guns to the European Union, as well as trafficking or smuggling people who are often sexually exploited or forced to work in the illegal economy. The worsening situation in Palestine and Iraq is used by Islamic militants as evidence of a Judaeo-Christian conspiracy against Islam, to recruit terrorists. Wars in Africa defeat Europe’s efforts to fight poverty and disease with development initiatives. Generally, contemporary conflicts are characterised by circumstances

328 The Barcelona Report of lawlessness, impoverishment, exclusivist ideologies and the daily use of violence. This makes them fertile ground for a combination of human rights violations, criminal networks and terrorism, which spill over and cause insecurity beyond the area itself. While these developments may initially have appeared to apply primarily to developing and conflict states, the 11 September and 11 March attacks have made it clear once and for all that no citizens of the world are any longer safely ensconced behind their national borders, and that sources of insecurity are no longer most likely to come in the form of border incursions by foreign armies. To be secure, in today’s world, Europeans need to make a contribution to global security. Europe needs military forces but they need to be configured and used in quite new ways. They need to be able to prevent and contain violence in different parts of the world in ways that are quite different from classic defence and war-fighting. They need to be able to address the real security needs of people in situations of severe insecurity in order to make the world safer for Europeans. At present Europe lacks such capabilities. Europe has 1.8 million people under arms but only a fraction can be deployed in crisis zones. Europe also needs to be able to deploy more police, human rights monitors, aid specialists, and many other kinds of civilian expertise. The starting point for this report is the European Security Strategy (ESS) agreed by the European Council in December 2003. The ESS makes Europe’s responsibility for global security the centrepiece of a European security strategy. It points out that ‘the post Cold War environment is one of increasingly open borders in which the internal and external aspects of security are indissolubly linked’. The ESS makes the case for preventive engagement, for a strategy of effective multilateralism and for the extension of the international rule of law. It argues that the European Union needs to be ‘more active’ and ‘more capable’. This report is about how to make the European Union more capable. The approach is ‘bottom-up’, that is to say, it is concerned with how to increase the security of individual human beings in different parts of the world. The report elaborates both a set of principles on which Europe’s security policy should be built, and the capabilities it will need to make a credible contribution to global security, on which depends the security of Europe itself. In effect, it proposes a new doctrine for implementing the European Security Strategy. The report focuses on the capabilities needed for dealing with situations of severe physical insecurity, ‘freedom from fear’, rather than the whole range of possibilities and instruments of European foreign and security policy.

A human security doctrine for Europe 329

2 Human security and the European Union 2.1 The changed global context In today’s world, there is a gap between current security capabilities, consisting largely of military forces, and real security needs. The ESS lists five key threats to Europe: terrorism, the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, regional conflicts, failing states, and organised crime. All of these threats are interlinked and they can be found in different combinations in situations of severe insecurity. As the ESS points out, ‘none of the new threats is purely military; nor can any be tackled by purely military means’. These five key threats are not just threats to Europe; they are global threats. They are even more threatening to the people living in situations of severe insecurity. The main sources of political insecurity are either authoritarian states that repress their own citizens or a combination of state and non-state armed groups in conditions of state failure. Traditional security policy was based on defence of borders and the ‘containment’ of threats. This often meant support for authoritarian regimes, including military intervention or the maintenance of bases, regardless of the consequences for people living in the countries in question. This approach, based on a narrow definition of national interest, is no longer realistic in a world characterised by global interconnectedness. Insecurity experienced by people living in places like the Middle East has a tendency to spread, as September 11 dramatically illustrated. Moreover, it is very difficult to sustain closed societies in a global era – opening up to trade, travel and, above all, communication undermines the stability of authoritarian regimes. Although bastions of authoritarianism still persist in the Middle East and large parts of Asia, civil unrest and various degrees of state failure are more common facts of life in many regions. Saudi Arabia, for example, used to be considered the paragon of authoritarian stability; now the volatile combination of a frustrated young population and alQaeda ideology is turning Saudi Arabia into a powder keg. State collapse is becoming the most likely alternative to democratic transition. This is why preventive engagement to facilitate democratic transition is a better approach than containment. State collapse has resulted in ‘new wars’ in Africa, the Balkans, Central Asia and the Caucasus. These wars are unlike either the international or civil wars of the past. They call into question the distinctions between ‘human rights violations’ by states, ‘abuses’ by non-state actors, and ‘conflict’ between armed combatants: battles are rare and most violence is inflicted on civilians. In particular, population displacement is a typical feature of such wars, both as a result of deliberate ethnic cleansing and because of the difficulty of distinguishing between civilians and combatants. Such wars blur the distinction between internal and external because

330 The Barcelona Report they spill over borders and involve both local and global actors. They also blur the distinction between public and private, since they involve regular forces as well as paramilitary groups, warlords, mercenaries, and organised crime groups. ‘New wars’ spawn an abnormal political economy, in which most income-generating activity, ranging from diaspora support to trafficking of various kinds to loot and pillage, depends on violence and coercion. In these types of situations, the use of traditional forms of military power can often be counter-productive. One reason is the changing nature of military power. Small arms, grenades, and other weapons have become cheaper and easier to acquire, so the difference between those who possess advanced military technology and those who do not has been reduced. The advantage Western states have in such situations in terms of military technology is much less than the difference in expenditure. They have an advantage in the air and in information technology. Air power can be very destructive and the use of advanced military technology can be effective against governments, as was shown in Iraq and Afghanistan. But the technology does not help troops with imposing and maintaining order or protecting civilians – with coping, for instance, with suicide bombers who have relatively unsophisticated technology, or preventing ethnic cleansing as in Kosovo after the war against Yugoslavia. The consequence of the large-scale, intrusive wars of the last two centuries was not only the introduction of legal constraints on war but also growing public pressures against war. Human rights norms have become much more prominent, and an intervention that uses traditional warfighting means, such as bombardment from the air, may be unacceptable when viewed through the lens of human rights. While contemporary Western governments do try to minimise civilian casualties, they cannot avoid such casualties altogether: so-called precision bombs do kill civilians and cause material destruction because of either technical or intelligence failures. Civilian casualties may contribute to polarised perceptions that accentuate the conflict, while the destruction of infrastructure and regular sources of income feeds the criminal economy that is a source of finance for warring groups. The ongoing conflict in Iraq dramatically illustrates the gap between conventional military forces and the achievement of security. 2.2 Why is human security of concern to the European Union? In the new global context, the European Union’s security policy should be built on human security and not only on state security. Human security means individual freedom from basic insecurities. Genocide, wide-spread or systematic torture, inhuman and degrading treatment, disappearances, slavery, and crimes against humanity and grave violations of the laws of war as defined in the Statute of the International Criminal Court (ICC) are forms of intolerable insecurity that breach human security. Massive

A human security doctrine for Europe 331 violations of the right to food, health and housing may also be considered in this category, although their legal status is less elevated. A human security approach for the European Union means that it should contribute to the protection of every individual human being and not focus only on the defence of the Union’s borders, as was the security approach of nationstates. There are three reasons why the European Union should adopt a human security concept. The first reason is based on morality. It has to do with our common humanity. Human beings have a right to live with dignity and security, and a concomitant obligation to help each other when that security is threatened. All human life is of equal worth, and it is not acceptable that human lives become cheap in desperate situations. There is nothing distinctively European about such moral norms. On the contrary, they are by their nature universal. Whenever European states have intervened abroad for humanitarian reasons, whether in Kosovo, East Timor or Sierra Leone, this has been based on strong public support, even public pressure, from European citizens. Moreover, beyond state action, large numbers of Europeans have voluntarily gone to Yugoslavia to deliver humanitarian assistance or to help with post-conflict reconstruction, to Guatemala to accompany returning refugees, or to Palestine as civilian monitors. A second reason is legal. If human security is considered as a narrower category of protection of human rights, as proposed above, then it is now generally accepted that other states, and international institutions such as the EU, have not only a right, but also a legal obligation to concern themselves with human security worldwide. Articles 55 and 56 of the United Nations Charter enjoin states to promote universal respect for, and observance of, human rights. This obligation is restated in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and a range of human rights treaties all member states of the European Union have ratified. In its new Constitution, the European Union explicitly recognises the same obligation. Article 4 states: ‘In its relations with the wider world, the Union shall uphold and promote its values and interests. It shall contribute to peace, security, the sustainable development of the earth, solidarity and mutual respect among peoples, free and fair trade, eradication of poverty and protection of human rights and in particular children’s rights, as well as to strict observance and development of international law, including respect for the principles of the United Nations Charter.’ The European Union does, therefore, recognise that it has obligations concerning the human security of people outside its borders. However, the nature and extent of these obligations are subject to different interpretations, and they form an area of controversy and disagreement among legal scholars. The third reason for adopting a human security approach is ‘enlightened self-interest’. The whole point of a human security approach is that

332 The Barcelona Report Europeans cannot be secure while others in the world live in severe insecurity. In failing states and conflict areas, the criminal economy expands and gets exported: the drug trade, human trafficking and the easy availability of small arms, and even the brutalisation of society are not contained within the conflict zone but felt beyond it, including in Europe. When the state breaks down, communalist ideologies are mobilised, generally rooted in religion or ethnicity; and while this leads first and foremost to a spiral of violence within the conflict zones, terrorist networks also thrive upon and recruit from such situations, with the effects again felt in Europe. In practice, the enlightened self-interest case for adopting a human security approach comes very close to the moral and legal cases, which is why this approach should now be considered as a form of realism, not just idealism. Dealing with terrorism and organised crime only by devising more robust punitive and intelligence measures within our borders, which may in fact endanger the democratic values and institutions of Europe, can never be more than fire-fighting. The only real response to such threats is to address the security needs of people in situations of severe insecurity. This will not deliver perfect security to Europeans, but it is the most credible way to address the causes of insecurity at source. 2.3 Human security enforcement This report focuses on situations of severe insecurity, where European forces might be deployed. These situations fall under the rubric of the ‘Petersberg’ tasks, agreed by the Western European Union in Bonn in 1992, included in the Amsterdam Treaty in 1997 and expanded in the new Constitution. These tasks ‘include joint disarmament operations, humanitarian and rescue tasks, military advice and assistance tasks, conflict prevention and peace-keeping tasks, tasks of combat forces in crisis management, including peacemaking and post-conflict stabilisation’. The overall aim of operations in these situations is to uphold human rights and to act in support of law and order. Up to now, there has not been a comprehensive doctrine for implementation of these operations. Such operations are somewhere between classic peacekeeping and classic military intervention but different from both. Classic peacekeeping operations were based on the notion of keeping the peace between armed combatants. Generally, the job of peacekeepers was to monitor cease-fires and separate warring parties. Even more recent peace support operations with seemingly more robust mandates have not always protected civilians against human rights violations. Classic military interventions, on the other hand, have been aimed at defeating an enemy, whether the enemy is defined as insurgents (communists or mujahideen during the Cold War, separatists or islamist militants today) or repressive dictators (the Taliban or Saddam Hussein). Even though such interventions sometimes empha-

A human security doctrine for Europe 333 sise the protection of civilians or the need to find a political settlement, the priority placed on defeating insurgents can lead to the inappropriate use of force and increased political polarisation. In other words, peace comes before human rights in classic peacekeeping and victory comes before human rights in classic military interventions. The lessons of international interventions in places like the Balkans, Afghanistan or Iraq, are that international forces have been ill-equipped for the kinds of tasks required to restore public security. In these regions, international forces have been unable to prevent continued human rights violations and the spread of organised crime and this has caused considerable soul-searching about the kind of capabilities required. Some would describe the kind of operation that supports human security as humanitarian intervention. However, the term ‘humanitarian intervention’ implies a purely military approach. The ESS emphasises that ‘military instruments may be needed to restore order’ in failed states and in regional conflicts, but alongside humanitarian assistance, effective policing, civilian crisis managements as well as broader political and economic instruments. It makes the point that the European Union is ‘particularly well-equipped for these multi-faceted situations’. These kinds of tasks are sometimes described as ‘state-building’, ‘nation-building’ or ‘post-conflict reconstruction’. But they do not apply only to post-conflict situations. A more holistic approach is needed that covers different types of political institutions and different phases of conflict or state failure. Of course, European security policy should be grounded in pragmatism. The European Union’s capacity for operational missions is limited, as is the political will to carry them out. Chances of success, degrees of risk, and levels of commitment vary. The following factors should be taken into account in order to prioritise certain situations over others: •

•

•

Gravity and urgency of the situation. A looming genocide would nearly always deserve priority over a chronic situation of widespread, even severe, insecurity. Practicality of the mission, risks, chances of success and availability of other actors. On this basis, a mission to Macedonia would be likely to deserve priority over a mission to Burma, Tibet or Chechnya, even if the security situation in the latter places is much worse, and no other actors are available. In Southeast Asia, Australia may be willing to shoulder more of the burden, as it did in the mission to East Timor. In Africa, more responsibility should be taken by the African Union. In both cases, Europe may still be called upon within a multilateral framework. Special responsibility for neighbouring countries. There is a clear selfinterest argument here: the effects of insecurity and disorder in the Balkans for instance, are more strongly felt in Europe in terms of crime, refugee flows and human trafficking than the effects of conflicts further away. Beyond the self-interest argument however,

334 The Barcelona Report

•

•

European citizens simply feel a stronger moral responsibility towards helping those in Europe’s neighbourhood, as has been very clear in the wars in Yugoslavia. Historic ties and historic responsibilities. These typically continue to run along colonial lines: the Dutch, for example, feel a special commitment to Indonesia, the French to Côte d’Ivoire, the British to Zimbabwe and the Portuguese to East Timor. This is not just because of a sense of responsibility; it is also because there are many human ties at the level of civil society. Nevertheless, precisely because of the colonial history, the state in question, while feeling the most committed, may not always be the most appropriate actor to intervene. Concerted action by the European Union can to some extent alleviate this thorny problem, by mediating the involvement of the former colonial power. Public concern and public pressure. Public support is necessary to legitimate and sustain the risk and expenditure of operations. It can also shape the nature of the action: public pressure is more likely to be based on solidarity rather than on geopolitical considerations. Public pressure is, of course, uneven, and not necessarily related to the scale of an impending or unfolding tragedy or to proximity or colonial ties. Europeans have greater concern for Israel and Palestine than for the South Caucasus conflicts, which are no further away from Europe. The Live Aid concert organised by Bob Geldof, one of the earliest and biggest civil society actions related to human security outside the region, concerned Ethiopia, a country with no geographic proximity to Europe.

2.4 An opportunity for Europe There has always been a strand of European thinking that considers Europe as a ‘peace project’. In the immediate aftermath of the Second World War, the founders of what was to become the European Union wanted, above all, to prevent another war on European territory. And after the Cold War, the European Union was considered an important instrument in overcoming the East–West division of Europe. Preventing war continues to be a strong motive in the minds of European citizens: when asked what the European Union means to them personally, the third answer that comes up in the Eurobarometer survey, right after the euro and freedom of movement, is ‘peace’. Indeed, 89 per cent of respondents consider ‘maintaining peace and security in Europe’ to be a priority of the EU. It is also considered to be the most effective of EU policies. People living in the new Eastern member states of the European Union are especially concerned about security because of their particular histories, even though they sometimes have different perceptions about how this can be achieved. The European Union pioneered the technique of integration at the level of society, based on interdependence and adherence to common

A human security doctrine for Europe 335 standards, as a way of promoting peace. The same approach should be adopted in external relations. Elements of this approach are contained in association agreements, trade and other forms of cooperation. It should be extended to the rule of law and public security. And if necessary, it must be guaranteed by the use of military capabilities. The experience of the Kosovo war indicated the need for European security forces to be able to act autonomously. Since then, progress towards a European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP) has accelerated. Member states have made available up to 60,000 troops under the Headline Goals, agreed in Helsinki in December 2001, and they have made even more rapid progress in making available civilian capabilities, including police, rule of law experts, and specialists in civil administration and civil protection. Agreements have been reached on the relationship of EU forces to NATO and on structured cooperation among member states. Various institutions have been established for conflict prevention, training, and crisis management. As well as the ESS approved in December 2003, the European Council has approved the establishment of an autonomous Defence Agency and a military–civil planning cell. The EU is now developing ‘battle groups’ for rapid deployment. A number of proposals have been put forward for a European gendarmerie and for a civilian peace corps. The coordination of these initiatives and the appointment of a new European Foreign Minister offer real potential for further development. Perhaps more significantly, the EU has now undertaken several autonomous missions in the Balkans and Africa, involving military, police and civilian personnel. Three of the missions (the EU police mission in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Operation Proxima in Macedonia, and Operation EUJUST-Themis, the rule of law mission in Georgia) have been civilian. Two (Concordia in Macedonia and Artemis in DRC) have been military and much shorter than the civilian missions. The EU mission which will take over the NATO-led SFOR forces in Bosnia and Herzegovina at the end of 2004, will involve both military and civilian capabilities side by side. Non-member states have as a matter of course been invited to take part in these missions. Operation Artemis in eastern Democratic Republic of Congo represents a possible template for future multi-national interventions. It was quite different from classic military interventions in Africa whether by the United Nations (peacekeeping) or post-colonial powers, which were generally aimed at shoring up shaky authoritarian regimes. It was a response to the emergency situation in Ituri, where various militias including thousands of young children, were laying waste to towns, looting, raping, carrying out massacres and causing tens of thousands of people to flee their homes. UN forces on the ground were unable to deal with the situation. For the first time, in its resolution of 31 May 2003, the UN Security Council approved an EU mission.

336 The Barcelona Report The mission of over 2000 troops was deployed rapidly and the bulk were in place by 1 July. The mission was aimed at security on the ground and the immediate impact was considerable. However the mission was short and massacres started again in later months, although on a smaller scale. Many problems, such as the disarmament of militia or the establishment of effective police forces, remain to be solved and the EU has been slow to deploy civilian follow-up. Optimism about the emerging consensus on Europe’s external role should, of course, be tempered by the events of the past decade. Repeated missed opportunities, like the inability to offer a coherent policy towards the former Yugoslavia in the early 1990s, the vacillation over the Middle East, the failure to intervene to prevent the genocide in Rwanda, or the divisions over Iraq, not to mention continued tensions in the Balkans, call into question the ability of the European Union ever to act coherently and effectively. The rise of nationalist feelings as expressed in the electoral success of anti-immigration and anti-EU parties weaken further the ability of European political elites to act at a European level. Yet an imaginative, forward-looking contribution to global security could turn out to be the most effective way to mobilise political support for the European project at this point. The approval of a new Constitution and the enlargement of the Union mark a critical juncture in the history of the EU. If they are to continue to support the process of European institution-building, Europeans need to feel that the Union contributes to their security. In an interdependent world, this can only be achieved through a European contribution to the security of human beings in general.

3 Principles for a new European security doctrine The word ‘doctrine’ tends to mean a body of knowledge that is taught or used for instruction. In the military field, it refers to the know-how of fighting; it is about the implementation of strategy and its link with tactics. The Revolution in Military Affairs (RMA) is often described as a new doctrine. It is about the way in which information technology has changed military tactics – the shift from ‘platform-centric’ to ‘network-centric’ warfare. Although technology is undoubtedly an important factor in the changed global context, this report focuses on human capabilities. It spells out seven principles that encompass both goals and implementation of European security policy and draws up the capabilities (human, cultural, technological, legal, and organisational) required to follow those principles. The principles for a European security doctrine are drawn from the actual experience of insecurity in different parts of the world – Central and West Africa, Southeast Europe, the South Caucasus and the Middle East. The ESS rightly places much emphasis on the ‘prevention’ of crises as

A human security doctrine for Europe 337 opposed to the doctrine of ‘pre-emption’. But it is often difficult to distinguish between different phases of conflict. The conditions that cause conflict – fear and hatred, a criminalised economy that profits from violent methods of controlling assets, weak illegitimate states, the existence of warlords and paramilitary groups, for example – are often exacerbated during and after periods of violence and there are no clear beginnings or endings. The situation in Palestine, for instance, was supposed to be ‘postconflict’ after the Oslo accords, but has clearly reverted to being in the midst of conflict. The conflicts of the South Caucasus used to be called ‘frozen’, but ‘festering’ might have been a better characterisation. The principles for a European security policy should therefore apply to a continuum of phases of varying degrees of violence that always involves elements of both prevention and reconstruction. Likewise, the principles should apply to both ends and means. In discussions about security, the focus tends to be on goals. Yet in actual situations where international capabilities have been deployed, there is often a disjuncture between the aims set out by politicians for security operations, and the means and mandate given to the military and civilian agencies. In some instances, mandates have been too restricted and the failure to protect people on the ground has undermined the legitimacy of the international effort. In other cases, excessive use of force has exacerbated instability. Finally, the set of principles proposed below is intended to guide the actions of high-level EU officials, politicians in the member states, diplomats, and soldiers and civilians in the field alike. Some of these principles (i.e. multilateralism) may be more relevant to politicians or diplomats, and others (i.e. use of force) to the military. But it is essential to the building of a coherent and effective policy that everyone should have an awareness and a shared understanding of all the guiding principles. Moreover, policies based on these principles will have more public support, and hence more room for manoeuvre, if the European public also understands and endorses them. 3.1 Principle 1: the primacy of human rights The primacy of human rights is what distinguishes the human security approach from traditional state-based approaches. Although the principle seems obvious, there are deeply held and entrenched institutional and cultural obstacles that have to be overcome if it is to be realised in practice. In many national governments, it is assumed that state interest overrides the promotion of human rights. Traditionally, influence over authoritarian regimes was considered more important as a foreign policy goal than the condition of the citizens of those regimes. But authoritarian states have often proved to be unstable in the long run, and a policy of

338 The Barcelona Report promoting human rights is more likely to contribute to preventing terrorist and criminal havens and ultimately state failure. The debate about sovereignty and the conditions under which human rights concerns should take precedence over sovereignty has been a central preoccupation of both practitioners and analysts of foreign policy in recent years. This debate often neglects the issue of the means to be adopted in socalled human rights operations. This is especially important where military means are likely to be deployed. It is often assumed that the use of military force is justifiable if there is legal authority to intervene (ius ad bellum), and the goals are worthwhile. However, the methods adopted must also be appropriate and, indeed, may affect the ability to achieve the goal specified. In other words, the ‘how’ is as important as the ‘why’. This means that human rights such as the right to life, the right to housing, or the right to freedom of opinion are to be respected and protected even in the midst of conflict. Unless it is absolutely necessary and it has a legal basis, personnel deployed on human security missions must avoid killing, injury, and material destruction. Human security implies that everyone is treated as a citizen. This principle has far-reaching implications for military tactics. In the past, counter-insurgency operations have sometimes taken a ‘hearts and minds’ approach as a tactic. At the same time, coercive methods of control were frequently used, including resettlement, area destruction, and control of food supplies (methods adopted by today’s insurgents), with the same overall aim of defeating the enemy. In human security operations, protection of civilians, not defeating an enemy, is an end in itself. Thus certain coercive tactics would be ruled out while other tactics like safe havens or humanitarian corridors would have a central role. Principles 6 and 7, below, spell out what would constitute operational conduct in line with a human security approach. The primacy of human rights also implies that those who commit gross human rights violations are treated as individual criminals rather than collective enemies. The establishment of the International Criminal Court, the ad hoc tribunals for Yugoslavia and Rwanda and the special tribunal for Sierra Leone were largely predicated on the idea that holding only states accountable for human rights violations has done little to improve observance of human rights norms, and that assigning individual criminal responsibility might be more effective. In the case of terrorism it is equally important to realise that the perpetrators are criminal individuals and the means of curbing terrorism should be tailored to that insight. 3.2 Principle 2: clear political authority The central goal of a human security strategy has to be the establishment of legitimate political authority capable of upholding human security.

A human security doctrine for Europe 339 When authoritarianism breaks down, the alternatives are international, national and local governance based on consent, or state failure. Diplomacy, sanctions, the provision of aid, and consultations with civil society are all among the array of instruments available to the European Union aimed at influencing political processes in other countries – opening up authoritarian regimes, strengthening legitimate forms of political authority, and promoting inclusive political solutions to conflict. The capacity to deploy civilian personnel is a crucial addition to these instruments. They represent the EU’s commitment to help build and sustain legitimate political authority in crisis situations. Even if military forces are to be used, they can only succeed on the basis of local consent and support. The most that can be achieved through the use of military forces is to stabilise the situation so that a space can be created for a political process rather than to win through military means alone. In some cases, military victory may simply be beyond reach – every excessive use of force further inflames the situation. In other cases, shortterm military victory can be achieved but the cost in terms both of casualties and political legitimacy is too high. Israeli forces for instance have succeeded in slowing down the rate of suicide bombing but this has not led to any resolution of the conflict; indeed, it has only inflamed more passion on the Palestinian side. Military victory may mean that stability can be sustained only through massive repression and coercion. To ensure that the goal of restoring political authority is kept at the forefront of any operation, the EU must exert clear political authority over the command and control of its missions. This means that, where European security units are deployed, there needs to be a close linkage between policy-makers and those on the ground, with the former having ultimate control over operations. Human security missions should be led by a civilian. This should typically be a politician, or someone with a sense for the politics both of the sending states and the host society, with easy access to policy-makers as well as receptive to local political actors. This will guarantee a close and iterative linkage between policy and operational strategy on the one hand, and the choice of ways and means to achieve the right effect on the ground on the other. Politicians have to understand the political effects or consequences of deployment; likewise those that are sent on missions should understand the political objectives they are working to achieve, so that they can design their strategy, with the right set of effects being realised on the ground. Of course, this is a point that has always applied in warfare and has been emphasised by many of the great military strategists including Clausewitz. But it is easy to neglect once the logic of deployment takes over and it is not always integrated into actual operations especially on the military side. The European Union faces an additional challenge in this respect. The present situation, in which troops supposedly under a single line of command in reality still take instructions from their own domestic

340 The Barcelona Report politicians, particularly in emergencies, is unworkable. On the other hand, a truly integrated European command structure raises the question of democratic control: if basic decisions about deployment, tasks and risks, and withdrawal, are taken at the European level, there should be a double accountability: to national parliaments and to the European Parliament. In practice however, there could be a lack of accountability to either. This point will be revisited in section 5 of this report. 3.3 Principle 3: multilateralism This principle applies first and foremost to the actions of politicians and diplomats, but its meaning should also trickle down to operational force levels. We understand multilateralism to have a much more comprehensive meaning than ‘acting with a group of states’. In that narrow sense, nearly all international initiatives might be considered multilateral. Multilateralism is closely related to legitimacy, and has three basic aspects. Firstly, it means a commitment to work with international institutions, and through the procedures of international institutions. This means, first and foremost, working within the United Nations framework, but it also entails working with or sharing out tasks among other regional organisations such as the OSCE and NATO in Europe, the AU, SADC and ECOWAS in Africa or the OAS in the western hemisphere. Working with and through international organisations does not mean having a sacred regard for preserving them as they are. Insofar as the EU member states are also members of these institutions, a commitment to effective multilateralism also means a commitment to reform these institutions where necessary. Secondly, multilateralism entails a commitment to common ways of working and agreed rules and norms: creating common rules and norms, solving problems through rules and cooperation, and enforcing the rules. The EU as an international norms promoter rather than a superpower is less threatening to non-European states and offers a pole around which support could be built in multilateral fora such as the United Nations. This is why international law is so important. Thirdly, multilateralism also has to include coordination, rather than duplication or rivalry. An effective human security approach requires coordination between intelligence, foreign policy, trade policy, development policy and security policy initiatives, of the member states, of the Commission and the Council, and of other multilateral actors, including the United Nations, the World Bank, the IMF and regional institutions. Preventive and pro-active policies cannot be effective if they are isolated and even contradictory. This is not a new insight, in fact it is a truism, but it is still not acted upon in practice. The most dramatic lack of coherence has in the past been between the member states and between EU institutions. In the early stages of the

A human security doctrine for Europe 341 Balkan crisis, the EU was greatly hampered by internal differences, with Germany supporting the independence of Slovenia and Croatia while France and Britain were opposed. In West Africa in the late 1990s, the United Kingdom was supporting the Sierra Leonian NPRC government, while the German ambassador condemned its excesses, and France refused to put pressure on the leaders of Liberia and Burkina Faso who supported the Sierra Leone rebels. In several regions, local Commission activities and ESDP missions seem to operate quite independently of each other, and sometimes even to be in conflict. If the Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP) cannot be made truly ‘common’, no amount of technical or personnel capabilities can make it effective in contributing to greater security for the world or for Europe. Moreover, in line with the principle of multilateralism, the EU must endeavour to coordinate its policy with other institutional actors. It is clear that institutional rivalries are detrimental to human security on the ground. 3.4 Principle 4: the bottom-up approach The decision about the kind of policies to be adopted, whether or not to intervene and how, must take account of the most basic needs identified by the people who are affected by violence and insecurity. This is not just a moral issue, it is also a matter of effectiveness. People who live in the affected area are the best source of intelligence. A continuous process of communication, consultation, dialogue and partnership can provide a form of early warning and a guide to what strategies are most likely to be effective as well as feedback and evaluation for ongoing missions. In effect, the bottom-up approach is a method of onthe-job learning. Various techniques can be used, including local broadcasting and publications, town hall meetings, and question and answer sessions, to explain the mission, discover mistakes, receive new information, respond to new initiatives, and learn who to involve in implementation. Of course, local people will have different views and interests, but missions must familiarise themselves with the complex politics of the region. One of the big obstacles to prevention is that situations of insecurity do not impinge on political consciousness until it is too late. Often, it is only when humanitarian crises are reported in the media that governments feel impelled to act. The problem is not just a lack of early warning but also a lack of will. A continuous process of consultation and dialogue with local people is not only the way to decide when situations urgently require prevention but it also helps to build a commitment to those involved in dialogue, as well as a guide to what strategies are likely to work. It is often difficult to conduct full-scale ‘consultations’ with a population that is in a situation of severe insecurity. Nonetheless, a more comprehensive and continuous effort should be made to talk to experts,

342 The Barcelona Report exiles, civil society groups, so as to discover as accurately as possible what people want and need. Women’s groups are particularly important in this respect. Such groups are generally independent of the parties to the conflict and are the main local conduit for humanitarian work; for these reasons they often have valuable insights and advice to offer. Once deployment is underway, success depends on the involvement of the local population not only for advice and information but also for implementation. In Macedonia, for example, civil society groups have acted as partners in efforts to disarm militia, providing a conduit for information, and persuading people to give up their weapons. The ‘bottom-up’ approach thus suggests a rethinking of intelligence and communications policy. Too much intelligence is gathered either by technical means or through agents who focus on the governmental level and not enough through consultation and dialogue. It is also important to support a hospitable environment for local media and for criticism, both to explain the actions and intentions of the mission and to understand local politics. International interventions can never be more than ‘enabling’. What they can achieve depends on the consent of most of the population. There is a tendency among ‘internationals’ to assume that they know best. Conventional attitudes have too often been to ‘do it for them’ or to work with weak or criminalised ‘leaders’. Institution-building is bound to fail when it excludes those for whom the institutions are built. Without a bottom-up approach, an operation cannot successfully work towards its own redundancy. The importance of a ‘bottom-up’ approach has been recognised to some extent in recent years. However, the solution has primarily been sought in working with international NGOs and exiles, who can often provide guidance about whom to contact but are not necessarily the best informants for and implementers of a bottom-up policy. They are sometimes more oriented towards Brussels, London or Washington than towards needy citizens. Despite good intentions, the top-down approach is deeply rooted in international institutions, not only in attitudes but also in the culture that develops around international missions, the ways in which international officials remain within their own circles, and are often on very short-term missions with little long-term commitment. 3.5 Principle 5: regional focus New wars have no clear boundaries. They tend to spread through refugees and displaced persons, through minorities who live in different places, through criminal and extremist networks. Indeed most situations of severe insecurity are located in regional clusters. The tendency to focus attention on areas that are defined in terms of statehood has often meant that relatively simple ways of preventing the spread of violence are neglected. Time

A human security doctrine for Europe 343 and again, foreign policy analysts have been taken by surprise when, after considerable attention had been given to one conflict, another conflict would seemingly spring up out of the blue in a neighbouring state. Thus, the failure to include Kosovo in the Dayton negotiations over BosniaHerzegovina was one factor that led to the outbreak of the war in Kosovo in 1999. In 2001, despite being intensely involved in Kosovo, and to a lesser extent in Albania, the build-up of violence in Macedonia still came initially as a surprise to the EU. In West Africa, the conflict in Sierra Leone could have been prevented by addressing the conflict in Liberia. A regional focus also has a sub-state dimension. In the Balkans, the EU is involved in combating both organised crime and ethnic violence in Bosnia, Macedonia and Kosovo. These efforts each fall under a different mission however, and they are not sufficiently linked up. Moreover, there is no such involvement in combating very similar problems in southern Serbia, because this region happens now to be part of a different state, which does not have an EU mission. A regional focus is not only an issue for intelligence-gatherers or diplomats, it also has operational implications. The UN involvement in the Great Lakes region in Africa has been characterised by piecemeal interventions confined to one state, whilst refugees and combatants crossed borders back and forth. Moreover, the common practice in multinational operations of parcelling out separate pieces of territory to each national force can lead to damaging discontinuities of practice. A continuous regional focus could instead allow successful practices to spread quickly from one locality to the next. 3.6 Principle 6: use of legal instruments The use of law, and particularly international law, as an instrument does not pertain just to diplomatic fora and decisions concerning whether to intervene: they are at the core of how operations should be conducted. At an operational level, the primary task of any deployment is to assist law-enforcement. This means that a much larger investment will have to be made in civilian capabilities for law-enforcement, i.e. police, court officials, prosecutors and judges. The EU is just beginning to comprehend this task in the Balkans. For the military, it means a shift from the traditional use of military force as war-fighting to that of law enforcement. The military have to be actively involved in assisting the police and civil authorities. They are not only by their mere presence acting to make the population that they work within feel more secure, but are embarking on operations designed to provide information, intelligence and evidence for use in courts: operations that can directly lead to the prosecution and conviction of organised criminals, corrupt officials and those who commit acts of terror. In situations like Bosnia and Kosovo, for example, greater efforts

344 The Barcelona Report to bring about justice could have made a big difference to the depth and speed of reform and reconstruction. Unlike in classic wars where only states bore responsibility, armed forces have to act within a legal framework that applies to individuals. Operations by the European Union should have legal accountability mechanisms open to those who are ‘operated’ upon. There should be not only codes of behaviour for the troops involved, but also sanctions for breaking the codes. But whose law should be applied? While local law continues to apply in principle, the answer to this question is by no means straightforward in failed states, where there has been a breakdown of law and order, or in repressive states, where relevant domestic laws may lack legitimacy. A coherent legal framework is crucial so as to provide legal security to troops as well as to the local population. The local population should be involved in the administration of justice as much as possible. Citizens in these situations need to regain the protection of the law, and to help transform it if the old laws were unjust or repressive. In some cases, skilled and politically untainted police and legal staff are available to do most of the work, and all they need is military protection and a stamp of international legitimacy. In other cases, a legal system has to be rebuilt from the ground up, while there are many inbetween scenarios in which training and mixed international–local staffing would be appropriate. Finally, the principle implies that terrorists, war criminals, human rights violators and drug traffickers are subject to legal procedure. They should face fair trials according to international human rights standards, whether before international, domestic or hybrid courts. 3.7 Principle 7: appropriate use of force Classic warfare is between sides. Soldiers must protect themselves and civilians on their own side and an effort is also made to minimise civilian casualties on the other side. The emphasis on firepower and technology, however, has often meant heavy loss of life especially among enemy soldiers but also among civilians. In human security operations, the lives of those deployed cannot be privileged. The aim should be to protect people and minimise all casualties. This is more akin to the traditional approach of the police, who risk their lives to save others, even though they are prepared to kill in extremis, as human security forces should be. Hence, in line with principle 1 (primacy of human rights) and principle 6 (legal instruments), minimum force is key. Minimum force suggests for instance that it would be an over-reaction to kill someone who threatens violence when an arrest can be made. Our approach does not suggest that the use of force is to be avoided under all circumstances. Nothing should undermine the inherent right of

A human security doctrine for Europe 345 self-defence. If someone is threatening violence a soldier can respond appropriately, regardless of whether force has been authorised under Chapter VI or Chapter VII of the United Nations Charter. Although this might seem obvious, it was, in part, the failure of elements of the UN Mission in Sierra Leone in 2000 to appreciate the right of self-defence that partially led to a collapse of the mission and a tactical victory for the Revolutionary United Front. Peacekeepers have often negotiated their way out of trouble but where the judgement of the commander was in doubt, or when negotiations failed, there have been severe consequences when force has not been used in self-defence. A prime example is the killing of the Belgian troops in Rwanda by Hutu militia in 1994 after they had given up their weapons. There may even be situations where it is legitimate to kill someone who is trying to kill a third party. Clearly, soldiers need to be confident of their rights to use force and have to tailor their tactical decision-making to the situation they find themselves in. However, they remain legally accountable for their actions and should face prosecution in court when the legality of their use of force is in question. The use of minimal and precise force, of course, puts troops at more immediate risk than using overwhelming force. This logic should be appreciated by the military, the politicians and the general public.

4 Capabilities required In order to be able to implement a security policy based on the principles set out above, the European Union is going to need two key capabilities. It will need an integrated set of civil–military capabilities that would be suited to carry out human security operations, and it will need a legal framework that underpins decisions to intervene as well as forming the basis for a law-enforcement approach to operations. 4.1 The Human Security Response Force Integrated capabilities for integrated tasks This report does not contain a set menu of tasks for human security missions. The literature on peacekeeping and humanitarian missions has already spawned many lists of military and civilian tasks that need to be carried out with various degrees of urgency and in various mixes. These include the (re)establishment of law and order, reconstruction, humanitarian aid, disarmament, demobilisation and reintegration (DDR), transitional justice, institution-building, support for civil society, independent media and education, and so on. There can be no blueprint expected to fit every situation, regardless of whether local governance structures are in place or whether the

346 The Barcelona Report international community assumes responsibility for them. The key to identifying tasks should be the ‘bottom-up’ approach – an extensive consultation process and the use of intelligence based on local knowledge. It is crucial for the European Union to have a capacity to assess the different requirements of particular situations, especially in response to local concerns. Tasks should be identified and implemented in a holistic way. Tasks cannot be neatly categorised in separate boxes. The focus of this report is stabilising the situation and diminishing human insecurity – tasks which tend to be described as law and order or public security. How this is achieved can range from an international civil presence designed to offer reassurance, monitor human rights violations and reduce tension, to the provision of civilian expertise to strengthen local law enforcement institutions, or to the use of military forces to provide physical protection, separate warring parties and disarm armed groups. But public security can never be achieved in isolation. Lack of food and water can be a source of violence. Involving women’s groups, ensuring fair and accurate reporting, or creating jobs are all related tasks that are critical for public security. All these tasks require highly specialised skills and, at the same time, they need to be coordinated. For these reasons, an integrated civil– military force is most suitable for carrying out human security missions. Military troops will be an important component of these operational capacities, but they will have to restructure and reequip along new lines and they will need to be integrated with civilian capabilities, such as police, tax and customs officers, judges, administrators, providers of aid and human rights specialists. The ultimate aim is to be able to deploy different packages of military–civilian capabilities according to the situation. There are considerable obstacles to overcome. Among civilians, the military are often associated with a mission of violence, which is considered to conflict with and indeed may hamper the purposes of civilian officers, in particular aid-providers. In Iraq and Afghanistan, for example, aid agencies including the UN were reluctant to accept US military protection for fear it would affect their access to and acceptance among the local population. Before the attacks on the UN headquarters in Iraq in August 2003, UN senior management felt uncomfortable about the presence of Coalition Forces and asked on several occasions for the removal of protective positions and equipment from the UN compound. Such suspicion of the military can affect human security operations as well. Among the military, there is a tendency to assume that civilians ‘get in the way’ and are less efficient at carrying out specified tasks or that the military’s job is war-fighting, not nation-building or protecting humanitarian aid workers. Both sides need to adapt. Effective civil–military integration is only possible in situations where the military act in a law-enforcement role and the civil agencies are part of a combined politically led operation.

A human security doctrine for Europe 347 In addition, the balance of military–civil capabilities needs to be changed. Civilians tend to operate in small teams and with a great deal of autonomy, in contrast to large and hierarchically organised military machines. Any deployment needs to include a very substantial contingent of civilians, who would co-determine the nature and culture of the operation. It is very important that civil–military integration applies at planning level as well as the operational level. The EU’s recently established joint civil–military planning unit is a first step in this direction. Size, composition, command system We propose the creation of a Human Security Response Force, composed of both military and civilians. The force should be roughly the size of a division, 15,000 personnel. Thus it would be possible to deploy the force in a situation like Kosovo or smaller forces for contingencies like Macedonia or the recent operation in DRC. At least one-third of the 15,000 personnel would be police and civilian specialists. The idea is to develop a model, which would start as a small force but could easily be scaled up on the basis of experience. The force would be composed of three tiers, making use of various capabilities that already exist within the ESDP framework. The first tier would build on the existing civil–military planning headquarters in Brussels. It would be composed of strategic planners, with a capacity for analysis of intelligence and information, and a civil–military crisis management centre, with a capacity for assessing what military and civil capabilities, both European and local, are needed in a particular crisis situation. The bottom-up principle is critical to the success of missions. Procedures and institutions are needed that allow for consultations and discussions with the local population so as to increase the efficiency of the mission. The newly created External Action Service, together with EU monitoring missions, could play an important role in offering the framework for institutionalised consultation. Both would have close communication with the permanent headquarters so as to maintain the flow of information and understanding about different areas of insecurity. In addition to the permanent staff, the headquarters would be able to call upon observers/monitors/special representatives who could be sent to particular regions in advance of any deployment in response to early warning signals given by EU monitors or representatives on the ground as well as civil society and other key local actors. It also needs access to what we describe as ‘deployment enablers’ – people able to mobilise capabilities such as strategic communications, air lift and other forms of transport. The second tier would consist of 5000 personnel at a high level of readiness able to deploy within days. They would include civil–military teams and a deployable command and control headquarters. They would be on permanent standby constantly training and exercising together and

348 The Barcelona Report ‘breathing human security’. They would be able, at short notice, to deploy ‘Human Security Task Forces’. The third tier would consist of the remaining 10,000 personnel, who would be at a lower level of readiness but nevertheless could be called on for deployment and who would periodically train and exercise together. The personnel of the entire Human Security Response Force would be drawn from three sources. Military personnel could be drawn from the 60,000 troops made available under the Headline Goal, agreed in Helsinki in December 2001, for a European Rapid Reaction Force, as well as from forces who straddle the military/police divide, such as gendarmerie, guardia civil and carabinieri. The civilian component would include police, legal specialists, human rights monitors, tax and customs officers, humanitarian aid workers, doctors and medical personnel etc. They would be drawn from civilian capabilities made available by member states, under the civilian Headline Goals, including police forces and pools of civilian specialists, already on the Commission’s expert roster. Both the second and third tiers of personnel would be normally based at their home garrisons or in civilian employment but would be on standby for deployment, with varying degrees of time spent on joint training and exercises. It is harder for civilians to take leave from their positions at short notice, so the EU could subsidise small cadres who are earmarked for foreign service and receive special training, but who serve in their domestic capacity when not deployed or exercising. A particular effort should be made to attract women in all roles, including senior positions, in order to redress the usual gender imbalance in deployments. Thirdly, while the force should have a professional core, it should also have a voluntary element to contribute to the human security task forces. This ‘Human Security Volunteer Service’ should comprise two elements: mid-career or post-career professionals with skills to offer; and schoolleavers and students who would be used for less challenging missions. This combines the proposals made by the European Parliament for a Civil Peace Corps (the first element) and the Humanitarian Volunteer Aid Service included in the Constitution (the second element). The envisaged scheme would be rigorous, with a two-year time commitment. This would be similar to the current use of reserves for operations. The Human Security Response Force should be multinational with national military building blocks not below battalion level. There must be clear political authority both in Brussels and at the operational level. Directly below the overall commander, chosen for his or her political skills, would be a tactical commander, who could be either military or police or humanitarian, depending on the nature of the mission. Equipment A human security force relies primarily on smart manpower rather than high-tech gadgetry. However, it will need a European capacity to produce

A human security doctrine for Europe 349 two basic types of equipment, for both military and civilian use. The first is ICT equipment, relating to observation, information-gathering and telecommunications, which needs to be able to operate autonomously. Secondly, there is matériel equipment, particularly transport. A deployable headquarters, a command and control system, aircraft carriers and other transportation equipment should be dedicated to the EU force. Equipment needs to be cost-effective and easy to deploy. To reduce costs and increase flexibility, where possible, equipment like planes, trucks, jeeps and helicopters, as well as communications systems, for example mobile phones, should be usable in a range of tasks and have both civilian and military components. They need to be compatible and interoperable both among member states and between civilian and military. Training, culture and ethos Perhaps the most important challenge is the considerable cultural shift both for the military and civilians. The new type of human security officer will be highly skilled and flexible about the kinds of tasks that need to be carried out. The new units will have to develop a common ethos, which will require the following elements: • •

• •

putting individual human beings, whoever they might be, above nation or homeland maintaining the military spirit of sacrifice, heroism, discipline and excellence but combining it with the civilian spirit of listening, individual responsibility, empathy and enabling others respect for and knowledge of law, in particular human rights and humanitarian law and general principles of criminal law awareness of gender dimensions of conflict and intervention

This shift is best achieved through training and joint exercises. Already, the EU’s pilot civilian training has established a network of national training centres within which different institutions specialise in different areas; for example, the Swedish programme is specialising in training for the rule of law. This has the disadvantage of developing national specialisms but it also encourages individual member states to make commitments and avoids unnecessary duplication. The training schemes should be open to all nationalities belonging to the force. All members of the human security force should have some experience of working together. Relations with NGOs and private corporations NGOs could be registered as part of the Human Security Volunteer Service, along with individuals. The Service could provide a framework for contracts with NGOs that would involve vetting to ensure that they were

350 The Barcelona Report reliable and effective. These contracts would entitle them to participate in training and exercises, as well as being deployed as part of a wider force. For private corporations, there could be a registration procedure and tenders for certain non-military tasks such as logistics or communications, but they should not form an integral part of the force. 4.2 A legal framework The capacity of the EU to act a ‘norms-promoter’, operating within international law, furthering international law and using legal instruments to enhance security, is hindered by the absence of a single and coherent body of international law governing foreign deployments. Rules are ambiguous and subject to controversy both with respect to the legality of deployments per se, and the legal regimes that govern deployed personnel, military and civilian, and locals, in a conflict area. While the tangle of concurrent jurisdictional regimes cannot be resolved in one fell swoop, the EU should tackle these deficits in the international legal system and encourage the development of global rules. In the meantime, the EU can contribute to greater legal clarity by devising its own legal framework governing its foreign missions generally. Such a framework should concern both decisions to intervene and the rules that apply in situations where troops are deployed. In cases where the EU has a more profound involvement, it can be supplemented by a more detailed charter of rules, to be developed in consultation with the local population. In some cases, personnel will be deployed with the permission of or even at the request of the state in question. In other cases, there may be no such permission, or there may no longer be a functioning government that might give permission. The UN Security Council has authorised interventions in cases that are considered to constitute a ‘threat to the peace, breach of the peace, or act of aggression’. Since the end of the Cold War, it has regularly characterised situations of massive human rights violations in these terms, and has authorised interventions on this basis in northern Iraq, Somalia, Bosnia, Liberia and Sierra Leone. However, since the Kosovo war there has also been a debate on whether there should be an opening for humanitarian intervention not based on a Security Council Resolution. Various international commissions have attempted to formulate criteria for such interventions. Many other experts, however, continue to be of the opinion that any deviation from the Security Council framework would open the floodgates to unilateral action with dubious motives. If there is to be any complement at all to the Security Council route, it should be very narrow and unambiguous. Most states tend to claim that the wars they wage are ‘just’. If the European Union were to decide to open the way to intervention without Security Council authorisation, then a legal framework should include the criteria and legal basis for such interventions.

A human security doctrine for Europe 351 As concerns the personnel who are deployed on foreign missions and the local populations affected by such missions, the legal framework could build on the domestic law of the host state, the domestic law of the member states and the rules of engagement, international criminal law, human rights law, and international humanitarian law. The framework would need to encompass the following issues: •

•

First of all, deployed personnel should be subject to the domestic law of the host state, just like the local population. This is in line with most domestic legal systems, and with the principle that ‘internationals’ should not be treated differently from nationals. Some EU member states may need to adjust their legal provisions in order to accept the jurisdiction of the host state over deployed personnel. However, in situations of severe insecurity – failed states and/or authoritarian states – the rule of law may have partially or completely broken down or domestic law may conflict with international law. The legal framework needs to offer guidance about what to do in such situations: whether and how EU personnel can be involved in enforcing laws they are not familiar with; whether certain parts of domestic law can be set aside, and if so, on what legal authority; and whether and how international human rights law or international criminal law could be applied where domestic law is inadequate or inappropriate. A deployment of legal specialists may sometimes be necessary to assess these issues, in consultation with local legal professionals and guided by the framework. Second, the legal framework needs to address differences in member states’ domestic law that could lead to unequal treatment of deployed personnel. When a multinational Human Security Force is deployed, each member is subject to his or her own domestic rules, particularly criminal law. This creates legal confusion both for deployed personnel and the locals dealing with them. One possibility might be to develop a common criminal code that would apply only to personnel on foreign missions, based on common principles of EU criminal codes. A better solution in the short term, which the EU is already taking steps to develop, is detailed common rules of engagement. These should cover both military and civilian personnel. A human rights-oriented, bottom-up approach would require that the rules of engagement are public, and are translated into local languages, so that the local population is aware of them. Specific attention should be paid in the rules of engagement to the gender dimensions of deployment: the presence of large numbers of unattached men creates physical security concerns for women, especially when the men have comparatively large amounts of money available, and can offer forms of employment. As seen in Cambodia, Bosnia, Somalia and elsewhere their presence creates the potential for increased pros-

352 The Barcelona Report

•

•

titution, sexual violence and connivance or even participation in trafficking. There should be a clear sexual code of conduct for deployed personnel. Third, an EU legal framework should bring clarity to possible conflicts between different forms of international law, particularly between human rights and humanitarian law. International humanitarian law regulates actions that would be illegal outside conflict, such as killing of enemy combatants and destruction of enemy property. It is much more detailed than human rights law, but at the same time it is in some ways outmoded, for instance because distinctions between ‘inter-state conflict’, ‘internal conflict’ and ‘peace time’ and between ‘combatants’ and ‘civilians’ are now often blurred. It would be consistent with the ‘primacy of human rights’ principle for the EU to give precedence to human rights when the two conflict. The legal framework should also fully reflect international conventional law on weapons. Fourth, the legal framework should spell out complaints procedures open to local citizens in conflict areas as well as to deployed personnel. This point will be revisited in section 5.2 of this report.

5 Institutional embedding and resourcing The Constitution, agreed in Dublin in June 2004, has made a significant innovation with the new institution of a Foreign Minister, merging the posts of High Representative for Common Foreign and Security Policy and External Relations Commissioner. The Foreign Minister will have the right of initiative in CFSP, and be in charge of an integrated European External Action Service composed of officials from the relevant departments of the General Secretariat of the Council of Ministers and of the Commission, and staff seconded from national diplomatic services. The new Foreign Minister’s cabinet is therefore the natural home for the Human Security Response Force. The Council’s Military Committee and Military Staff, CIVCOM, and the Commission’s Conflict Prevention and Crisis Management Unit (CPCMU) can all be merged into the new civil–military planning unit, located under the Foreign Minister. The Foreign Minister will answer to the European Council and the Council of Ministers. He will continue to be advised by the Political Security Committee and the EU Military Committee. He will also be responsible for coordination of policies with other relevant EU institutions, such as, in particular, EuropeAid and ECHO. These institutional reforms should greatly improve the coherence and coordination of EU missions. Further measures are needed to improve democratic control by the European public and accountability to local populations, and to guarantee sustainable and appropriate methods of financing.

A human security doctrine for Europe 353 5.1 Democratic control In the area of European security policy, the well-known ‘democratic deficit’ is aggravated by a lack of transparency and a ‘double deficit’ in parliamentary scrutiny. The lack of transparency results primarily from the tradition of secrecy within the security sector where the flow of information is often hampered by restrictive classification and confidentiality procedures. The problem is exacerbated by the blurring of responsibilities among the various actors and institutions operating within European security policy. Parliamentary scrutiny of European security policy is extremely weak. As the core of European security policy is intergovernmental, the primary role of parliamentary scrutiny belongs to the 25 national parliaments of the Member States. In theory, national parliaments can hold their government to account for decisions reached in the European Council or Council of Ministers – if they are taken by unanimity. In practice, however, effective oversight is difficult to realise due to weak and uneven scrutiny practices and control rights in the different Member States. Furthermore, national parliaments still rely on the information provided by their own executives. There are no formal mechanisms in European security policy for informing national parliaments about other Member States’ positions or to receive reports directly from the European Union. Scrutiny by the European Parliament (EP) is mostly limited to the integrated security activities of the EC framework. The EP does have a say in the CFSP budget, but, as all expenditures arising from operations with military or defence implications are charged to the Member States, its budgetary authority is very limited. In all other CFSP aspects the EP only has the right to be kept informed on current policy developments. While in the medium-term a fully satisfactory institutional solution to the democratic deficit is not in sight, a number of measures could be considered, that might help bridge the accountability gap in European security policy, such as: • • •

•

increasing public access to relevant documents and obliging the Council to transmit all ESDP documents to national parliaments enhancing and standardising the power of Member States’ parliaments in the authorisation of EU security operations strengthening inter-parliamentary cooperation by institutionalising regular meetings of the national Parliamentary Defence Committees (or their chairs) or by producing a joint parliamentary report on European security policy giving the EP greater authority in scrutinising the CFSP budget

354 The Barcelona Report 5.2 Bottom-up accountability EU missions at present tend to be top-down – they focus on relations with states. Bottom-up effectiveness and legitimacy need to be embedded in the institutional framework of European security policy. First, EU missions should explain and consult the local population about the goals and methods of the missions through political communication and debate. There need to be inbuilt mechanisms such as regular public hearings and broadcasts or the appointment of local liaison officers to ensure this takes place. It is critical that local information, perspectives, ideas and proposals are transmitted upwards to those responsible for directing the mission. Secondly, the legal framework governing missions in general and the common rules of engagement must be publicly available. In cases where personnel are investigated and prosecuted for misconduct during the mission, the relevant local population must be kept informed of, and where appropriate, participate in, the ongoing proceedings. Thirdly, there need to be complaints procedures. Under international law, there are several avenues open to citizens in regions where missions are deployed to complain about possible human rights violating behaviour by deployed EU personnel. An optional protocol to the International Covenant on Criminal and Political Rights (ICCPR), ratified by all EU member states except the United Kingdom, allows individuals to complain about violation of the rights in this treaty. Along the same lines, the jurisdiction of the European Convention of Human Rights (ECHR) may be extended to the behaviour of EU personnel outside the Union, allowing non-EU citizens to complain in Strasbourg about possible human rights violations by EU personnel. In both cases, the EU could voluntarily extend jurisdiction via a legal framework or legal charter. But there should also be more immediate forms of redress in the event of misconduct by deployed personnel. One way to do this is through the appointment of a human security ombudsperson attached to each mission. The ombudsman concept is very familiar in the European Union, and several member states have experience with a specialised ombudsperson for the security sector. The mission ombudsperson would be responsible for investigating complaints by local citizens as well as EU personnel regarding abuses or offences committed by the Human Security Response Force. He or she would be appointed by the European Parliament and report regularly to the Parliament, and possibly also to national parliaments, either by request or if the alleged case relates to a specific national security force. He or she could further operate as a ‘legal information point’, informing the local population of their rights and duties and of the legal provisions in place during the operation. Finally, each mission should be accompanied and followed by policy evaluation, and in particular impact assessment, from a local perspective.

A human security doctrine for Europe 355 In development cooperation, regular and thorough evaluation of the impact of policies and instruments has become the order of the day. But there is less evaluation concerning crisis management policies and their military and civilian instruments, and when it is carried out, it takes less account of local perspectives. In-depth study of the impact of European security policy is not only essential for enhancing bottom-up effectiveness and responsiveness, but also for institutionalising a process of policylearning within the European Union. Impact assessment should not just take place internally: after each mission, an independent commission should be tasked with a public evaluation. 5.3 Financing Europeans have to be willing to invest in human security if they want security for themselves. The military component of the Human Security Response Force can probably be financed by reallocating existing procurement spending from traditional military equipment such as heavy tanks, artillery and surface ships to the smart manpower and equipment needed by the Human Security Response Force and by making savings by liberalising, standardising, and consolidating European procurement procedures. This is already happening in several European countries. Additional resources will be required to enhance Brussels-based capacities, civilian capabilities, and training and common exercises. It would be in the interest of coherence and integration if the Human Security Response Force, both as a standing force and in deployments, were to be financed out of the EU’s common budget under the CFSP. The Constitution, following earlier treaties, explicitly excludes military spending, including on deployments, from the common budget. This provision, which does not apply to civilian deployment, is an obstacle to the eventual formation of an integrated force, and should in the long run be amended. In the short term, deployment of the Human Security Response Force can operate under the 2002 compromise, which provides that costs such as headquarters (transport, administration, common public information) and shared services (medical costs, additional equipment and infrastructures) are common, and that certain other costs, such as transportation of forces, barracks, and lodging of forces, will be decided upon by the Council on a case-by-case basis, at the launch of any operation. Civilian deployment should be commonly financed insofar as it concerns core staff and members of the volunteer service scheme. Deployment from the national special teams should still be financed nationally, in parallel to military deployment. Otherwise, those states that deploy mostly military troops would be disadvantaged vis-à-vis those that send civilians.

356 The Barcelona Report

6 Conclusion In the past, conventional thinking about security focused on strategic assets like oil, and strategic threats like the possession of weapons of mass destruction by enemy states. The security of the lives of human beings outside our own borders was conceived as an ethical issue, in the realm of human rights or development cooperation, but without relevance to the security of Europeans. This report has sought to argue that human security is vitally connected to the security of Europeans, and that the European Union therefore has a critical interest in developing capabilities to make a contribution to global human security. The proposals seek to improve Europe’s capacity for external personnel deployment. Based on studies of a number of conflict areas, i.e. ‘the world as it is’, it has made a number of recommendations to optimise the use of missions. While this includes preventive and reconstruction missions, the report does not cover common foreign and security policy as a whole. The report has posited a ‘human security doctrine’ for Europe, starting with seven principles that should inform European security policy from the level of politicians to the level of common soldiers, police and aidworkers. It has described the contours of a civil–military ‘Human Security Response Force’ that would be equipped to act to protect and improve human security according to these principles. The proposed force does not seek to replace current national forces and multilateral structures. It constitutes an urgently needed addition, which the European Union is particularly well-suited to provide. In accordance with its conception that law, sometimes backed by the use of force, is a key instrument for the European Union, it has recommended a legal framework for deployments. Finally, it has considered some of the financial and institutional implications of a human security doctrine for Europe. Since September 11 and the war in Iraq, there has been a fundamental rethinking of the nature of security. Security has re-emerged as an urgent concern for Europeans, but it cannot be provided by hiding under nuclear umbrellas. There is an open door for discussing proposals like this in Europe right now. At the individual level of citizens, a conviction is growing that Europe may have an independent role to play in global security, and support for proposals like the Rapid Reaction Force is strong. At the institutional level too, the European Union is, for the first time, considering a global security role. The most appropriate role for Europe in the twenty-first century would be to promote human security.

Index

11 September attacks 6, 23–4, 149, 156, 178, 328, 329 Abidjan agreement 97, 99, 106, 108 Abkhazia 131–4, 136, 139 Abu Gahraib 268 accountability 191–2, 314–15, 322–3, 354–5 Adjaria 130–1, 132 Advisory Council on International Affairs 9 aerial bombardment 294 Afghanistan 346 Africa, regional interventions 184 African Union (AU) 34, 89, 184, 185 Al-Aqsa Intifada (2000) 151, 152 Al-Qaeda 113, 149, 160, 329 Al-Qassam Brigades 152, 153 Albania 236 Albanians, Macedonia 51–3, 54, 60 Albright, Madeleine 148 Aliyev, Heidar 123, 127, 140 Allawi, Iyad 164 American Joint Vision 2020 256 Amin, Idi 83 Amnesty International 77, 97, 105 Amsterdam Treaty (1997) 295, 306, 317, 332 Angola 75 Annan, Kofi 108, 192 anticipatory self-defence 181 Arafat, Yasser 152, 153, 154, 159 Armed Forces Revolutionary Council (AFRC) 94, 98, 99, 100, 101, 104, 110–11 Armenia 122–4, 130, 137–8, 141; military 124–7 arms control 32–3 Arusha peace agreement 85

Ashdown, Paddy 271, 282 assessment missions 283 Assistance Mission for Rwanda (UNAMIR), UN 80–1 Athina 302 Atlanticists 218–22 Austria 218 authoritarian regimes 149, 150, 152, 167, 337–8, 339 authority, levels of 26–8 Azerbaijan 122–4, 130, 137–8; secret services 127–9 Ba-athists 160, 162, 163 Bakavu crisis 78–9 Balkans 43, 279, 281–2, 341, 343; mothers movements 207; post-war 44–6, 48–50; public order 266–7; women in 203–4 Bankovic v. Belgium 189, 191 Barak, Ehud 153, 155 Barnier report 297 Bat Shalom 205 battle groups 253, 335 Berlin Plus arrangements 57 ‘Bloody Sunday’ 235 Bosnia 258, 302–3 bottom-up approach: accountability 354–5; European security 312–15, 322–3, 328, 341–2, 346; monopoly of violence 27; security policy 13 Brahimi report (2000) 33, 272 Brcko 266 Bremer, Paul 162, 165–6 British Army 234–5, 236, 237 British Special Forces (SAS) 235 Brouhns, Alexis 282 Burkina Faso 100, 101, 102 Burundi 72, 74, 79, 84–6

358 Index Bush administration 291 Camp David 152, 153–4 capabilities: CEE 222–6, Europe 249–54, 258, 269–76, 277–84, 299–301, 333–4, 345–52 Caplan, Richard 268 Central and Eastern Europe 204, 226–9; as Europeanists/Atlanticists 218–22; memory 216–18; military 222–5; non–military crisis management 225–6 Chirac, Jacques 218, 233 Citizens Advisory Groups (CAGs), Macedonia 61–2 civic: activists 58–60; initiatives 166–7 civil: administration specialists 274; coordination 240–1; protection 270–1; sector as security actor 57–64, 65 civil–civil coordination 280–4 civil–military: coordination 277–80; integration 346–7; operations 165–6; teams 347–8 civilian: crisis management 264–5, 269–76; infrastructure, Palestine 151–2; perceptions of military 346; technologies 295 civilian capabilities 271–5; building through coordination 277–84; crisis origins of 266–9 civilians, primacy of 12–13 classic military interventions/ peacekeeping 332–3 Clinton administration 102, 108, 153 coalition forces, Iraq 161–3, 164 Coalition of Women for Peace, Israel 205 Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA) 162, 165–6 Codes of Conduct 191 coherence, bottom-up approach 313, 322 Cold War 148, 149, 215–16, 217, 249–51, 311 collateral utility 294–5 colonial: responsibilities 251; rule, Burundi 85 command systems 280, 301, 339, 347–8 Commission on Human Security 6, 7, 8, 13 Committee for Civilian Crisis Management (CIVCOM), EC 269, 276, 281, 318, 352

Common African Security and Defence Policy (CASDP) 89 Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP) 15, 54, 220, 228, 275, 281, 315, 316, 317, 319, 321, 341, 352, 353, 355 Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) 132 Community Assistance for Reconstruction, Development and Stabilisation (CARDS), EU 55 Compaore, Blaise 101, 102, 103 compatibility, military equipment 295–6 complementarity principle 192 Conciliation Resources 139 Concordia 48, 56–7, 61 Conflict Prevention and Crisis Management Unit (CPCMU), EC 318, 352 conflict prevention: EU potential for 283–4; legal frameworks 177–8 conflicts: phases 337; root causes 30; as source of insecurity 129–38 ‘conflictology’ 139 Congolese Rally for Democracy (RCD) 78 conscription 250–1 consultation 61, 341–2, 354 containment 148 Conteh, Lansana 94 Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (1948) 182 Cook, Robin 101 coordination: Macedonia 55–6; military 240–1, 277–84, 340–1; Sierra Leone 110–11 Corrigan, Mairead 201–2 Council of Europe (COE) 129, 142, 209–10 Council on Peace and Security, Israel 159 counter-insurgency 233–4, 236, 237–8, 240–1, 338 credibility, EU 56–7 criminal: law 351; networks, Macedonia 48–50, 51, 53 crisis management, EU 266–9, 269–76 culture of military 254–5, 349 customary international law 174, 176, 182 Cyprus v. Turkey 189 Czech Republic 216–17, 219, 221, 222, 223, 224, 226, 255–6

Index 359 Dayton Peace Accords 185, 186, 343 De Beers 113 defence: spending 295, 297–9, 301–8, 355; under-investment in 253 demilitarization 31–2 demobilization, Rwanda 82–3 democratic: control 314, 319–20, 322, 353; legitimacy 320 Democratic Republic of Congo 34, 71, 74, 75–9, 89 democratization 29; Macedonia 58; Middle East 149–50, 159, 167–8 Denmark 252 Department for International Development (DFID), UK 98 deployability 294, 300 deployment 249–54 development: Macedonia 62, 63–4; programmes 209 diamond trade, Sierra Leone 113–14 ‘differentiation strategy’ 257 disarmament, demobilization and reintegration (DDR) 77, 88–9, 94, 99, 101, 103, 110, 114 displaced persons 135–6, 137–8, 139, 141, 143, 329–30 donor agencies 60 ‘double-hatting’ 251–2 dual use equipment 294–5 East Timor 267, 268–9 Eastern Europe see Central and Eastern Europe economic: globalisation 20–1; policies 28–30; reconstruction 29–30; sanctions 178 Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) 34, 98, 100, 103–4, 111, 184 Economic Community of West African States Cease-Fire Monitoring Group (ECOMOG) 94, 95, 98, 99, 100, 102, 103, 104–6, 109, 111, 112, 114–15 Emergency Brigades, Iraq 163 enforcement of human security 332–4 ‘enlightened self-interest’ 10, 331–2 equipment capabilities 255–6, 275–6, 285, 292–6, 303–4, 348–9 Estonia 217, 221, 222, 224 ethnic elites, Macedonia 54 ethnic insecurity, Macedonia 48–53, 58 ethnic violence, DRC 79 ethos 349 Eurofighter project 256

Europe: crisis management experience 266–9; military 249–59; regional intervention principles 184; security policy 10–14; security threats 148–51; as superpower 16; view of security 3–4 EuropeAid 352 European Agency for Reconstruction (EAR) 54, 55 European Capability Action Plan (ECAP) 299–300 European Commission 317–19; CARD programme 280–1; CPCMU 318, 352 ECHO 199, 352 European Constitution 9, 15, 331, 352, 355 European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms (ECHR) 188–90, 354 European Council 270, 316, 317–20, 321, 323; CIVCOM 269, 276, 281, 318, 352; COREPER 317, 318; Headline Goals 225–6, 251, 252, 253–4, 266, 272, 284, 299, 300, 335, 348 European Court of Human Rights (ECHR) 11, 190, 191–2 European Parliament 209–10, 308, 316, 319, 320–1, 322, 348, 353 European Rapid Reaction Force 299, 303–4 European Security and Defence College 279–80 European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP) 15, 43, 55, 220, 225, 228, 264, 271, 274, 276, 277, 278, 280, 284, 335, 347, 353 European Security Strategy (ESS) 15, 167, 257, 258, 260, 264, 265, 320, 323, 328, 336–7; context 232–5; principles 235–42 European Union: accession countries 219–20, 226–8; CARDS 55; civilian crisis management capabilities 269–76; ‘convergence pact’ 297, 299; Crisis Development Committee 281; DG Development 318; distinctive nature of 14–17; in DRC 77–8; EUMC 317–18, 276, 279, 281, 283, 335; EUMM 54, 55, 56; EUPM 265, 270, 271, 272, 273, 275; EUSR 54, 280, 282; in Great Lakes region 86–90; Heads of Missions 281–2;

360 Index European Union continued human security 8–10, 142–4, 329–36; Human Security Response Force; 345–50; Intergovernmental Conference (IGC) 274; legal frameworks 185; and Macedonian conflict 47–53, 54–7; Political and Security Committee (PSC) 276, 317–18; in post-war Balkans 44–6; PPEWU 317; Programme for the Prevention of sanctions 179–80; security policy 4; Strategic Partnership 149–50; structural funds 210 European: Human Security Response Force 345–50; identity 16–17; integration 43, 46, 48, 54, 59–60, 320–2, 334–5; Middle East policy 157; monitoring missions 241; security doctrine, principles for 336–45 Europeanists 218–22 Executive Outcomes 106–7 expulsions, Uganda 83 Falluja Brigade 163 feminism 202 Finland 322 Focus on Sierra Leone 97 force: level 190–1, 291–2; structure 156–7; use 180–4, 338, 344–5 foreign: occupation 189–90; policy analysis 14 Four Mothers Movement, Israel 205–6 France 102, 297, 319 Front Libération du Congo (FNLC) 75 G8 149–50 Gali region, Abkhazia 133–4, 140 Galileo space programme 307 Gaza Strip 154–5, 158–9 gender: balance in politics 209; behavioural patterns 202; dimensions, international law 192–3, 351–2; justice 81–2, 88; mainstreaming 210–13 Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control of Armed Forces (DCAF) 211–12 Geneva Conventions 138, 173, 186, 190 Geneva initiatives 160 genocide: in law 182; Rwanda 80–1 Georgia 122–4, 130, 131–6 Germany 216, 217, 218, 219, 250, 251, 296, 297, 322

global: context 4–6, 329–30; economic changes 20–1; governance 35 globalisation, effects of 22–3 Good Friday Agreement 235 government: Israel 153–4; Palestine 151–3 government forces, Sierra Leone 96–100 Great Lakes region 71–2: regional overview 72–4; security policy 86–90 grievance resolution 61–2 Guinea 94–5, 110 Gul v. Turkey 191 Gulf wars 187 Gullidzjinski, Teymur 129 Habyarimana, Juvenal 80 Hague Convention (1907) 186, 190 Hamas 152–3, 156, 158, 159–60 harmlessness, military equipment 293–4 Headline Goals, EC 225–6, 251, 252, 253–4, 266, 272, 284, 299, 300, 335, 348 ‘hearts and minds’ approach 338 Heereweghe, Maj.-Gen. Jean-Pierre 252 Heinrich Böll Foundation 200 Hirsch, John 108 historic responsibilities/ties 334 history, Central and Eastern Europe 215–18 HIV/AIDS 72, 81, 86, 87, 88 Hubert, Agnes 210 Human Rights Watch 77, 100, 105, 112–13 human rights: abuses, Iraq 166; law 187–93; primacy of 236–7, 337–8; protection of 331 human security 6–8; EU 8–10, 42–4, 329–36; South Caucasus 138–42 Human Security Response Force, Europe 345–50 Humanitarian Aid Organization (ECHO), EU 199, 352 humanitarian interventions 231–2, 233–5, 241, 333 Hungary 216–17, 219, 221, 222, 223, 224, 225, 226 Hussein, Saddam 148, 149, 160, 168, 236, 267 Husseinov, Surat 127–9 Hutus 74, 79, 80, 238 impact assessments 354–5

Index 361 Independent International Commission on Kosovo 9 industrial policy 306–7 information: processing 241–2; technology (ICT) 292–3, 349 insecurity 327–8; conflicts as source of 129–38; DRC 72; failing states as source of 122–9; Iraq 163–4; Macedonia 50–3 institution-building 13 institutional: embedding/resourcing 352–5; framework of European security policy 315–20; principles of bottom-up approach 312–15; reform 64–5 integrated capabilities/tasks 345–7 intelligence 241–2, 342 Inter-Conflict Prevention 139 inter-governmental agencies 195 interconnected security 148–51 Interim Iraqi Government 162, 163–4, 186 International Alert 106 International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (ICISS) 9, 182 International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) 111 International Court of Justice (ICJ) 150, 176, 181, 188, 189, 190 International Covenant of Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) 188, 190, 191, 192, 354 International Criminal Court (ICC) 7, 12–13, 88, 173, 174, 219, 330–1, 338 International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR) 82, 88 International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) 44, 204, 338 International Human Rights Law Group 208 international law: commitment to 11; complaints procedures 354; forms of 352; framework 173–5; interventions and post-conflict 185–93; of peace 193–6 International Military Advisory Training Team (IMATT) 112 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 98, 106 international role, Israel–Palestine conflict 156–8 international: donors 114; engagement,

Sierra Leone war 96–100; financial institutions 195; humanitarian law 175, 187–93, 234, 237; legitimacy 314, 320; level monopoly of force 30–1; obligations 195; organisations 44, 340; peace, principles for 24–5; postconflict administration 267–9; war crimes 7 internationalisation of armed forces 23 intervention: legal bases 175–85; legal regimes 185–93; proportionality 14 Iran 148, 149 Iran–Iraq war 176 Iraq 148, 149, 150–1, 156–7, 168–9, 223–4, 227, 236, 267, 346; civic initiatives 166–7; legitimacy deficit 163–4; security needs 160–2; security providers 162–3; state-building 165–6 Iraqi Civil Defence Corps (ICDC) 162 Iraqi National Congress 162 Irish Republican Army (IRA) 235 Islam 160, 168 Islamic Party, Iraq 164 Israel 148–9 Israel–Palestine conflict 150, 151–60, 168 Israeli peace movement 205 Jerusalem Centre for Women 205 Jerusalem Link, The 205 Jihadist organisations 160–1 Joint Initiative on the Fight against Sexual Violence towards Women and Children 77 judiciary 272, 273, 274 ‘just war’ concept 9, 182 justice, women in search of 206–8 Kabbah, Tejan 93–4, 95, 97, 106, 111, 112 Kabila, Joseph 77 Kabila, Laurent-Désiré 76, 79, 83 Kagera 83 Karashvili, Julia 135–6 KGB 127–9 Khaindrava, Georgi 131 Khobe, Mitikishe Maxwell 105 Kmara 131 Kocharian, Robert 140 Kosovo 49, 51, 53, 176, 187, 189, 223, 236, 259, 260, 266, 267, 268, 269, 303, 343 Kosovo Force (KFOR) 279 Kosovo Liberation Army 51, 56

362 Index Kouchner, Bernard 266 Kurdish Peshmarga 163 Kurds 236 Kuwait 189–90 Labour Party, Israel 159 Latvia 217, 222, 224 law, rule of 270–2, 274 law-enforcement operations 234, 343–4 League of Nations 183, 216 legal: bases for intervention 175–85, 237–8; case, human security 8–9; environment, Iraq 166; frameworks 350–2; instruments, use of 343–4 Legg Report 107 legitimacy: deficit 163–4, 167; in law 182, 314 less-then-lethal weapons 294 lethal force 191 Liberia 93, 94, 95, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104, 109, 112 Likud 158, 159 Lithuania 217, 220, 222, 224 local: intelligence 241, 342; law 344, 351; level monopoly of force 30–1 logistics capabilities 275–6, 285, 300 Loizidou v. Turkey 189 Lomé Agreement (1999) 99, 101, 106, 109 Lord’s Resistance Army 74, 84 Macedonia 236; civil sector 57–64; conflict 47–53; EU presence in 54–7 Madrid Conference (1991) 157 Mamedov, Polad 128–9 Mandela, Nelson 85, 86, 88 marginalisation 22 McCann v. UK 100 Middle East 167–9; peace movement 204–6; security 148–51 Military Aid to the Civil Power 237 Military Committee (EUMC), EU 317–18 276, 279, 281, 283, 335 military: Armenia 124–7; burdensharing 301–8; CEE 222–5; ‘civilianization’ 243; coordination 240–1; culture 254–5; importance of 257–9; policies 28–30; power 5, 330; response, appropriateness of 238–9; size 249–54, 259; tactics 338; transformation 255–7; victories 339 Minsk Process 140–1 ‘mission creep’ 243

Mission in Kosovo (UNMIK), UN 268, 270 Mission in Sierra Leone (UNAMSIL), UN 101, 112–13 Mission in the Democratic Republic of Congo (MONUC) 78, 87, 89 Mitrovica 266 mobility of military 300 Monitoring Mission (EUMM) 54, 55, 56 Montenegro 50 moral case, human security 8 mothers movements, Balkans 207 Mothers of Plaza de Mayo, Argentina 207–8 multi-ethnic spaces, creation of 63 multi-level public monopoly of violence 25–8 multilateral organisations 12 multilateralism 11–12, 314, 320, 340–1 Multi-National Stand-By High Readiness Brigade for United Nations Operations (SHIRBRIG) 252 Multinational Specialised Units (MSUs) 266–7, 279 Nagorno Karabakh 123, 124, 127, 130–1, 136–8, 140–1 nation-building 24–5, 282–3, 333, 342 nation-states: monopoly of violence in 24–5; role of 21–4 National Council for Defence of Democracy (FDD-CNDD), Burundi 85 National Liberation Forces (FNL), Burundi 85 National Provisional Ruling Council (NPRC), Sierra Leone 96–7, 100 National Resistance Movement (NRM), Uganda 83–4 National Security Council of Georgia 139 National Union Party, Israel 159 national: laws 193; level monopoly of force 31–3 NATO: KFOR 279; in Kosovo 44, 51, 189, 221, 236l membership 218–19, 220, 224–5; Partnership for Peace (PfP) 57, 127; Reaction Force (NRF) 252; role 227–8; SFOR 240, 265, 266, 279, 335 Naumann, General Klaus 253 Nazism 217 ‘negative peace’ 258

Index 363 negotiators: diversification of 212; Israel–Palestine conflict 158–60 Netherlands 260 new security: agenda 208–13: paradigm 206–8 ‘new’ wars 6, 12, 20–4, 233, 234–5, 342–3 NGOs 195, 203, 204, 349–50; Macedonia 58, 59, 65; Sierra Leone 106–7 Nicaragua 176 Nigeria 104, 105–6 Nobel Peace Prize 201, 206 non-governments organisations see NGOs non-military: crisis management, CCE 225–6; tasks 242–3 non-toxicity, military equipment 293–4 non-traditional tasks 279 ‘normalization, Northern Ireland 235 Noroit mission 80 North Atlantic Treaty 181–2 Northern Ireland 201–2, 234–5, 237, 238–9 Nyerere, Julius 83, 85 Obote, Milton 80 Observer Mission in Georgia (UNOMIG), 140 Observer Mission in Sierra Leone (UNOMSIL) 108–10, 111, 238 Office of the Special Representative (EUSR) 54, 280, 282 Ohrid peace agreement 47, 51, 52, 53, 60 Oil Platforms case 176 Okello, Tito 80 ombudsman concept 354 Opande, Daniel 110 operability, military equipment 295–6 Operation Amaryllis 81 Operation Artemis 71, 77–8, 87, 265, 283, 303, 335–6 Operation Concordia 265, 335 Operation EUJUST-Themis 335 Operation Proxima 48, 54, 56, 61, 265, 270, 273, 275, 335 Operation Turquoise 75, 81 operational capability 249–54 Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) 56, 58, 140–2, 258 Oslo Accords (1993) 151, 152, 154, 155, 157, 168 out-of-area deployments 252

Palestine 148–9; unilateral separation 154–5 Palestine Authority (PA) 151–3, 154, 156, 157, 159 Palestinian Peace Movement 205 Palestine–Israel conflict 151–60 Palestinian–Israeli People’s Voice 160 pan-European strategic culture 255 paramilitaries, Macedonia 52–3 patriarchal culture 203, 204 Patten, Chris 48 peace: efforts, principles for 24–5; law of 193–6; movements 155–6, 201–6, 305–6; projects 15–16; spoilers 24 peacekeeping: CEE commitment to 221–2; gender-sensitive 215; legal frameworks 177–8; operations 5, 233–4; tools for 44 Penfold, Peter 111 Permanent Representatives Committee (COREPER), EC 317, 318 personnel capabilities 271–5, 285 Petersberg tasks 232, 240, 241, 251, 252, 259, 304, 332 Petrossian, Ter 123 planning capabilities 276 Pochkhua, Marina 135 Poland 216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 223, 224, 226, 319 Police Mission in Bosnia/Herzegovina (EUPM) 265, 270, 271, police: capability 258–9; coordination 240–1; Iraq 163; missions 271–2; operations 269–70, 273; reform, Macedonia 55–6, 61, 62 Policy Planning and Early Warning Unit (PPEWU) 317 political: authority 239–40, 338–40; economy of conflicts 22; legitimacy 313–15; parties, CEE 222; policies 28 politicians 243–4, 339 Portugal 319, 322 post-conflict: administration 267–9; issues, Macedonia 52–3; law 185–93 Potsdam Agreement (1945) 217 pre-emptive self-defence 181 Prinz, Karl 96–7 prisoner abuse 268 private sector 349–50 privatisation of military functions 23, 276, 305–7 procurement, military 256, 305

364 Index professional armed forces 21–2, 23 protected persons 190 Provincial Reconstructions Teams (PRTs) 279–80 public monopoly of violence, policies for 28–36 public multi-level monopoly of violence, levels of 30–6 public order, Balkans 266–7 public pressure 330, 334 qualified majority voting (QMV) 316 Ramcharan, Bertrand 7–8 RAND study 304 reciprocity principle 187 Red Crescent 138 Red Cross 111, 138 Refugee Convention 173 regional organisations 11, 33–5, 340; drafting of peace laws 194; treaties of 174 regional: analysis, security policy 14; approaches, use of force 183–4; dimension, Sierra Leone war 100–3; focus 342–3; forces, Sierra Leona war 103–6; level monopoly of force 33–5; overview, Great Lakes 72–4; security, Balkans 48–50 Relief and Rehabilitation Committee (RRC) 99–100 research and development (R&D) policy 307 resistance movements 207–8 resource 352–5; constraint, military 255–6, 285; financial 290–1, 297–9; pooling of 308; problem of 304; technology 292–6 responsiveness 314–15 Revolutionary United Front (RUF), Sierra Leone 93, 94–5, 96–7, 99, 100–6, 108–13, 238, 345 revolutionary warfare 232–3 Rice, Condoleeza 161 Roadmap 157, 158, 159 Romania 217 Rose Revolution 122, 123–4, 131, 139 Ruberwa, Azarias 79 rules of engagement 351–2, 354 Russia 132, 217, 220, 226 Rwanda 74, 75–6, 79–83, 236, 238, 258, 303 Rwanda Defence Force 83 Rwanda Demobilization and

Reintegration Commission (RDRC) 82–3 Rwanda Patriotic Front (RPF) 74, 80, 81, 82 Rwandese Armed Forces (FAR) 85 Samar, Dr Sima 200 sanctions: EU 179–80; UN 178–9 Sandline 107 Sankoh, Foday 94, 100, 101, 106, 108, 109 Saudi Arabia 329 Schuwirth, General Rainer 255 Schwimmer, Rosika 201 Second World War 215–17, 219 ‘second-generation peacekeeping’ 277 secret services, Azerbaijan 127–9 security needs: Iraq 160–2; Israel/ Palestine 151–4, 158–9 security policy: Europe 10–14, 315–20; Great Lakes region 86–90; reform 320–3; US 291–2 security: activities, Macedonia 60; assessments 61; and development 62; doctrine, principles for 336–45; efforts, principles for 24–5; gap 267; guarantors 63–4; law enforcement approach to 185–93; Middle East 148–51; providers, Iraq 162–3; vacuum, DRC 71–2 self-defence 181–2 self-interest 333–4 Sen, Amartya 7 Serbia 50 sexual: exploitation 112–13; violence 77, 84 Shaba wars 75 shadow economy 22 Shamni, Brigadier General Gadi 154 Sharon, Ariel 152, 153, 154 Shevardnadze, Eduard 122, 123, 124 shoot-to-kill policies 190 Sierra Leone war 93–5, 114–15, 341, 343, 345: British intervention 111–12; causes and functions 95–6; coordination 110–11; diamond trade 113–14; international engagement 96–100; non-government actors 106–7; regional dimension 100–3; regional force 103–6; role of United Nations 107–10; sexual exploitation 112–13 Slovakia 216–17, 222, 223, 224, 226 Slovenia 221, 222, 224

Index 365 Small Wars Manual 232 Smart Procurement 305 Smith, General Rupert 234, 237 SOCAR 122–3 Solana, Javier 266 soldiers, qualities/values of 243 South Africa 88, 89 South Caucasus 121–2; conflicts 129–38; failing states 122–9; human security 138–42, 142–4 South Ossetia 130–1, 132–3, 134–5, 139, 141 Southern African Development Community (SADC) 76, 184 Spain 319 specialised skills 346 Stabilisation and Association Process (SAp), EU 43, 44–6, 47–8, 54, 55–6, 57, 64 Stabilization Force in Bosnia and Herzegovina (SFOR) 240, 265, 266, 279, 335 Stability Pact, EU 46, 57 state: collapse 329–30; corruption, Macedonia 49, 51; failure 122–9; monopoly of violence 20–4; practice 194 state-building, Iraq 165–6 Status of Forces Agreements 186 Statute for an International Criminal Court 7 Stevens, Siaka 95 strategic culture 254–5 Struck, Peter 24 subcontracting coalitions 34 Sudan 72, 74 Sudan People’s Liberation Front 84 suicide attacks 151, 152 Sukhumi, Abkhazia 133 Supplement to An Agenda for Peace, The 183 Supreme Council of the Islamic Revolution in Iraq (SCIRI) 162, 164 survivability 301 sustainability, military 300 Switzerland 252 Taba negotiations 153 targeted sanctions 179–80 Taylor, Charles 93, 94, 95, 100, 101, 102, 103, 114 technology 255–6, 292–6 terrorist attacks, responses to 178–9 terrorists, harbouring 183

top-down approach, security policy 13 traditional state security approaches 5 training 279–80, 349 Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), South Africa 88, 208 Tshisekedi, Etienne 75 Turkey 252, 271 Tutsis 74, 79, 80 Uganda 74, 83–4 UK, intervention in Sierra Leone 111–12 unilateral: countermeasures 179; separation, Palestine 154–5, 158–9; use of force 181–3 Union of the Committees of Soldiers’ Mothers in Russia (UCSMR) 207 United Liberation Movement for Democracy in Liberia (ULIMO) 100 United Nations (UN): Agenda for Peace 29; authorized use of force 180–1; Charter 8–9, 173, 176, 178, 179, 181, 183, 192, 238, 331, 345; Civilian Police Division 272; Department of Humanitarian Affairs (DHA) 111; diamond exportcertification scheme 113; Human Rights Committee 188; Humanitarian Affairs 104; MONUC 78, 87, 89; Office for the Coordination of Peacekeeping 33, 35, 192, 193; role in Iraq 167; role Sierra Leone 107–10; role in South Caucasus 140; sanctions 178–9; Security Council 9, 98, 100–1, 102–3, 108, 109, 174, 177–9, 180–2, 183–4, 185, 186, 188, 190–1, 208–10, 267, 350; UNAMIR 80–1; UNAMSIL 101, 112–13; UNDP 108, 111; UNMIK 266, 268, 270; UNOMIG 140; UNOMSIL 108–10, 111, 238 Universal Declaration of Human Rights 194–5, 331 US: Middle East policy 156–7, 267; Office of Foreign and Disaster Assistance (OFDA) 100; Presidential Decision Directives (PDDs) 108; relations with CCE 219–20; role in Balkans 57; security policy 291–2; view of security 3 USAID 58, 59 USSR see Russia Vlachová, Marie 210

366 Index voluntary corps 274–5, 348 war: crimes, Macedonia 60; criminals 242; means of 5; public pressure against 330; women as victims of 202–3 ‘war on terror’ 23–4, 50, 149–50 Warsaw Pact 251 weapons amnesty, Macedonia 60 weapons of mass destruction 183 Weber, Max 21 West Bank 154–5 West Side Boys 112 Williams, Betty 201–2 Wilson, Richard 112 women: in Balkan wars 203–4; and new security agenda 208–13; in peace movements 201–3, 204–6; in search of justice 206–8 Women in an Insecure World 211

Women in Black 203, 205, 206 Women’s Action Scheherazade 200 Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom (WILPF) 201 women’s rights 12 Women’s Task Force, Sierra Leone 208 Woolf, Virginia 201 World Food Programme 107–8 world view of security 3–4 World Women’s Security Council 200–1 Yezidis 125–6 youth, Macedonia 63–4 Yugoslavia 217, 266 Zaire see Democratic Republic of Congo Zimbabwe 72 zones of asymmetric security 22