Armed Forces and Society in Europe (Palgrave Texts in International Relations)

Armed Forces and Society in Europe Anthony Forster

Armed Forces and Society in Europe

Also by Anthony Forster CIVIL-MILITARY RELATIONS IN POSTCOMMUNIST EUROPE: Assessing the Transition (with Tim Edmunds and Andrew Cottey) RESHAPING DEFENCE DIPLOMACY: New Roles for Military Cooperation and Assistance (with Andrew Cottey) SOLDIERS AND SOCIETIES IN POSTCOMMUNIST EUROPE, LEGITIMACY AND CHANGE (with Tim Edmunds and Andrew Cottey) THE CHALLENGE OF MILITARY REFORM IN POSTCOMMUNIST EUROPE: Building Professional Armed Forces (with Tim Edmunds and Andrew Cottey) DEMOCRATIC CONTROL OF THE MILITARY IN POST-COMMUNIST EUROPE (with Andrew Cottey and Tim Edmunds)

Other work includes: EUROSCEPTICISM IN CONTEMPORARY BRITISH POLITICS: Opposition to Europe in the British Conservative and Labour Parties Since 1945 THE MAKING OF BRITAIN’S EUROPEAN FOREIGN POLICY (with Alasdair Blair) BRITAIN AND THE MAASTRICHT NEGOTIATIONS

Armed Forces and Society in Europe Anthony Forster

© Anthony Forster 2006 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London W1T 4LP. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The author has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published 2006 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS and 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010 Companies and representatives throughout the world PALGRAVE MACMILLAN is the global academic imprint of the Palgrave Macmillan division of St. Martin’s Press, LLC and of Palgrave Macmillan Ltd. Macmillan® is a registered trademark in the United States, United Kingdom and other countries. Palgrave is a registered trademark in the European Union and other countries. ISBN-13: 978–1–4039–0364–8 hardback ISBN-10: 1–4039–0364–6 hardback ISBN-13: 978–1–4039–0365–5 paperback ISBN-10: 1–4039–0365–4 paperback This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Forster, Anthony, 1964– Armed forces and society in Europe / Anthony Forster. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 1–4039–0364–6 (cloth) — ISBN 1–4039–0365–4 (pbk.) 1. Military assistance. 2. Europe—Military policy. 3. Civil-military relations—Europe. 4. Armed forces—Social aspects—Europe. I. Title. UA12.F68 2005 355′.0324—dc22 2005049324 10 15

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Printed and bound in Great Britain by Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham and Eastbourne

Contents List of Tables

vi

Preface and Acknowledgements

vii

Introduction: Armed Forces and Society in Europe

1

1 Democratic Governance of Armed Forces in Europe

19

2 Military Reform of Armed Forces in Europe

41

3 Armed Forces and Societies: Changing Roles and Legitimacy

74

4 Armed Forces and Societies: Differences and Similarities

100

5 European Security Communities and Armed Forces

137

6 Military Cooperation and Assistance in Europe

170

7 International Peacekeeping and European Armed Forces

196

8 The Domestic Roles of Armed Forces

226

Conclusion: Patterns and Trends in Armed Forces and Society Relations

253

Bibliography

271

Index

302

v

List of Tables Tables 1.1 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 3.1 4.1 4.2 4.3 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 5.5 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4 7.1 7.2

Plans to retain or end conscription, 1989–2004 Key features of ideal type European armed forces Troop commitments in response to the EU Typology of armed forces in Europe Conscription in Territorial Defence states Typology of changing roles and legitimacy in Europe Policies and representation of women in selected European Armed Forces 2004 Typology of resilience of armed forces in defending the right to be different Challenges to armed forces’ right and need to be different European Union Defence Missions The Euro-Atlantic Alliance and EU security communities PfP members 1994–2004 Technological sophistication (spend per troop for 7 new members of NATO) Deployment of EU and European NATO forces on UN and international peacekeeping missions 2000–2003 Military cooperation activities Aspects of strategic engagement Aspects of promoting democratic civil–military relations Aspects of enhancing regional peacekeeping capabilities Selected UN, EU and NATO ‘Mandated’ Military Operations since 1999 Use of Military Forces by European Regional Organisations and UN approval

vi

38 45 49 53 58 81 105 115 130 143 146 153 157 165 172 175 177 178 197 211

Preface and Acknowledgements

Many of the issues which are central to this book were first raised in research project funded by the Economic and Social Science on the Transformation of Civil–Military Relations in Comparative Context (TCMR), which ran from 1999 to 2003 as part of the ‘One Europe or Several?’ programme. The TCMR project had an exclusive focus on military transition in central and eastern Europe and resulted in three edited volumes, a 2005 special issue of European Security and a wide range of articles and chapters addressing the nature of the transition process in this part of Europe. This corpus of work has become a reference point in the field. However, as the initial research project proceeded, the central and eastern European transition experience appeared to raise far broader issues than simply those which related to one half of Europe and it was my interest in connecting patterns and trends across the two halves of Europe that has led to further research culminating in this monograph on pan-European armed forces and society relations. I would like to thank Dr Andrew Cottey at University College Cork, and Dr Timothy Edmunds at the University of Bristol. Through a shared intellectual partnership we developed initial civil–military relations typologies in relation to central and eastern Europe. This monograph further develops this work in new directions and applies it to a panEuropean context. More broadly this work draws on the network of 35 scholars who participated in the TCMR project from 1999 to 2003. The sustained intellectual collaboration with this group has been one of the most exciting of my academic career and made an important contribution to this specific piece of work. I am also grateful to the 40 officials in ministries of defence and international organisations and serving and retired officers, who agreed to be interviewed in the course of this research between 2002 and 2005. This has provided a rich empirical base, without which this book would be the poorer. Professor Giuseppe Caforio, Professor Christopher Dandeker, Dr Timothy Edmunds and Professor John Allen (Jay) Williams read the entire manuscript and provided critical and insightful comments at key moments in its delivery. Nelson Vaz commented on Chapter 1; Victoria Basham and Dr Paul Higate provided invaluable comments on Chapter 4; Dr Anne Deighton commented on Chapter 5; Dr Andrew Dorman on Chapter 5 vii

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and 7; and Dr Alex Bellamy, Dr Alice Hills and Nicholas Kerton-Johnson on Chapter 7. Many of the ideas contained within the book were also debated with postgraduate students enrolled on the Bristol MSc in International Security, and Development and Security between 2002 and 2005 and Chapter 4 and 5 were presented to ITC 17 at the Geneva Centre for Security Policy and I am grateful to them for their critical comments. I would also like to acknowledge the Governance Research Centre at the Department of Politics, which provided research support for this project and I am especially grateful to Christina Rowley and Ben Kisby, as well as Nicholas Kerton-Johnson and Nelson Vaz who provided additional assistance. I would also like to thank Alison Howson at Palgrave Macmillan for her support during the long process of researching and writing of this book and particularly her patience in waiting for the final manuscript. Financial support for this project came from the ESRC (award number L213252009) and a 12-month posting as Visiting Research Associate at the International Institute for Strategic Studies from 2001 to 2002, which particularly informed the analysis in Chapter 6. Financial support from the University of Bristol’s Faculty of Social Sciences and Law and the Department of Politics contributed to field research, interviews, and conference attendance to present the ideas contained within this book. This book is dedicated to Victoria Child and it is to her that I owe my deepest debt of gratitude. Anthony Forster Bristol

Introduction: Armed Forces and Society in Europe

The causes of change In the post-Cold War era, militaries across the world are engaged in an ongoing redefinition of their roles, organisation and financing. This adaptation is dramatically changing the relationship between armed forces and the societies they serve (Burk, 1998).1 Nowhere has the transformation been more striking than across the whole of Europe, a continent which was divided into opposing camps for much of the post-1945 period. The scale and intensity of the changes across the whole of Europe has therefore marked out the region, but so too has the double transition which has taken place in central and eastern Europe: adaptation to market-based liberal democracies and the rapid movement towards qualitatively different relations between the armed forces and the society (Cottey, Edmunds and Forster, 2002a). At the beginning of the 1990s, all European governments came under pressure to respond to the end of the Cold War and the demand for a ‘peace dividend’ – a reduction in the tax burden and a retargeting of resources away from defence towards health, education and transport. In central and eastern Europe there was an additional need to redress years of under-investment. Even in circumstances of steadily rising economic growth, the need to build consensus for appropriate levels of defence expenditure to provide effective national security remains a pressing concern. This takes place in an environment where a direct state-based military threat appears to have diminished and threats to the state and its citizens are more diffuse, especially since the terrorist attacks in the US in the autumn of 2001 aimed at national prestige targets and in Kuta and Bali in 2002 and London in 2005 where the targets were civilians (Cronin, 2002; Heymann, 2001; Posen, 2001). 1

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Armed Forces and Society in Europe

The end of the Cold War removed the spectre of a major European land war between east and west, and this had a direct impact on the principal role of armed forces; this has impacted on the centrality of the military mission of defence of national (and alliance) territory, towards other missions, notably military-to-military cooperation, peacekeeping and other ‘humanitarian’ international operations. The conventional wisdom is that this requires a reorientation of force structures away from tank-based military formations based alongside the inner German border and manned by conscript armies, to much smaller more rapidly deployable volunteer forces capable of undertaking a wide range of missions. Force structures have therefore been rapidly reduced in size, but within the context of less resources being made available, with the dual mantra, of the last decade and a half, of the aspiration to have ‘smaller but better forces’ that are ‘leaner and meaner’ (Dunay, 2002a: 80). The government of the United States was the first to respond to the need for military reform of its forces and in many ways it has been a role model for others to emulate. This change was set out by the Clinton administration in the Joint Vision 2010, with the ideas further developed in President George W. Bush’s National Security Strategy and the concept of ‘transformation’ championed by Secretary for Defense, Donald Rumsfeld (Rumsfeld, 2002; Schulz and Reimer, 2004: 42). However, in Europe the process has been more gradual and the extent to which this has been embraced more varied. In some countries this reorganisation has not been too controversial and the extent to which an Expeditionary Warfare model has been embraced is more complete. After several false starts the UK government was the first to grasp the mettle in the 1997 Strategic Defence Review, focusing on the creation of highly mobile forces capable of rapid deployment, with joint force integration and sustainability well beyond national borders (UK MoD, 1998; Dorman, 2004a: 237). The French government quickly followed suit ending conscription in 2001 and moving to all-volunteer expeditionary forces (Bratton, 2002). However, in other states the impact of military reform has been more limited, in part because governments see different roles for their armed forces compared with those of the US – and also because of the more constrained resources available to fund military reform. It also reflects different ways of thinking about and applying military force, contrasting what Max Boot terms ‘the new American way of war’ with a European one – or Robert Kagan’s contention that ‘On the all-important question of power . . . the efficacy of power, the morality of power, the desirability of power, American and European perspectives are diverging . . . the US is

Introduction

3

from Mars and the Europeans from Venus’ (Kagan, 2002b; Boot, 2003; Everts et al., 2004). In central and eastern Europe the collapse of communism and the end of the Cold War removed the political and geostrategic foundations on which defence policies and armed forces had previously been based (Forster, Edmunds and Cottey, 2003). This new postcommunist environment meant that defence policies and force structures developed since the late 1940s were no longer relevant to the changed circumstances facing the countries in the region, in particular conscript mass armies interwoven with communist politicisation and tank-based formations ready to counter any western military threat. Transformation and adaptation of armed forces is therefore a shared feature across the whole of Europe, though the point of departure for west and east is very different. A more recent development is the increase in defence expenditure to which the US has committed itself in response to the attack of September 2001. In 2003/2004, defence expenditure was 3.7% of GDP and at $404,920 million, nearly twice the combined expenditure of all European NATO states (International Institute for Strategic Studies, 2004: 353). This is establishing a high benchmark of the most technologically sophisticated military in the world. This poses new challenges of interoperability for those European states where the government is committed to their armed forces being capable of participating in the first wave of any US-led operations. In the case of the UK government which most explicitly embraces this aspiration, this has led to a dramatic fall in troop numbers with further cuts announced in July in 2004, as a means to try and increase investment in spend per troop and equipment to US levels (UK MoD, 2003a: 1; Guardian, 2003b). The scale of this change is indicated by the fact that before these cuts were announced, UK armed forces were already 30.5% smaller than their 1990 level.2 International organisations in Europe have also played an important role in this transformation process (Cornish, 2004; Terriff, 2004a, b). From 1989 to 2003 the major challenge that NATO and its member states have faced, is to redefine the coldest of Cold War organisations in terms of its role to ensure it had a future (Sloan, 1999, 2003; Forster and Wallace, 2001). Adaptation and redefinition has moved along two axes, one operational and the other normative: first as the possibility of territorial attack diminished, the Alliance embraced military missions outside the NATO area, thus putting pressure on member states to reorientate national forces to support these new roles. NATO has therefore

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Armed Forces and Society in Europe

been a vehicle through which a particular expeditionary warfare model of armed forces has been promoted. This model is characterised by all-volunteer forces capable of operating some distance from national territory, with an emphasis on deployability, operational logistics and sustainability, and forms part of NATO’s own search for a post-Cold War role (Cottey, Edmunds and Forster, 2002b). Since 2003, a discernible shift has taken place from NATO promoting a single model, to promoting an ‘effects’-based approach which highlights the organisation’s need for specific capabilities, leaving the issue of how this should be achieved to national governments (Appathurai, 2002; Binnendijk and Kugler, 2002). Ironically perhaps as Chapter 5 examines in more detail, in many cases the impact of NATO has been greater on 10 recent applicant states (and the 6 current aspirant states), through its Membership Action Plans (MAP) and Planning and Review Process (PARP), than on existing NATO members (see Table 5.2). The creation of NATO Response Force in which national forces are assigned on a six-month rotational basis is another key means of this effectsbased approach (von Wogau, 2004). The European Union (EU) too has made an important contribution to the process of defence reform in several ways. The creation of a European Security and Defence Policy, and its commitment in 1992 to carry out Petersberg tasks defined as ‘humanitarian and rescue tasks; peacekeeping tasks; tasks of combat forces in crisis management, including peacemaking’, has been significant (Forster, 1994b; Forster and Wallace, 2000). More recently the Helsinki European Council of 1999 saw a commitment to deploy within 60 days and to sustain for at least one year military forces of up to 50,000–60,000 capable of the full range of Petersberg tasks (EU, 1999, 2000: para. 28). The creation of EU battle groups is likely to further deepen this aspect of EU influence on military reform (European Defence, 2004a). Those aspiring to membership of both NATO and the EU therefore have a powerful deus ex machina that adds further pressure to the military reform process now under way across the continent in terms of military reform, the democratisation of societies and the development of civil–military relations. A second axis of adaptation and redefinition has been a normative one explicitly focused on central and eastern areas of Europe, with NATO advancing the idea that NATO should become a democratic and liberal transatlantic security community – reaching out to central and eastern Europe and eventually incorporating as many states as possible within the Euro-Atlantic partnership. Here, the role of NATO as a pole of attraction and an agent of change has also been influential. Through

Introduction

5

Partnership for Peace (PfP) and MAPs, NATO has played a leading role in trying to assist the transformation process (Nelson, 1998; Donnelly, 2000; Simon, 2000; Cottey, Edmunds and Forster, 2002b). Indeed extending values and norms of the transatlantic community has been one of the most important functions of NATO in the immediate aftermath of the end of the Cold War (Forster and Wallace, 2001). The role of west European outreach in assisting in this transformation process directly links to three central questions: what current west European norms are, concerning the role of the military in society and in the state; how civil–military relations are defined and redefined across western, central and eastern Europe; and what this tells us about the changing role of military forces within Europe. These issues are examined in further detail in Chapters 1, 5 and 6, but are a recurring issue throughout this work. Militaries across Europe are also responding to the ‘Revolution in Military Affairs’ (RMA) which is focusing on the application of high technology to battlefield space knowledge systems, sensor fusion and precision strike capability, with far-reaching implications for the way in which militaries are operated and managed (Goldman, 1982, and 2003; Freedman, 1998; Gormley, 2003; Harknett, 2003). As early as 1960 Morris Janowitz for instance argued that the character of military organisation was changing in response to the demands of evolving weapons technology and the changing nature of military force (Janowitz, 1964a: 417–442). Nevertheless, the ending of the Cold War together with increasingly complex military technologies has greatly accelerated the evolution of thinking on this issue, leading to various RMA debates. The increasing complexity of military equipment, the nature of the battlefield environment in which armed forces operate and the levels of technical skill necessary to operate effectively require new professional skills within armed forces. Over the past decade the result has been three developments of far-reaching significance: first, the incorporation of civilian management techniques into the armed forces; and second, the merging of civilian and military technologies – the so-called ‘dual use’ technology. Third and more recently the RMA debate has focused on the military application of future civilian technological breakthroughs. In particular, nano-technology and network centric warfare holds out the prospect of a step-change in the conceptualisation and application of military force – a development by which few beyond the US military will have the resources to effectively harness, presenting the real possibility of a growing gap between the US and the European armed forces (Rumsfeld, 2002).

6

Armed Forces and Society in Europe

A key issue across the whole of Europe is the way in which the increasingly complex military-political-social environments generated by new missions and the RMA impose new demands on the armed forces, especially in terms of sophisticated technical knowledge and skills such as decision-making, communication, cooperation and management skills (Boëne, 1990). However, technological developments are also changing society’s expectations of how the military fulfils its roles and hence the societal bases of military legitimacy. Edward Luttwak has pointed out for example that developments in military technology have led to societal expectation in the United States that certain sorts of military roles can and should be fulfilled at a distance, with minimal engagement and hence minimal exposure to risk of military personnel. This was certainly the case in relation to military operations in the Balkans (Luttwak, 1999). However, since the September 2001 attacks not only in the US but in other ‘willing states’ such as the UK, electorates have been prepared to tolerate military casualties as a consequence of these type of pre-emptive military operations.3 In turn post-conflict reconstruction in Afghanistan and Iraq and the low-technology highexposure environment in which the coalition currently find themselves, pose new questions about the limits to the risk reduction effect of high technology and indeed the relevance of long-standing military doctrine (Hills, 2003; US Department of the Army, 2004). A trend that preceded the end of the Cold War but which has accelerated over the last decade is the changing international, technical and societal environment which is profoundly altering societies’ relationships with their armed forces (Dandeker, 2000b). One issue is the extent to which the armed forces can be different from the society it is created to protect. As a consequence of the need for fighting effectiveness, is it possible to sustain separate cultural and organisational values distinct from society, or should there be a similarity of culture and values to preserve the domestic sources of legitimacy? In many societies, the development and extension of civilian and human rights legislation into the military environment is posing profound questions concerning the armed forces’ right or need to be different. Debates about recruitment and roles of homosexuals, women and ethnic minorities in the armed forces are also posing questions about the organisational structures and values of many European armed forces across a broad range of issues (Boëne, 1990; Burk, 1994; Dandeker and Mason, 2001, 2003). The second focus which has gathered pace since the end of the Cold War concerns the extent to which a changing international, technical and societal environment is altering the very nature of the relationships

Introduction

7

of post-Cold War societies with their military institutions. For Christopher Dandeker a changed strategic context in which threats to national security are not only more ‘globalised’ but also stem from below poses challenges to armed forces and society relationships. A changed societal context in which the supporting framework for core military values is increasingly challenged by a more individualistic, egalitarian and litigious society is also problematic. Finally, and partly as a result of the changed strategic context, increasing cost pressures have led to the civilianisation of many traditionally military jobs such as logistical support (Dandeker, 2000a). In these circumstances a need to recruit personnel with a high level of technical skill and to retain them in an increasingly competitive job market and at the same time maintain fighting effectiveness is becoming increasingly difficult. For Dandeker these amount to ‘new times’ and are leading to new patterns of civil–military relations (Dandeker, 2000a). Whilst all these factors impact on the relationship of armed forces and society, in central and eastern Europe, there has been an additional and overarching context within which military reform has taken place – the move from authoritarian political regimes to liberal democracies. To varying degrees this has added four further challenges: first, the need to create and then embed liberal democratic political systems; second, the task of removing the influence of the communist party within the armed forces and the introduction of new mechanisms for democratic civilian control of the armed forces, including the creation of a security system; third, in a cluster of states, notably the Baltics, Belarus, BosniaHerzegovina, the Czech and Slovak republics, Croatia, Georgia, Macedonia, Moldova, Serbia-Montenegro, Slovenia and Ukraine there has been a need to build armed forces where none or only small fragments of pre-independence Czechoslovak, Soviet or Yugoslav institutions existed; finally, there has been a pressing need to retool and re-equip the armed forces, which in many cases suffered from a lack of appropriate resources to purchase and maintain equipment at an operational level. The terrorist attacks in the autumn of 2001 in the United States have posed new questions about the relevance of conventional armed forces in protecting society from attack and the internal and external sources of threats to society. Homeland security, the fight against terrorism and the domestic roles of armed forces have become a more pressing priority in national and international security in the wake of these terrorist attacks. In turn the roles of armed forces in Europe are adapting and evolving still further which for Kristina Spohr Readman amounts to a ‘paradigm shift’ (Spohr Readman, 2004: 1). The relationship between

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interior ministries and ministries of defence is already well developed in some European countries which, like France, Russia, Spain, Turkey and the UK, are accustomed to facing terrorist threats. Moreover, in most European countries the armed forces play a central role in protecting public safety, as exemplified by the role of the carabinieri in Italy or the gendarmerie in France (Fillieule and Jobard, 1998; Berlioz, 2001; Lawday, 2001; Kirk, 2004). However, what is new is the way in which recent cooperation is now being extended horizontally to other government departments and agencies, for instance customs and excise, border control and immigration and security services as well as health departments. In addition, on the international level, there is growing vertical coordination between national, regional and local agencies. This new challenge is redefining both national security and the relationship between different security agencies of the state. One final complicating factor is the increasing use of national armed forces in what have been described as ‘wars of choice.’ This has two dimensions. First in the 1990s the end of the Cold war led to an upsurge in the number of missions in support of international peace and security. Throughout the 1990s these missions took on a variety of guises, varying from traditional peacekeeping at the lowest end of the spectrum, through managing transition and peace support, to enforcement operations at the higher end of the spectrum of conflict. This led some commentators to see these types of ‘operations other than war’, as the new raison d’etre of the military. For example Charles Moskos has argued that there has been ‘. . . a fundamental shift in the emphasis of armed forces from defense of the homeland to multinational peacekeeping and humanitarian missions’ (Moskos, 2000: 17). However, since September 2001 a new type of military mission has emerged in the form of pre-emptive engagement. These missions are typified by the military operations in Afghanistan in 2001 and Iraq in 2003. In Afghanistan the key characteristics were the deployment of special and elite forces and the use of air power in support of local allies and militias to remove the Taliban regime. In Iraq the mission had more in common with interstate warfare, involving the full deployment of joint and combined armed forces, notably heavy mechanised tank and infantry formations. The organised use of violence in this way has produced new tensions in terms of civil–military relations. ‘Wars of choice’ raise issues about how we know when national survival is at stake in the absence of direct territorial attack; how parliaments and electorates should be engaged in the process of decision-making; the character of warfare in circumstances less than total war; and more generally the role of the

Introduction

9

armed forces in these types of mission from their deployment to their return to home. What is clear from this brief introduction is that the transformation of European armed forces–society relations is affecting the whole of Europe, irrespective of whether states were Cold War members of the western bloc or Communist Europe. Indeed a decade and a half on from the fall of the Berlin wall, with ten former communist states now full members of NATO and eight states members of the EU (as well as three post-neutral states and its further expansion to 25 member states), the utility of compartmentalising and conceptualising armed forces–society relations in terms of an anachronistic categorisation is increasingly invalid. Whilst recognising the challenges this poses, and being sensitive to national and historical context, this study attempts to conceptualise broader issues than simply those which relate to one half of Europe with the purpose of exploring patterns and trends across the two halves of Europe.

Approach and method This research takes as its frame of reference armed forces and society relations which may best be understood as a general term encompassing all aspects of relations between armed forces, as a political social and economic institution, and the society, state, or the political ethnic movement of which they are a part (Cottey, Edmunds and Forster, 2002c: 6). Whilst recognising that there is considerable variability within the armed forces, the analysis here focuses on the aggregate level of armed forces, with specific reference to the army and land forces, given their numerical dominance in and of European militaries. Research into armed forces–society relations has been dominated by four interrelated developments that have been at work since the foundational phase of the field (Forster, 2002: 71). First, there has been a strong tradition in much of the armed forces-society relations literature of rich empirical studies, often focused on the nation state, which describes events and processes and offers insights on the basis of this.4 The reason for the predominance of this type of approach is complex. One explanation is the nature of texts in the 1950s and 1960s in the armed forces–society relations field, many of which avoided an explicit conceptual or theoretical dimension. Most of these approaches used descriptive inference offering empirical studies and ‘thick’ description with generalisations based on observations, typified by some of the work of Janowitz and S.E. Finer (Blondell, 1997: 154). As the foundational

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texts, these set the scene for a great deal of subsequent research which took up this research agenda. Another explanation for a less conceptual focus is the limited interest in theoretical issues amongst key stakeholder groups – the armed forces, policy-makers and practitioners. This particularly affects academics working in military educational institutes, who by and large declined the opportunity to engage in conceptual and theoretical debates of interest to a wider academic community of scholars, working on similar issues in universities and research institutes. Perhaps too as Douglas Bland argues, armed forces–society relations in most western states was apparently stable, thus providing little reason to move beyond foundational ideas established by Huntington, Janowitz and others (Bland, 1999). Since assumptions, notions of causality and a framework of analysis which informed this type of work remained unexamined, this isolated much of the scholarship in the field by cutting it off from wider conceptual debates and developments in knowledge in other social sciences, especially international relations and political science.5 A second feature of the armed forces–society relations field is that many international relations approaches to armed forces–society relations have been implicitly and explicitly rooted in an approach based on analytical realism. In this approach, states are conceptualised as cohesive unitary actors which monopolise relations with the outside world and define the national interest (Morgenthau, 1985; Carr, 1991). Above all they are viewed as discrete units and are motivated by a desire to preserve the centrality of states in international relations. Sovereignty is a key element of the realist and neo-realist view, an indivisible commodity attributable to and vigorously defended by states. Governments control a monopoly of violence within the state and effective regulation of armed forces is necessary for two reasons: first, to prevent armed forces from interfering in political systems they were created to defend; and second to ensure a state’s armed forces served their civilian masters, whether preserving the territorial integrity of a state or deployed abroad in defence of state interests. The dominance of analytical realism has drawn scholars towards a focus on sovereignty and motivations of power maximisation. For decades analytical realism dominated academic analysis of the armed forces–society relations field, typified by the work of Samuel Huntington, The Soldier and the State (1957) and Political Order and Changing Societies (1968) and Samuel Finer, The Man on Horseback: The Role of the Military in Politics (1962) leaving a lasting legacy on the field.

Introduction

11

A third feature of the armed forces–society relations field has been the greater need for multi-disciplinarity. Scholars working in the field of civil–military relations routinely pay lip service to multi-disciplinary research, but in reality this has often been an absent feature of many studies. In part this can be explained by a sort of ‘intellectual cantonisation’ of the field, typical of much of the research. This was driven by the dominance of sociologists of the military in particular areas of the field, notably concerning the relationship between armed forces and society and the extent to which the military have the right to be different. It has also been the result of international relations and political science scholars failing to engage in debates in which politics is central. In part this may reflect the fact that many oppose the rationale of armed forces in deploying organised violence, but in part too because the military is (perhaps wrongly) perceived as an organisation closed to those who wanted to engage in critical reflection of armed forces– society relations. Moreover, European scholars have separated themselves from much of the work in North American scholarship, both on theoretical grounds and in terms of the focus of interest. Nelson Vaz suggests US scholars have been more interested in theory building and by extension drawing on a distinction made by Steve Smith and Martin Hollis ‘explaining’ rather than ‘understanding’ civil–military relations. In addition, as Douglas Bland notes, many North American scholars have taken a legalistic approach to civil–military relations, whilst in Europe there is an emerging interest in conceptualising issues in terms of governance (Bland, 2001; Bryden and Fluri, 2003; Bryden, N’Diaye and Olonisakin, 2005). Finally, the focus of intellectual enquiry of much of civil–military relations research has been rather limited. One of the most striking features of the field has been the excessively self-referential debate of most armed forces–society relations literature, often in the face of declining utility of many of the concepts and ideas which are advanced. Scholars have too often felt obliged to rake over the texts that dominated previous decades to explore new interpretations and offer novel reassessments. Civil–military relations as a field has therefore been rather backward-looking in terms of their focus of enquiry and remarkably conservative in terms of the issues analysed. In addition, the referent object has often been the state and as a field it remains very state-centric, indeed often executive-centric, offering a particular ontological focus that disregards a wide range of actors, that do not fit in clearly with its assumptions, and often ignoring civil society altogether. Perhaps this is understandable when the state has

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greater access to resources to support their militaries than other actors and governments have evolved legal and political instruments to support their claim to use force (Buzan, Wæver and de Wilde, 1998: 49). However, one of the most important developments now under way is a growing awareness of the limits of conceptualising ‘the state’ as monolithic and unchanging when in most countries the modern state is multi-faceted and continually evolving. This work attempts to make a contribution to current debates by directly addressing these issues, offering a comparative approach.6 This work aims to move beyond ‘thick’ description by offering empirical evidence drawn from across Europe, to systematically comparing core issues of armed forces–society relations. It does so as Tom Mackie and David Marsh suggest for two reasons. First, to overcome the danger of ethnocentrism in which scholars champion ‘. . . uniqueness through false particularisation’. Typical of much of the literature are claims by country experts that ‘their’ country is unique. This is a familiar critique termed by Hans Daalder the ‘Zanzibar ploy’, and is a claim often made without any systematic test of single cases against other states through comparative analysis (Mair, 1996: 323).7 Likewise, the comparative method is effective in overcoming ‘false universalism’ in which conclusions drawn exclusively from one state (or sub-region) are considered universally applicable to all states (Mackie and Marsh, 1995: 174). The opportunity to explore the characteristics and dynamics of European armed forces and society makes a comparative method an appropriate approach (Moskos, 2000: 14).8 A second reason for the comparative approach is to critically evaluate concepts over time and space with the aspiration that through the testing of hypotheses theories can be built or conceptual analysis deepened. This research does not offer a deductive test of a comprehensive theory of civil–military relations, which does not yet exist. Rather it develops a comparative framework for systematically analysing core issues of civil–military relations; it critically evaluates concepts in terms of their robustness with the aim of refining them in the face of empirical analysis. This work is therefore based on a large N method of analysing case studies of states, within a thematic comparative framework. An important issue is whether comparison should focus on states and militaries that are ‘most different’ or ‘most similar’ (Przeworski and Teune, 1970: 39). Whilst recognising the problem that Collier refers to as ‘overdetermination’, the research design offered here is to develop concepts and frameworks that are applicable to the whole of Europe – the 55 states of the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe.

Introduction

13

Inevitably this leads to a ‘most different’ approach using focused comparison in order ‘. . . to distil out of this diversity a set of common elements that prove to have explanatory power’ (Collier, 1993: 111, cited in Mackie and Marsh, 1995: 179).9 However, on a limited number of occasions a ‘most similar method’ supplements this, through paired comparison to shed light on different processes with similar states where certain factors are controlled to better analyse others. The analytic frame of reference is based on typologies and ideal-types. They are not real descriptions, but are a heuristic construct to explore differences within and between states and their militaries. This work therefore occupies the middle ground between description and theory, identifying key variables and applying them to empirical case studies and exemplars to draw generalisable conclusions. The extent to which what Hague et al. term the ‘trade-off between detail and generalisability’ is successful, is for the reader to decide (Hague, Harrop and Breslin, 1992: 39, cited in Mackie and Marsh, 1995: 178). The epistemology of this research is positivist insofar as it based on an assumption ‘. . . that it is possible to know the world through experience and observation’ (Stoker, 1995: 15). However, it draws from postpositivism a sensitivity to the contested nature of facts as evidence in social science research, but it does not go so far as some in rejecting empirical facts outright (Zalewski, 1994: 235).10 It therefore uses empirical evidence within the context of what Michael Mann terms ‘as if positivism’ (Mann, 1996: 222). The characteristics of this approach are fourfold: a reliance on a broad range of sources of evidence including primary and secondary data supplemented by interview evidence; the use of triangulation to corroborate evidence from a variety of sources and perspectives, to arrive at a sense of the facts (Neumann, 2000); a recognition that some facts are ‘harder’ than others (Mann, 1996); and a sensitivity to any ready and uncritical acceptance of concepts as ‘given’ (Wendt, 1992). As Rob Dover argues ‘. . . “as if” positivism retains an aspiration to “scientificity” in social science research, a search for objective truths [but] without the wholesale rejection or problems with finding verifiable facts’ (Dover, 2004: 6). In terms of the last point, this work shares an affinity with a ‘soft’ form of constructivism, drawing on the normative turn in International Relations, typified by much of the scholarship of Wendt, Buzan, Wæver and de Wilde (Buzan, 1991; Wendt, 1992: 392; Smith, Booth and Zalewski, 1996; Buzan, Wæver and de Wilde, 1998). Constructivism is especially useful in drawing our attention towards many of the hitherto silent assumptions underpinning the realist and neo-realist agenda,

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especially understanding armed forces–society relations through a conceptual lens which does not just focus on the instrumental use of forces and the pursuit of power maximisation. For example, constructivism challenges the unquestioned use of the concepts of national interest, identity formation and sovereignty and reminds us that these are both contested and changeable (Norgaard, 1994; Jachtenfuchs, 1995). In applying the claim that norms and values are socially constructed through inter-subjective activity, the approach adopted here draws our attention to the need for a more critical reflection on whose interests are served by the use of particular constructs, concepts and the prevailing ‘conventional wisdom’ and this informs the arguments and analysis of all the chapters. The aim of this research is to explore the similarities and differences between European armed forces across eight thematic issues, which constitute what might be termed the ‘architecture’ (Chapters 1–5) and ‘purpose’ (6–8) for which armed forces are used and through which armed forces relate to their societies. It does so by critically engaging with the seminal work of Charles Moskos, Jay Williams and David Segal on the Postmodern military (Moskos, Williams and Segal, 2000). This team of authors and their collaborators analyse 13 states (Australia, Canada, Denmark, France, Germany, Israel, Italy, Netherlands, New Zealand, South Africa, Switzerland, the UK and the US) across 11 variables (threat; force structure; major mission definition; dominant military professional; public attitudes towards the military; media relations; role and presence of civilian employees; women’s role; spouses and the military; presence of homosexuals in the military; and conscientious objection) to evaluate the extent to which there are common patterns and trends in advanced industrial democracies. Their argument is that a periodisation can be made, with armed forces now in a ‘Postmodern’ era that can be contrasted with a Modern pre-Cold War period (1900–1945), a Late Modern Cold War period (1945–1990) and a Postmodern period from 1990.11 In supporting this claim they advance 5 propositions: the increasing permeability of civilian and military spheres; a reduction in difference in service and branch; a change in military purpose from fighting wars to conducting missions not traditionally considered military; a more extensive use of multinational military forces authorised or legitimised by supranational institutions; and finally the internationalisation of military forces themselves (Williams, 2000: 265). There are three elements which make the Postmodern thesis a key reference point for this research. First, the multi-disciplinary approach

Introduction

15

adopted by Moskos, Williams and Segal ranges across key issues of contemporary civil–military relations, many of which have not previously been analysed in an integrated way. In particular the focus of the authors is on the social determinants of civil–military relations (Williams, 2004: 3). The Postmodern military study therefore complements the research in this volume, which is more explicitly connected with the politics of the military in various guises. Second, the work of a Moskos, Williams and Segal focuses on change within individual states whilst at the same time analysing these in terms of general patterns and trends in advanced industrial democracies. By contrast this research takes a thematic approach drawing on specific country examples to reach generalised conclusions; and third and related to the second point, Moskos, Williams and Segal have advanced a widely accepted model in the form of the Postmodern military which has become the dominant paradigm in explaining the relationship between civil society and the military and the roles of the armed forces. In relation to armed forces and society in Europe, a leading thread through this work is the extent to which the Postmodern model fits the European region, and at a more conceptual level it critically explores the path between successful large scale generalisation on the one hand, and historical particularism on the other.

Organisation of the book This book is organised around eight substantive chapters, each analysing a key aspect of armed forces and society relations. Whilst the choice of thematic issues clearly locates the research within the discipline of politics, by extensively drawing on debates in sociology and cognate disciplines, the hope is that this research offers a richer and more complete contribution because of this multi-disciplinary approach.12 The subject focus of each chapter is informed by a conventional understanding of the key issues in civil–military relations, but is not limited to these alone. As might be expected, chapters focus on democratic civilian control, military reform and professionalisation, difference and similarities as well as external roles – all well established issues considered crucial for understanding contemporary civil–military relations. In addition the monograph considers somewhat overlooked issues such as the changing roles and legitimacy of armed forces, the use of armed forces as a ‘force for good’ and domestic roles of the military. Moreover, whilst the touchstone of this research is the extent to which the Postmodern military model is an adequate explanation of European armed

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forces and society relations, it interweaves consideration of issues ignored in terms of the Postmodern thesis, in particular Chapters 1, 4, 5 and 8 (see below). In terms of the content of the chapters, the first chapter develops and applies a framework for analysing democratic civilian control of the armed forces. In doing so it analyses legislative oversight, the implementation of defence policy and civil society engagement as key aspects of democratic control to highlight both similarities and differences of different types of model, and also the ongoing challenges of ensuring accountability and legitimacy of European armed forces. The second chapter explores the issue of military reform of armed forces through the application of a typology of different types of reform model and the different challenges that each have. The third and fourth chapters are linked in that both take as their point of departure that armed forces are shaped by a range of purposes which are located around the organisational use of violence, but then reshaped by social and political factors. The third chapter analyses whether and how these changes are impacting on perceptions of legitimacy of armed forces, whether the challenges are similar or different across Europe and the impact any changes may have. The fourth chapter analyses the extent to which national armed forces as a whole, with their unique set of operational obligations in terms of the protection of the state and society against external and internal threat, are different from or similar to society. It is thus interested in the implications of ‘. . . the right of the nation to ask someone to die for it’ and the consequences of this (Foucault, 1989: 415). The fifth chapter explores the impact of such international actors more fully, by focusing on how European security communities impact on two key areas of civil–military relations: cooperation between states on defence issues, and the structure and reform of armed forces within states. Chapters 6 and 7 are connected by their shared interest in one of the central ideas of the Postmodern military thesis, that roles of armed forces are increasingly being shaped by missions ‘. . . intended to save lives rather than vanquish the enemy or destroy infrastructure’ (Elliott, 2004: 25). Chapter 6 analyses peacetime military-to-military cooperation in greater depth and Chapter 7 analyses international security missions in the form of peacekeeping and peacemaking for humanitarian purposes. The former issue has almost been completely overlooked whilst it is the latter issue that has been the principal focus of using militaries as a ‘force for good’ (Wheeler, 1997; Kaldor, 2001, and 2000). Common themes are the extent to which there has indeed been a change in the discourse, organisation and use of European armed forces, which has created what

Introduction

17

Lorraine Elliott and Graeme Cheeseman term ‘cosmopolitan militaries’ (Elliott and Cheeseman, 2004: 2). More broadly it also analyses the extent to which these roles are leading to what Moskos, Williams and Segal term a ‘Postmodern military’ (Moskos, Williams and Segal, 2000). Chapter 8 explores an often overlooked issue of the domestic roles of armed forces. Specifically it explores military aid to the civil power (MACP), and along with domestic counter-terrorism functions, tasks under this heading include what might be described as state responses to civil disobedience (Noailles, 2003: 68). A second type of assistance analysed is providing what are designated ‘essential services’ on behalf of the government. Examples of this type of assistance are where state public services can no longer cope with a particular problem and comprise a range of functions known as military assistance to government departments (MAGD). A third area of assistance is the deployment of the armed forces to help cope with naturally occurring or man-made disasters and emergencies. Such natural disasters may include for instance floods, inclement weather and earthquakes and are termed ‘military aid to the civil community’ (MACC). The purpose of the final chapter is to draw on the evidence of the preceding chapters as regards the nature of interactions between armed forces and society in order to explore broader patterns and trends in Europe. To this end, it explores the extent to which any patterns and trends within and across issues analysed in this volume, support or refute the Postmodern military thesis advanced by Moskos, Williams and Segal. In this regard the conclusion critically evaluates five propositions (or organisational changes) predicted in the Postmodern era (Williams, 2000: 275). Anticipating my argument the conclusion suggests that whilst the Postmodern ‘paradigm’ provides important conceptual markers against which to judge change (Moskos, 2000: 14, 27; Williams, 2000: 265), evidence from this research indicates heterogeneity rather homogeneity in contemporary European civil–military relations, ambiguity rather than certainty in the nature of the impact of domestic and international pressures, and outcomes that are not only more contingent and conditional than the Postmodern military model suggests, but which pose a fundamental challenge to it.

Notes 1. For an excellent if somewhat dated contribution to the debate published in 1998 which outlined what had changed since 1989 and how armed forces had adapted to the post-Cold War environment see Burk, 1998.

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2. In 1990 force levels were 308,000 and in 2003 were 94,000. 3. I am grateful to Giuseppe Caforio for this point. 4. There were of course exceptions to this and scholars such as Lucian Pye located his own work within a set of theoretical issues concerning the role of the military in developing societies (Pye, 1969). Despite the sub-title of Huntington’s seminal work published in 1957 this work rather avoided setting out a theory of civil–military relations. The argument here should not be mistaken as a suggestion that there was not a normative aspect at work. 5. Interestingly, sociologists of the military appear less affected by this trend, in part as a consequence of the work of Morris Janowitz and subsequently Christopher Dandeker, Jacques van Doorn and Bernard Boëne who have variously used highly theoretical frameworks for explaining armed forcessociety relations. For an exception see Edmonds, 1988. 6. This section draws heavily on the excellent discussion by Mackie and Marsh on the comparative method (Mackie and Marsh, 1995: 173–188). 7. The notable exceptions here are Moskos, Williams and Segal, 2000; Kuhlmann and Callaghan, 2000; the three volumes by Forster Edmunds and Cottey (2003a, b, 2004); and Danopoulos, Vajpeyi and Bar-or (2004); and Boëne and Dandeker (1998). The first two volumes examine west European states, the third set of volumes exclusively focus on central and eastern Europe, whilst the last set of volumes does include selective states from both western and central Europe. See also Maman, Ben-Ari and Rosenhek, 2001 and Maior and Watts, 2002. 8. Moskos et al. explore seven European states (Denmark, France, Germany, Italy, Netherlands, Switzerland and the UK, alongside Australia, Canada, Israel, New Zealand, South Africa and the US) which also allows exploration of the different conclusions that can be reached on the basis of a ‘most different’ methodology (see below). The authors are well aware of the problem and selection bias and reliance on the US is discussed in chapters by Moskos and Williams. 9. This methodology contrast with that employed by Moskos, Williams and Segal. In this regard Jay Williams comments it is not surprising that there are more differences among a diverse sample of countries than those found based on a ‘most similar’ systems approach. Correspondence 13 April 2005. 10. For example Zalewski’s post-positivism leads her to argue that it is not enough just to examine a theory on observable evidence alone since ‘it is the theory which decides what we can observe’. She goes on to suggest an alternative that ‘. . . is more interesting and illuminating to ask in what way the dominant theories create or construct the empirical realm’ (Zalewski, 1994: 235). 11. More recently in as yet unpublished work, Jay Williams has extended this analysis to argue that changes in civil–military relations since September 2001 have led to a fourth era. Williams terms this ‘a Postmodern II model’ which dates from September 2001 to the indefinite future and which might lead to what he terms a ‘security state’ (Williams, 2004: 5). 12. The conclusion returns to the issue of inclusion and exclusion, suggesting this volume must be seen as a ‘first cut’ in the process of analysing contemporary armed forces–society relations.

1 Democratic Governance of Armed Forces in Europe

The issue of democratic control of the armed forces in Europe, though much debated, has also tended to be segmented and surrounded by a degree of confusion. Segmentation is a result of a concern with different issues which derive from the particular experiences of the two halves of the continent. In the west, because the institutional frameworks for the subordination of armed forces to elected civilians have existed for some time, attention has generally focused on the effectiveness and character of democratic civilian control and generally assumed this to be unproblematic (Cizre, 2004: 110). In central and eastern Europe, on the other hand, the scholarly literature in the post-Cold War period has tended to concentrate on methods of establishing such control and the form it should take, rather than consideration of its effectiveness (Burk, 2002: 8; Forster, 2002). This has limited attempts to offer a cross-European analysis of the issue of democratic civilian control of armed forces, based on an untested assumption that more divides postcommunist states from the west than unites them. The confusion over democratic control also stems from a lack of conceptual clarity. Problems here include a tendency to use the terms ‘democratic control’ and ‘civilian control’ as if their meaning were the same, along with a tendency to equate democratic control with control of the armed forces by the civilian political executive alone (Cottey, Edmunds and Forster, 2002c: 5). Moreover, study of the issue has traditionally been dominated, indeed distorted, by an assumption that military ambitions will always incline towards coup d’état. Whilst the fear of a military coup has been a concern for some European states over the last 40 years, it is now a principal concern for a very limited number of European governments. In reality the most pressing issues relate to the day-to-day nature of the relationship between civilians and 19

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the military in the funding, organisation and conduct of their armed forces – what has been termed elsewhere a ‘second generation’ set of issues (Cottey, Edmunds and Forster, 2002a: 31). This chapter takes as its point of departure the need for a more holistic approach to the issue of democratic civilian control of the armed forces than is normally found in literature.1 This approach can be characterised in terms of an analysis of governance of the armed forces, at the heart of which stands the issues of how best to ensure accountability between the armed forces and the societies they serve. By this means, the focus is widened to include the role of legislatures in exercising political control over armed forces, the way in which bureaucratic structures and practices impede or advance this control, and the interaction between societal values and the armed forces in the form of broader civil society debate on defence issues. Through a cross-European analysis of four issues, democratic governance of the armed forces, legislative oversight, implementation of defence policy and civil society engagement, this chapter advances three major arguments. First and contrary to any idea of what Bernard Boëne refers to as a western ‘type’ or model (Boëne, 2001), beyond some general principles of democratic civilian control, there is tremendous diversity across Europe, which belies any sense of a single model of democratic civilian control with major differences between prime ministerial, presidential and semi-presidential systems. Second, with some notable but minor exceptions, 16 years after the fall of the Berlin Wall the rapid progress of institutional reforms in many postcommunist states is leading to a convergence of concerns between west and central and eastern European states. In this respect differences are best considered to exist by degree rather than by type, in terms of ensuring the accountability of defence policy and the armed forces. Despite this, the third and connected argument is that across Europe ensuring effective democratic governance remains a problematic and challenging issue for two reasons: declining trust in governments; and the use of armed forces for purposes other than Territorial Defence. In particular as a consequence of the willingness of politicians to use their armed forces to promote what Elliott and Cheeseman term ‘cosmopolitan humanitarian objectives’, armed forces have more frequently been used to intervene in interstate conflicts, in peacekeeping and peacemaking circumstances as well as in pre-emptive wars, often in regions well beyond their own state borders (Duffield, 2001; Kaldor, 2001; Kampfner, 2003; Elliott and Cheeseman, 2004: 1–2). Electorates see many of these deployments as discretionary or ‘wars of choice’ and decisions have become increasingly contested, often being

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cast as in the interests of particular political parties and political elites, rather than in the national interest. Senior members of the armed forces have also become wary as armed forces have become increasingly overstretched and undermanned in the execution of these tasks, with little institutional benefit.2

A framework for considering democratic civilian control The existing academic debate on democratic control of armed forces remains dominated by contributions drawn from west European and North American Cold War experiences, and revolves around two closely related issues identified by the ‘founding fathers’ of the discipline: the degree of autonomy of the military from the civilian political power, and the proclivity of the armed forces to interfere in domestic politics. For Samuel Finer, the structural monopoly of the use of violence supported by a hierarchical and disciplined structure poses an inevitable threat to society, what Peter Feaver terms ‘the civil–military problematic’ (Finer, 1962; Feaver, 1997: 149). In addressing this inherent problem, Samuel Huntington argues that civilian control of the armed forces should occur through either ‘subjective’ or ‘objective’ means. Subjective control is most likely in undemocratic situations, and reinforces civilian power by politicising the military and linking it to the regime. Objective control, on the other hand, which occurs in democracies, involves a clear separation of responsibilities between civil and military sectors, and ensures that professionalisation leads to apoliticisation and that there is no civilian interference in purely military matters, and vice versa (Huntington, 1957: 36; Strachan, 1997: 263). Morris Janowitz observes by contrast that changes in technology, society and missions have led to an inevitably more political role for the professional soldier, than that suggested by Huntington (Janowitz, 1960, 1964b). For Janowitz alongside the general legitimacy of the civilian government, an appropriate social profile, the status of the armed forces and their sense of civic obligation (elements of subjective control), the best guarantee of keeping the military ‘out of politics’ is its own divided nature, which ensures civilian supremacy through inter-service rivalry and the intra-military competition for resources and influence (Janowitz, 1960: 420). For Bengt Abrahamsson on the other hand, the key to maintaining democratic control over the armed forces is to recognise the military’s political nature, and to establish a system of institutional control mechanisms that take this into account (Abrahamsson, 1972: 160). Finer’s conclusion was that civilian control of the military is strongest

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in those societies in ‘countries of developed political culture’ with coups most likely to occur in states where society’s respect for the governmental and legal institutions of the state is lower (Finer, 1962). For many years the Huntington-Janowitz debate has dominated the field and, as indicated above, remains a touchstone in any consideration of democratic control. However, more recently new contributions have emerged. For example, Michael Desch has argued that we need to focus on where military and civilian preferences diverge and to explore the nature of this for civilian control. He argues that where international and domestic threats are low the situation favours weakening civilian control and vice versa (Desch, 1999: 391). More recently Deborah Avant has highlighted the role of private military contractors in complicating our understanding of civil–military relations – an issue that continues to receive prominence in Afghanistan and Iraq (Butler, 2000; Singer, 2003; Spearin, 2003; Avant, 2004). This has posed new challenges to the traditional domain in which Huntington’s military professional should exercise competence. Despite more recent work in the field, especially that of Desch, Burk, Bland and Born and Hänggi, rarely have the conceptual ideas been applied to the changing post-Cold War situation across Europe. To address this lacuna this chapter draws on work set out by Cottey, Edmunds and Forster to explore contemporary issues of democratic civilian control of the armed forces. This chapter contends that while control of the armed forces by legitimate democratically elected authorities is a key element of this relationship, a further prerequisite is the accountability of a state’s armed forces to its citizens as well as its elected government (Cottey, Edmunds and Forster, 2002c: 1–7). The relationship is thus much broader and more complex than the way it is traditionally characterised, and can best be analysed in terms of the governance of armed forces. This approach permits a wider and multi-level approach to the relationship between armed forces, political power and the state, and in particular avoids an excessive focus on the maximisation of civilian power over the armed forces, in favour of appropriate sensitivity to the way in which both formal and informal mechanisms interact to provide legitimacy and accountability in the relationship. A key advantage of using the concept of governance is the more nuanced and sophisticated understanding it gives of the role of the military in domestic politics (Bland, 1999; Burk, 2002). As noted, much of the academic literature focuses on military intervention in politics in the form of coups in which the military is directly or indirectly a key participant. However, while military intervention has taken place in

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Portugal (1975), Greece (1967) and Turkey (1960, 1971, 1980, 1997) it has not occurred elsewhere in western Europe. Likewise in central and eastern Europe despite a successful coup in Poland in 1979 and failed coup in Russia in 1991 these are exceptions. The general trend is that there is a strong tradition towards civilian political control of the military and against direct military intervention in politics. Even in testing circumstances, as evidenced by the Ukrainian military’s decision not to be drawn into the struggle for power during the December 2004 Orange Revolution, postcommunist militaries have chosen to confine themselves to their barracks (BBC News Online, 2004b). What conceptualising democratic civilian control of the armed forces in terms of governance does, therefore, is to give enhanced analytical purchase on the actual processes of interaction between the armed forces and the civilian political authorities at a lower threshold than coups d’etats, but which nonetheless pose challenges for democratic civilian control. As Alfred Stepan comments ‘. . . any large complex organization has some institutional interests of its own and prerogatives its members seek to advance, as well as some changes or outcomes in the overall political system that it, more than other organisations, particularly fears and thus resists’ (Perlmutter, 1977: 2; Stepan, 1988: 10). Service personnel and the military as an organisation and branches within it can exercise influence in three ways: through influence, blackmail and displacement (Finer, 1962; Strachan, 1997: 8). This is important because it is clearly a key tenet of democratic civilian control that a state’s armed forces should confine themselves to implementing the decisions made principally in the fields of defence and foreign policy by democratically elected civil authorities; in practice the situation is rather more complex. Both defence policy and military power as a tool of foreign policy involve complex military-technical issues on which service personnel may have a monopoly of knowledge or be best qualified to provide advice and expertise, and the balance between democratic control of defence and foreign policy on the one hand and appropriate deference to military expertise on the other needs to be acknowledged and explored. In addition to this, and as the concept of governance underlines, the interaction between the armed forces and the civilian political authorities and its impact on defence and foreign policy takes place in a number of arenas and can embrace a number of actors. Traditionally, the literature on civil–military relations prioritises executive control of the armed forces (Cizre, 2004: 107). In fact, however, a vibrant liberal democratic system involves checks and balances between the power

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exercised by the executive, legislature and judiciary, along with protection of the rights of the individual and respect for the rule of law. It also requires wider public debate beyond the formal political institutions of the state through societal engagement with and understanding of defence issues. As Bland has argued, the focus of analytical attention must therefore extend beyond civilian executive control of the defence sector, to include the wider aspects of democratic control of armed forces, and in particular the role of parliaments in providing oversight of the armed forces, defence policy and the executive’s control of the military (Bland, 1999). It must also include wider ‘civil society’ contributions to defence issues. The need in European liberal democracies for some form of consensus or legitimacy for defence decisions illustrates the importance of these dimensions. A further element of the processes of engagement between the armed forces and the civilian political authorities into which the concept of governance gives insight is the role played by norms and values. The predominant focus of the existing debate is institutionalist in the sense that it focuses on the formal institutional mechanisms through which the civilian sector ‘controls’ armed forces, notably the constitutional arrangements, chains of command and laws governing the use of armed forces. Legally defined institutional chains of responsibility, legislative oversight of defence policy and civilian control of the defence budget are all plainly important elements of any system of democratic control. But as Linz and Stepan note with regard to the issue of democratic consolidation, it is also necessary to be conscious of the impact of behavioural and attitudinal factors on the practical operation of the institutions and procedures (Linz and Stepan, 1994: 5). Governance thus supplements an analysis of formal structures with what Cottey, Edmunds and Forster have termed an analysis of the ‘democratic substance’ (Cottey, Edmunds and Forster, 2002a: 40).

Democratic governance of the armed forces The concept of democratic governance not only is based on the premise that democratic civilian control revolves around the core democratic principles of election of governments, division of powers between an executive, legislature and judiciary, checks and balances on the power of the executive and respect for the rule of law, but is also flexible and recognises that democratic regimes may take a variety of forms. This section considers the common principles which characterise regimes for democratic governance of the armed forces along with the three forms

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such regimes take in Europe; within this context the chapter then goes on to explore experiences of democratic governance of the armed forces, and to gauge whether and how practice and principle differ or coincide. In terms of the common features of European democratic governance of the armed forces, a first point is that the head of state or government is typically legally vested with the role of commander in chief of the armed forces. He/she is normally supported by a government minister (who may be a member of the legislature) who has responsibility to the government for the actions and management of the armed forces and is charged with the responsibility for the Territorial Defence of the state. This minister is in turn supported by a Ministry of Defence staffed by civilian civil servants with uniformed officers providing technical expertise. Together these two elements form the defence bureaucracy which is the institutional means through which defence policy is organised, administered and implemented. In most democratic regimes and however problematic it might be in practice, there is a conceptual difference generally made between ‘policy’ and ‘operational’ issues. Typically this difference is embodied by a senior uniformed officer who is the chief of the defence staff or armed forces, charged with implementing policy and operational responsibility for the armed forces. A higher command or military headquarters (HQ) is responsible to the chief of the defence staff for the operational conduct of military units under their command. The conduct of the armed forces is regulated by the laws of the nation state, supplemented by military laws which make specific provision for the missions and the day-to-day conduct of the armed forces. As analysed further in Chapter 4, European laws, notably the Human Rights Act which in October 2002 incorporated the European Convention on Human Rights, have far-reaching implications for armed forces. For example, Article 3 of the convention covers ‘inhuman or degrading treatment’ with implications for disciplinary systems and military conduct in peace and war, and Article 8 addresses respect for private and family life with implications for the recruitment and retention of gays and lesbians in the military. International laws also provide a legal context in which the military operates, and in times of conflict the laws of war – notably the Geneva Conventions – also come into play (Walzer, 1977; Howard, Andreopoulos and Shulman, 1994). Based on these common principles, democratic structures across Europe take three chief forms: parliamentary/prime ministerial systems, presidential systems, and hybrid prime ministerial/presidential systems. With some variation 17 European states can be considered to have

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parliamentary/prime ministerial systems, where the head of state is usually distinct and separate from the head of government. The head of state is generally vested with the powers of the commander in chief, whilst the head of government is in practice responsible for the conduct of the armed forces and national defence to parliament. Alongside the prime minister, a senior minister of defence is accountable to parliament. Examples of states with this type of system are Denmark, Slovenia, Sweden and the UK. In presidential systems, as found for instance in Bulgaria, Finland, France, Poland, Romania, Russia and Ukraine an elected president is the head of state with both de facto and de jure responsibilities as supreme commander of the armed forces. The defence minister is accountable to the president with the former holding the power to remove ministers in the defence ministry; in the case of Finland it is the president who also has the power of decision over promotions (Finnish MoD, 2004: 14). Often in presidential systems, the chief of defence (the most senior military officer) has considerably more responsibilities in advising the president than the Minister of Defence, compared with prime ministerial and semi-presidential systems. The defence forces are often under the command of the chief of defence who answers directly to the president with the minister providing a supporting role to the chief of defence. In this system the president is less directly held to account through parliament for policy decisions relating to the armed forces. However, the powers of the president as commander in chief vary widely. For example, a hybrid system existed in Poland between 1989 and 1997, but political differences between the President Walesa and the party of government led to these arrangements being modified to a prime ministerial system (Michta, 1997; Latawski, 2002). In France, the President has responsibilities for defence and foreign policy but in periods of cohabitation system the governing party is different to that of the president, and responsibilities for defence are more ambiguous and politically contested (see below). Reflecting concern of a surprise attack that requires an instant response, in Scandinavia he/she has the power to declare a national emergency and in times of national crisis to authorise a general mobilisation. In semi-presidential systems the responsibilities of the head of state and the head of government are shared. In Germany the 1949 German Constitution locates responsibility for representing the state abroad, signing international treaties with the President, but the Bundestag has the right to declare war and deploy troops abroad and is a more active partner in a range of issues concerning the governance of the Bundeswehr

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(Wöckener, 1996: 104; Koenig-Archibugi, 2004: 168). Likewise in Austria, Croatia, Ireland and Iceland as well as Lithuania, Portugal and Slovenia, in semi-presidential or weak presidential regimes there is a more explicitly mixed set of responsibilities. Although based on shared key tenets, overarching structures for the democratic governance of the armed forces thus take three major forms across Europe rather than one. However, it is not sufficient to stop at this macro level of analysis of the formal constitutional structures of democratic civilian control of the military, without further analysis and understanding of how relationships operate in practice. Central to this is the degree to which accountability – both of the armed forces to the civilian authorities and society, and of the civilian authorities to society as regards the management and use of the armed forces – is achieved, both in theory and in practice or in the words of James Burk ‘creating’ and ‘enacting’ civil–military relations (Burk, 2002: 23). This chapter now turns to three areas critical to securing this accountability – legislative oversight of civil–military issues, the implementation of defence policy, and the engagement of civil society in security matters to explore the dynamic relationship between the armed forces, the state and the civil society (Perlmutter and Bennett, 1980).3

Legislative oversight Oversight functions carried out by a legislature comprise a key element in European systems of democratic control over armed forces. Indeed in Europe, it is the democratically elected legislature that is the institutional expression of the accountability of the defence sector and provides day-to-day legitimacy for executive policy-making. Legislatures are therefore charged with holding the executive and bureaucracy to account by examining and approving security legislation proposed by governments and by scrutinising the implementation of defence policies of the executive. Specifically, the legislature’s major roles in relation to the armed forces are: (1) to approve, amend or reject primary legislation; (2) to exercise control over the defence budget; (3) to scrutinise decisions once they have been taken, often through routine and special enquiries of parliamentary committees; and (4) to provide a platform or arena for debates on contentious or important issues of the day, notably the deployment of military forces or the decision to declare war. The engagement of the legislature in the defence policy-making process is therefore crucial to provide both democratic accountability and transparency. Effective parliamentary oversight of the armed forces and defence

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policy is, however, critically dependent on two factors. The first of these is the extent of the formal constitutional and legally defined powers of the legislature, with the German and to a lesser extent the Hungarian system offering the strongest checks on the executive’s management of the defence sector, and with the French offering the weakest across all four functions. Second, and equally important, effective oversight by the legislature is reliant on the capacity and willingness of members of the legislature to exercise those powers in an effective and meaningful way. In terms of formal powers, all systems in Europe require legislative approval of primary legislation, though many systems permit the executive to pass secondary, tertiary and what might be termed ‘soft’ law – executive orders or decrees or orders in council. Moreover, all political executives need to seek approval for their defence budgets, and all legislatures at least in theory if not in practice provide an arena for national debates on defence. There is, however, wide variation in the extent to which parliamentary committees have the power to scrutinise decisions, and this has important implications for democratic governance of the armed forces, particularly when coupled with disparities in the extent to which parliamentarians are in practice able to use the power vested in them. Perhaps the most influential committees exist in Germany where the Budgetary Committee, the Defence Committee and the Foreign Affairs committee of the Bundestag exercise particular influence (Sarotte, 2001; Koenig-Archibugi, 2004: 168). The German system is characterised by high levels of control of the defence sector by the executive, but this is combined with quite extensive political cooperation and partnership with the Bundestag. The Bundestag not only approves or rejects the defence budget, but is a significant partner in shaping specific budgetary allocations, and the Defence Committee not only has, but uses extensively, the right of inquiry to promote debate and to ensure transparency and accountability. The culture of cooperation also ensures that German parliamentarians on the relevant committees have sufficient opportunities to analyse current projects, topical issues of the day and defence legislation (Tomuschat, 1980; Ehrenzeller, 1993). Mathias Koenig-Archibugi has shown convincingly that both the institutional arrangements and the conduct of governance of the armed forces ensure that defence planning does not develop into a self-contained, independent process distinct from the consensus in parliament (Koenig-Archibugi, 2004: 168). Notwithstanding the formal powers of the UK legislature and the epithet of Westminster as the ‘mother of parliaments’, in practice the legislature is relatively weak in relation to the executive (Greenwood, 1994).

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In part this is because the party in government holds the position by virtue of a majority in the House of Commons and the link between the government and the majority party is both direct and very strong and their electoral interests are synonymous. Within this context the foreign and defence select committees are weak and lack independence from government. Their members are appointed by party managers and numbers are determined by the party’s size in the House of Commons, creating an in-built majority for the government. Moreover, select committees lack the power of subpoena and government ministers can refuse to appear and be questioned; select committees can only question ministers and civil servants from their own departments, although they can invite any relevant non-governmental figure to give evidence; and they have very little administrative and research support of their own (Clarke, 1988; Burridge, 1998). Thus as one commentator notes, they ‘. . . are good for a day’s headlines in the broadsheets, but they are very rarely acted upon by the executive. Instead, they tend to end up gathering dust on parliamentary shelves’ (Tempest, 2003). In France a similar situation is evident with Koenig-Archibugi arguing ‘the bias in favour of the executive branch is evident in every policy domain, but it is especially clear in foreign and defence policy. Most observers agree that in these policy areas parliamentary control “tends to be zero” ’ (Koenig-Archibugi, 2004: 167). As regards the capacity and willingness of members of the legislature to exercise scrutiny powers in relation to the armed forces, four further points are striking. First, in all European states rarely has the issue of defence been seen as a cause on which to build a parliamentary reputation, and for this reason political ‘entrepreneurs’ in parliaments have generally steered clear of defence. Across Europe it has been economic well-being (and in central and eastern Europe economic transformation) that has been the overwhelming priority (Bebler, 2002: 169; Vlachová and Sarvaš, 2002: 44; Dunay, 2002a: 64).4 Moreover, since 1989 few votes at elections have been won on a party’s position on defence, and political parties have generally focused on policy sectors with more vote-winning potential (Wallace and Forster, 2001; Dover, 2004). In this respect the 2004 Spanish elections are the exception to this general trend. Even in post-September 2001 context, few governing parties in Europe have been willing to translate any strategic interest in defence into a micro interest in the adaptation of armed forces so that they are fit for role. In Belgium an official commented with some exasperation that politicians ‘had little interest in defence issues beyond the use of the defence budget to promote local and regional employment’.5

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Second, in all states an inherent problem of scrutiny and accountability in the defence sector is that defence departments are ‘spending ministries’ with few standing elements that require specific or formal parliamentary approval. Whilst defence expenditure is ranked in the top four of all government public expenditure, beyond the procurement plans and capital spend programmes, there are actually few outputs for legislatures to monitor. For example, in the UK the Labour government between 1975 and 1979 concealed the Chevaline project (used to update Britain’s nuclear programme) from parliament; more recently expenditure on the security and intelligence services is estimated to be three times larger than that approved annually by parliament (Greenwood, 1994). Similarly the Czech parliament has extensive powers in relation to control of the defence budget, but the limited nature of the information it receives – particularly in relation to defence expenditure – means that its budgetary role is limited to ‘up’ or ‘down’ approval or rejection of the defence budget in its entirety (Vlachová and Sarvaš, 2002: 55). In the Russian Federation the major challenge of the budgetary process is that the officially approved annual budget has little relation to actual expenditure during a financial year (Isakova, 2002). In France the planning laws which establish the objectives of defence policy require approval but they can only be accepted or rejected without amendment. Neither does the National Assembly or its committees have responsibilities for or participate in control of foreign or defence policy (Koenig-Archibugi, 2004: 167). Third, in terms of formal powers parliaments legislate, that it is to say they are the organisation that pass, amend and repeal laws, but the reality is more complex. In defence there is an executive sustained tradition of limiting the amount of primary legislation that governs defence and instead the executive passes secondary, tertiary and what might be termed ‘soft’ law – executive orders, decrees and orders of defence council. As Lustgarten argues, ‘by avoiding primary legislation, it ensures that the time allocated to service measures is greatly reduced, sometimes minimal, and – most vitally – that no amendment is permitted’ (Lustgarten, 2004: 7). A fourth factor inhibiting the ability of legislatures to maximise their role in the democratic governance of armed forces is that few members of European legislatures have military experience and the necessary expertise to pose and pursue often complicated and technical issues in parliamentary fora, either in the legislative chamber, through written questions, or in parliamentary committees. In those states that have ended conscription, the pool of parliamentarians with some form of

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military experience is expected to decrease to historically low levels.6 Across Europe there is therefore a growing trend towards diminished security expertise which restricts effective scrutiny. The British system is, for example, highly dependent upon the vigilance of individual parliamentarians on the relevant defence and foreign policy select committees and their tenacity in pursuing an issue, while in the 1997–2001 Parliament no member of the House of Commons Select Committee on Defence had served in any of the regular forces of the British armed services. In Poland, military influence over defence policy was strong throughout the 1990s, largely because there was not a caucus of politicians with an interest in or experience of defence issues to contest this dominance on a consistent basis (Latawski, 2002). Military domination remains the case in Russia, Belarus, Georgia and Ukraine, and in these states military officers are also routinely elected to the legislature (Betz, 2002; Cottey, Edmunds and Forster, 2002c: 43; Mychajlyszyn, 2002). A fifth factor limiting the effectiveness in practice is that whilst some issues and information need to remain confidential for genuine reasons of national security, restrictions on access to relevant information also commonly work to hamper accountability in the democratic governance of the armed forces. A particular problem here is a generalised reluctance on the parts of the political executive, the defence bureaucracy and often the armed forces themselves, to provide timely information to the legislature. This is a particular problem when the armed forces or defence establishment are the subject of a parliamentary enquiry, tending to prompt a closing of ranks in the face of the legislature (Cassese, 1978; Carstairs and Ware, 1991; Murray and Viotti, 1994; Panebianco, 1997). The situation is typically exacerbated by the absence of alternative sources of information, sometimes coupled with bias – implicit or explicit – among independent analysts towards the institutional interests of the armed forces. At the same time, however, it is also worth noting that in some political systems the issue of confidentiality has been overcome through the use of closed committee hearings and this has been a feature of systems where a high level of trust exists between the legislature and the executive. Finally, whilst legislatures at least in theory have an ‘arena’ function as the place for airing and debating pressing issues of concern in matters of defence, few parliaments actually undertake this function well. In France the constitution does not require the parliament to approve the declaration of war or the deployment of troops. In 1991 the President permitted a debate but indicated French troops would participate in any conflict irrespective of the outcome of the vote (Kimmel, 1996;

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Kessler, 1999: 53–54). In the UK a similar pattern is evident and as Lustgarten notes, ‘it would be impossible to contend, for example, that the despatch of British soldiers to Afghanistan in autumn 2001 was adequately debated’ (Lustgarten, 2004: 7). Whilst for the first time in British history the government permitted a debate and vote on the government’s policy to deploy troops to the Gulf for Operation Telic in 2003, party managers made clear this was exceptional and did not create a precedent. In Germany the Bundestag and the parliament in Hungary perhaps play the strongest role in the arena and decision-making functions both requiring a vote in parliament before forces can be deployed beyond national borders (Dunay, 2002b: 71; Koenig-Archibugi, 2004: 169). In summary, the process of legislative scrutiny is, in practice, a complex bargaining relationship between the legislature and the executive with wide variation between theory and practice. If the legislature does not have the capacity to fully engage in this relationship, its ability to scrutinise and hold the executive to account in relation to its management and use of the armed forces will be equally limited. Where European legislatures tend to be most effective in ensuring democratic governance of the armed forces is in the headline use of their powers: approving legislation and defence budgets; holding annual debates; and acting as a forum to debate issues of public concern rather than a decisionmaking body. In the latter respect, they offer a particularly important arena for promoting, if not ensuring, accountability and transparency in relation to decisions to deploy the armed forces and at times of national emergency. Across Europe, where legislatures have routinely been deficient is in undertaking detailed scrutiny of defence policy and the armed forces. To a large extent not only is this a product of the fact that most legislatures have weak parliamentary committees, but it is also strongly influenced by the unwillingness of individual members of the legislature to exercise their powers – both formal and informal.

Implementation of defence policy Whilst the legal framework for ensuring democratic civilian control of the armed forces is in place in almost all states in Europe, in practice there are wide variations in the effectiveness and efficiency. Across Europe, one of the key problems as regards governance of the armed forces relates to the capacity of elected governments to actually develop and especially to implement defence policy. ‘Effective policy making requires the ability to determine the range of policy choices open to the

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government, an assessment of the relationship between those choices and the resources available, decisions on whatever changes are deemed necessary and the ability to implement the policy once decisions have been made’ (Cottey, Edmunds and Forster, 2002a: 41). Implementing defence policy does not therefore simply depend on constitutional arrangements such as the division of powers, and checks and balances on the executive, or on macro-level institutional arrangements such as civilian primacy in determining defence policy. It also requires lower level bureaucratic structures and suitably qualified and trained civil servants to perform the necessary practical tasks on a day-to-day level (Page, 1992: 174; Cottey, Edmunds and Forster, 2002a: 41). Thus it is the quality of the supporting structures, relationships and quality of personnel within the defence bureaucracy that are the key to executing policies, and to doing so in a way that is the most economic in terms of the resources applied to achieve particular outcomes. Across Europe there remains a disjuncture between the theory of democratic governance of armed forces and its practical application at the micro level. There are some instances in Europe where this disjuncture has seriously challenged the view of the majority of citizens that their armed forces are under democratic civilian control, for example, in the successor states of the former Soviet Union and some of the successor states of the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, notably Bosnia-Herzegovina, Serbia-Montenegro and Macedonia, as well as Turkey and Albania. Three issues stand out as particularly problematic. First, many states face problems connected with the absence of detailed information on the armed forces and defence spending, leading to poor analysis of the policy choices open to them and unrealistic assessments of the relationship between available resources and these choices. A second issue relates to the quality and experience of the bureaucracy on which successful implementation depends. In central and eastern Europe, increasing the proportion of civilians employed in the defence bureaucracies, and in particular placing civilians in key policy-making positions, has been a key element in the implementation of democratic civilian control of the armed forces and has presented a major challenge that will take decades to overcome. In Russia and other former Soviet republics, ministries remain dominated by uniformed officers, but elsewhere progress in civilianising defence ministries has been rapid (Betz, 2002). However, while civilianisation has tempered the influence of the military it has also created new problems. In Bulgaria for instance newly appointed civil servants have had only limited knowledge and experience of defence issues and reform is hindered by a lack of capable military and civilian

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defence experts (Pantev, 2002: 147). On a wider level, moreover, where senior civil servants are political appointees, as in the case in France, they are subject to dismissal after a change of government, thus inhibiting the development of an institutional memory of democratic defence policy-making. Lack of institutional memory is a special problem in the continent’s newly emergent states, and in Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia and Slovenia, for example, governance of the defence sector takes place between a civilian sector and a new military sector whose personnel were themselves civilians until only recently (Bebler, 2002: 168). In addition, in some states the relatively poor pay of civil servants compared at least to what those with equivalent qualifications might earn in the private sector, has made it difficult to retain good quality public officials. Even in west European states, the lure of higher salaries and the superior terms and conditions of employment often offered in arms industries and private security companies, can prove difficult to resist. In France the system of ‘pantouflage’ has been developed to rationalise and make a virtue out of the ‘revolving door’ between French stateowned armaments industries and the Ministry of Defence. Finally, the absence or weakness of administrative and technical systems for the management of large, complex public policy issues – for example, defence budget administration – has weakened the ability of many governments to control all aspects of defence policy. Thus, a lack of bureaucratic capacity in the Czech Ministry of Defence has meant that it has had difficulty managing the defence budget at anything other than a macro level, and its knowledge and control over more detailed elements of budgetary expenditure has been limited (Vlachová and Sarvaš, 2002: 55). In combination, these problems have worked to frustrate the exercise of democratic governance of the armed forces and the defence sector as a whole in two main ways. First, it has made the formulation of policy and the translation of that policy into reality problematic. As a result in Hungary for instance defence policy-making has been characterised by the rather unrealistic and short-term defence policy decisions of a succession of civilian governments (Dunay, 2002a: 76–82). Second, problems relating to lack of information, inexperienced civil servants and weak administrative systems have tended to lead to an over-reliance on the established experience and expertise of military colleagues. In Bulgaria, presidents Zheliu Zhelev and Petar Stoyanov both complained about the difficulty of making unprejudiced decisions on defence and security matters, when in practice their security advisors consisted almost wholly of military personnel (Pantev, 2002).

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Many states in Europe have responded to the challenge of managing the armed forces and defence sector by further civilianisation of many previously uniformed posts in defence ministries. In addition, marketisation has been introduced, with tenders offered for tasks deemed capable of being carried out by civilian commercial companies, and agencies have been created with devolved responsibilities for specific functions. The UK has been perhaps the most active in developing this approach, but initiatives have also been adopted by several governments in west, central and eastern Europe. To varying degrees this has led to a more efficient defence system, with tasks performed by civilian specialists in the appropriate field, thus releasing military personnel for other duties. At the same time, however, these changes are themselves generating problems for democratic governance of the armed forces and defence policy by increasing fragmentation, clouding lines of accountability and making transparency problematic.

Civil society engagement The effective engagement of society more widely in defence and security issues is an important additional element in the governance of armed forces, adding a wider, non-institutional level of oversight and accountability to the policy process, and creates alternative, non-official sources of information and expertise which can be utilised by both policymakers and the public alike (Gelleher, 1994: 4). A useful way of exploring how this engagement takes place is through the concept of civil society, which is described by Juan Linz and Alfred Stepan as the arena in which ‘self-organizing groups, movements, and individuals, relatively autonomous from the state, attempt to articulate values, create associations and solidarities, and advance their interests’ (Linz and Stepan, 1996: 7–8). The civil society arena therefore serves as a mechanism to enable citizens to participate in the political system, to shape and contribute to debates on public policy issues and to access information. In short it allows them the means to make and express judgements and decisions on policy in an informed fashion. Key elements of civil society comprise the media, non-governmental organisations including think-tanks, professional scholars, activists and pressure groups. All can contribute to the climate of opinion towards and directly and indirectly affect the formation of policy on the armed forces through three means. First, elements within civil society can offer an alternative, non-governmental, source of information on security issues and inform both the general public and the policy-making community.

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Second, civil society can provide the forum and means for popular debate, discussion and criticism of policies through newspapers, public meetings and specialist journals. In addition, civil society can act as an important means of holding other actors in the civil–military relationship to account, carrying out this function by exposing malpractice, forming critical judgements on policy, and mobilising public opinion (Cottey, Edmunds and Forster, 2002c: 23). In reality, however, civil society engagement across Europe in issues relating to the armed forces has tended to be patchy. One of the major problems has been the very limited nature of and opportunities for popular engagement with the governance of the defence sector, beyond the rather blunt mechanism of taking into account a party’s stance on defence in deciding how to vote at national elections. On routine matters of defence policy, levels of popular engagement are in general extremely low. In response to particular high profile concerns, however, some striking examples of popular activism have been seen, including for instance the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament in western Europe during the 1980s and the European-wide anti-Iraq war protests of the winter of 2002–2003 (BBC News Online, 2002). While these campaigns brought to the fore the purpose of European governments’ foreign policies, none had any real impact on the structure of defence forces. The limited nature of societal engagement in defence issues has often served to limit the ‘depth’ of democratic governance of armed forces across Europe. A further difficulty is that where there are critical policy analysis institutions, think-tanks and non-governmental organisations, principally in western Europe, in practice co-option or self-regulation limits the extent to which they are willing to question government policies and to think ‘outside the box’ (Forster, 1994a). In central Europe on the other hand, the major challenge is the absence of almost any form of independent non-governmental organisation offering defence analysis. For example, in the Czech Republic officials in the Research Department of the Ministry of Defence complain that there are practically no nongovernmental sources of defence expertise which either they or members of the parliamentary defence committee can utilise in relation to the policy-making process (Vlachová and Sarvaš, 2002: 51). Further, a general lack of interest and expertise in the Czech media has meant that issues of defence and security are only rarely covered in the press. When they are, coverage is often delegated to the least experienced journalists, and levels of analysis suffer accordingly (Vlachová and Sarvaš, 2002: 49). As a result, society as a whole remains relatively ill-informed about

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civil–military issues, which in turn limits its ability to make informed judgements about the effectiveness of governmental performance policy in this area. Similarly, in Bulgaria, the population in general has remained largely ignorant of defence matters, despite the problematic regional security environment of the past 10 years. Moreover, non-governmental defence expertise has been limited to one or two poorly funded thinktanks and a handful of specialist academics (Pantev, 2002: 153). For many states, the requirement that young men (and in some societies women) serve in their armed forces was a means to ensure that at least for a period, citizens were exposed to the unconditional requirement to defend and if necessary lay down their lives for their state (Flynn, 2002; Jehn and Selden, 2002: 99). Supporters of conscription also hoped that the armed forces would perform a socialising function, acting as the ‘school of the nation’ in binding citizens together and linking their identities more closely to the state (Forster, Edmunds and Cottey, 2003: 1–4). For economic reasons, notably the costs of financing a system of national conscription, declining levels of public support and limitations on where governments are willing to deploy conscripts who have not volunteered for service, as well as increasingly complex weapons systems, eight states in Europe have phased out conscription and one state (Italy) planned to do so by 2005 (see Table 1.1).7 In states that have ended conscription, this has removed an important institutional means of interaction between the armed forces and the civil society, and in time will alter the ways in which accountability can be exercised in the governance of the armed forces. However, generalisation across European states needs to be tempered by the fact that nearly three quarters (26) of European states continue to maintain some form of conscription, albeit with varying degrees of debate about its efficacy and longevity (Van Doom, 1975; Haltiner, 1998a, b; Sorensen, 2000a; Jehn and Selden, 2002: 93; Haltiner and Szvircsev Tresch, 2005). As noted earlier, one final mechanism for linking armed forces to their societies is the stance governments take on political activism and membership of political parties among those serving in the armed forces. Positions differ widely across Europe. At one end of the spectrum, the German Bundeswehr permits membership of political parties, and indeed measures are in place to actively encourage party membership as a means of linking the armed forces to the political elite and to society without any serious challenge to democratic civilian control of the armed forces, whilst at the other end service personnel are either prevented or discouraged from engaging in party politics (Strachan, 2000).8 Across much of postcommunist Europe as a result of the influence of the communist party

38 Table 1.1

Plans to retain or end conscription, 1989–2004*

Country

Albania Austria Belarus Belgium Bosnia-Herzegovina Bulgaria Croatia Czech Republic Denmark Estonia Finland France Germany Georgia Greece Hungary Iceland Ireland Italy Latvia Lithuania Luxembourg Macedonia Moldova Netherlands Norway Poland Portugal Romania Russia Serbia-Montenegro Slovakia Slovenia Spain Sweden Switzerland Turkey UK Ukraine

End of Max service Conscription Plans to conscription months phase out conscription Y Y Y N Y Y Y N Y Y Y N Y Y Y N N N N Y Y N Y Y N Y Y N Y Y Y Y N N Y Y Y N Y

N N N N/A N N N N/A N N N N/A N N N N/A N/A N/A N/A due 2005 N N/A N N N/A N N N/A due 2007 N N due 2006 N/A N/A N N N N/A due 2015

N/A N/A N/A 1994 N/A N/A N/A 2004 N/A N/A N/A 2001 N/A N/A N/A 2004 N/A N/A 2005 N/A N/A 1967 N/A N/A 1996 N/A N/A 2003 N N/A N/A N 2004 2001 N/A N/A N/A 1962 N

12 8 12 N/A 12 9 6 N/A 4 11 12 N/A 9 18 12 N/A N/A N/A N/A 12 12 N/A 6 12 N/A 12 9 N/A 12 24 9 6 N/A N/A 15 4.5 15 N/A 18

* Excludes Andorra, Cyprus, Holy See, Liechtenstein, Malta, Monaco, San Marino. Source: Adapted and updated from Jehn and Selden (2002: 94); International Institute for Strategic Studies (2004).

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in the armed forces during the Cold War, there has been an understandable tendency to discourage political activism (Danopoulos and Zirker, 1996). In Latvia for instance service personnel are forbidden from becoming involved in domestic politics directly, and the Law on the Defence Forces prevents them from engaging in political activities, joining trade unions, or organising and taking part in strikes (Viskne, 2002). There are thus very divergent ways in linking the armed forces to societies they serve.

Conclusion This chapter has argued that civilian dominance of the military and executive control of armed forces is only one element of an efficient and effective civil–military relationship. In all states in Europe, the likelihood of praetorian military intervention in politics is low even in authoritarian states such as Belarus and the Russian Federation. All European armed forces broadly accept that their role in relation to domestic politics is to act as a servant of the elected authorities. However, a number of challenges remain in ensuring effective democratic governance of the armed forces and the defence sector more widely, and with constitutional reform in central and eastern Europe now over a decade-and-half old, these challenges are remarkably similar in both the former communist and the western European states. Central to these challenges is ensuring accountability in the relationship between the armed forces and the society, and this involves three key elements: effective legislative oversight of the armed forces and defence policy, the maintenance and development of democratic and effective bureaucratic-administrative defence policy-making structures, and wider civil society engagement with security issues. Critically, therefore, the effective democratic control of the armed forces depends not simply on meso level (constitutional) arrangements and macro level institutional mechanisms (chains of command and defence laws) but also on accountability and transparency in the day-to-day practices and interactions at all levels between the armed forces and the society. As this chapter has further underlined, democratic governance of the armed forces can take a variety of forms, which depend on a state’s history, its broader political institutions and political culture. For some states politicisation of the military and conscription are a key means to subordinate the armed forces to elected governments, the German model; in other states there is a preference for limiting partisanship often within the context of all-volunteer armed forces. Similarly, a democratic state characterised by strong executive power, such as the UK, has quite

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different mechanisms of ensuring accountability and legitimacy compared with strong parliamentary political systems. The complexity of the institutional mix is such that there is no guarantee that particular institutional arrangements which work well in one state will be as effective in different circumstances, and given both the diversity of arrangements in Europe and the problematic nature of governance of defence, this indeed raises questions as to whether in practice the ‘right’ institutions exist at all.

Notes 1. The exception is the recent and insightful volume edited by Hans Born and Heiner Hänggi exploring the supranational challenge of democratic civilian control (Born and Hänggi, 2004). 2. For example in the UK, Major-General Julian Thomson argued that the Blair government ‘. . . spent a lot of time using the armed forces to hone up their image, and the rewards for them seem to be to cut them to the bone’ (Nathan, 2004). 3. For the first use of this tripartite distinction, see Stepan, 1988. 4. In exceptional cases, for example in Croatia, parties have used support for NATO membership to present themselves as progressive and modern – what Forster, Edmunds and Cottey have termed ‘the foreign policy dimension of defence’ – with less interest in the details of defence reform per se than its contribution to foreign policy goals (Bellamy, 2003a; Edmunds, Forster and Cottey, 2003: 1–5). 5. There was also no debate in the Belgian parliament in the run-up to or the aftermath of the NATO Istanbul Summit in June 2004. Interview with an official for the Belgium Delegation to NATO, 14 July 2004. 6. Jehn and Selden note that many states have maintained conscription precisely to protect civilian control of the military which might be threatened by an all-volunteer force (Jehn and Selden, 2002: 99). This point was reiterated in interviews with defence officials in states that continue conscription. 7. Italy has suspended conscription rather than abolished it to avoid a formal amendment to the constitution. 8. Hew Strachan notes that party political affiliation was not prohibited until the First World War (Strachan, 2003).

2 Military Reform of Armed Forces in Europe

During the Cold War period most European armed forces were structured on the same broad principle of defence against a common enemy within a bipolar structure premised on nuclear deterrence (Von Bredow, 2000: 51). The removal of the strategic certainties of the Cold War created huge pressures for reform of military structures and organisation, and these pressures have been both augmented and confused by the World Trade Centre and Pentagon attacks of September 2001 which introduced what has been described as a new Postmodern age, dominated above all by the ‘war on terrorism’ (Heyman, 2001; Posen, 2001; Cronin, 2002).1 The key military features of these new times are first that the range of defence tasks that governments now need to plan for has changed beyond the more clear-cut priorities from 1945 to 2001. Security risks now require both an internal and an external focus to protect society at large, national infrastructure, economic well-being and symbols of national identity which are a target from hostile non-state actors. In parallel with this, for some states at least, the missions which armed forces are undertaking have become more wide-ranging, combining war-fighting with international security missions which cover the whole spectrum of conflict from high intensity war-fighting, with the lower end of the spectrum of conflict, notably cosmopolitan humanitarian tasks, an issue analysed in further detail in Chapters 6 and 7 (Elliott and Cheeseman, 2004). At the same time, what has been called the Revolution in Military Affairs (RMA) is offering a range of new technologies – particularly in the field of real-time intelligence and guided munitions and network centric operations – with far-reaching implications for the way in which militaries are operated and managed (Freedman, 1998; Goldman, 2003; Gormley, 2003; Harknett, 2003). 41

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And with the US significantly in the vanguard in terms of implementing such technology, for those European governments that want their armed forces to operate alongside US forces, the need to embrace it is clearly a pressing issue (Schulz and Reimer, 2004: 420). From a military perspective, adaptation of armed forces to meet these new security challenges necessitates wide scale-changes in organisational structure, in the equipment required for the armed forces to carry out its task, in military doctrine and even in the type of personnel recruited to the armed forces (Forster, Edmunds and Cottey, 2002: 6–8). It is not unreasonable to suggest that that the scale of the change required is similar to or possibly greater than the challenges of military reform facing armed forces in the post-1945 period and the advent of the ‘nuclear age’. Clearly the role of conscription is a central element in military reform and this chapter aims to move beyond the claim of Karl Haltiner and Tibor Szvircsev Tresch ‘. . . that conscription has in fact had its day in most European nations’ to explicitly set the issue of conscription into a broader context of defence models in Europe (Haltiner and Szvircsev Tresch, 2005: 2). This is necessary not least because, as Haltiner and Szvircsev Tresch correctly comment, ‘. . . there argument does not imply that all countries will abandon conscription soon (Haltiner and Szvircsev Tresch, 2005: 2).2 To analyse military reform of armed forces in Europe, this chapter uses the concept of professionalisation, defining this as a set of processes whereby armed forces become closer to the type of forces that governments want. Having set out a framework for approaching the concept, the chapter goes on to consider whether and how European states are attempting to develop different types of armed forces to meet contemporary security challenges against the backdrop of a growing expectations–capabilities gap, characterised by a greater sense of risk within society, with increased demands made of militaries by governments on the one hand, and the amount of resources societies and governments are willing to assign to defence on the other.

A framework for considering professionalisation of the armed forces Professionalisation has been conceptualised in the literature in three key ways. First for Janowitz and others ‘professionalism’ is a sociological term referring to the extent to which soldiers receive training and are experts in their field, making them a distinct group alongside other professional groups in society. Second, for Huntington, professionalism

Military Reform of Armed Forces in Europe 43

is a value-laden concept which assumes that the armed forces not only have professional standards, but also, critically, accept their own subordination to the democratically elected civilian government. A more recent variant is to argue that contemporary professionalism requires the norm that armed forces are subordinate to democratic civilian leaders to be deeply embedded and accepted by service personnel – what Mary-Beth Ulrich terms ‘democratic professionalism’ (Ulrich, 1999). A third way conceptualises professional armed forces as being synonymous with the dominant western military model, that is to say all or largely volunteer armed forces capable of engaging in complex peacekeeping and enforcement operations outside national territory. For example, President Chirac has explicitly linked the idea of smaller forces capable of expeditionary warfare with the concept of professional forces (McKenna, 1997: 136). In this respect much academic writing has followed this line treating professional armed forces as synonymous with all volunteer forces.3 Using the definition of professionalisation developed by Forster, Edmunds and Cottey (2003: 1–2), this chapter draws on elements of the existing debate to offer a conceptualisation which is both explicit in its assumptions and which offers a framework for analysing change and reform in military culture and organisation across Europe. In common with Amos Perlmutter’s work on professionalisation it is argued that a profession is an occupation that requires advanced training in a specialised field, and levels of achievement, conduct and standards regulated by the rules of the organisation and by peers (Perlmutter, 1977: 1). Along with Mary-Beth Ulrich it is further argued that democratic professional armed forces accept that their role is to meet the demands of the civilian government (Ulrich, 1999, 2002). However, the framework set out here puts centre stage the purpose of professionalisation, the creation of a military as an organisation ‘fit for purpose’. The key difference between this approach and others is that the referent object is the institution of the armed forces, of which service personnel play a part. A professional military raises a number of often overlooked issues that extend well beyond the development of a professional soldier or the study of ‘officership’ as a profession, though clearly they are intimately connected. It is therefore argued that professional armed forces are characterised by four core factors: roles clearly defined by government and widely accepted by the armed forces and their societies; development of the expertise necessary to fulfil these functions effectively and efficiently; clear rules governing the responsibilities of the military as an institution and the responsibilities of individual soldiers; and promotion based on

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merit. Professionalisation is thus a form of policy adaptation whereby roles are defined or redefined, and force structures and standards are reformed and developed to enable appropriate goals to be delivered (Forster, Edmunds and Cottey, 2002: 14). Crucially, the direction of and relative balance between the four core factors may vary, giving a variety of possible models of professional forces.

A typology of professional armed forces in Europe The direction and relative balance between the four elements of professional armed forces makes a variety of models of professionalism possible. Using Max Weber’s conceptual tool this chapter establishes four ideal types of armed forces in Europe. Of course each ideal type does not exist in reality, but they are valuable in a number of ways. This chapter suggests that four main types of force structure have tended to guide the policies and choices of policy-makers in the process of professionalisation. These types may be termed: ‘Expeditionary Warfare’, ‘Territorial Defence’, ‘Late Modern’ and ‘Post-Neutral’. In each model, the argument is that it is the definition of role which is the key element of difference. Finally, each model has different referents, dominant values and institutional forms, and within each model it is moreover possible to differentiate between degrees of professionalisation depending on the extent to which the four professional characteristics, clarity of role, expertise, effective rules and procedures and transparent promotion procedures, are met (Table 2.1).4 Expeditionary Warfare5: In this ideal type, armed forces are substantially oriented towards the rapid deployment of military power outside national territory with the armed forces organised around the purpose of undertaking Expeditionary Warfare. This includes joint and combined warfighting operations often in a multinational context at brigade, division and corps levels at top end of the spectrum of conflict. These forces can undertake cosmopolitan tasks such as traditional peacekeeping tasks and nation building, but these are undertaken by default as a consequence of the armed forces being structured around and trained for high intensity war-fighting. Expeditionary Warfare armed forces may continue to have the role of providing for defence of national territory if that is required, but the defining feature of this type of military is that structure, equipment and organization are primarily driven by the goal of projecting military power beyond the national territory of the state concerned and perhaps more importantly high intensity military intervention.

Table 2.1

Key features of ideal type European armed forces

Ideal type/model

Spectrum of conflict

Principal missions

Force doctrine

Defence reform philosophy

Expeditionary Warfare

Full range from high to low intensity operations

War-fighting

Joint and combined

Transformation with no end goal

Territorial Defence

Defence of national territory with Ability to cover tasks in the medium to low some limited international security missions, for example peacekeeping spectrum of conflict

All arms

Modernisation

Late Modern

Limited aspiration and capability to cover the full range

International security missions – principally peacekeeping

All arms with some limited joint and combined units

Transformation for some units to operate alongside Exped. Warfare armed forces

Post-Neutral

Low intensity operations

Defence of national territory with some very limited international security missions, limited to peacekeeping

Militia-based forces Modernisation

45

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The epitome of the Expeditionary Warfare model lies outside Europe in the United States, where expeditionary warfare has become the goal of US reform, gathering pace during the last 6 years. The outline of this change in role was established during the Clinton administration and set out in Joint Vision 2010, with the ideas further developed in President George W. Bush’s National Security Strategy and in the last 4 years championed by the Secretary for Defense, Donald Rumsfeld. In this type of force structure, the reform process is conceptualised as a process of continual adjustment to ensure the armed forces are fit for purpose (Schulz and Reimer, 2004: 42). European states that aspire to the Expeditionary Warfare model differ in how they interpret its features (Bratton, 2002). For the UK, which explicitly aspires to the Expeditionary Warfare model, it is not an slavish application of the US model, but rather the creation of ‘a new British way of warfare’ that has as its centrepiece interoperability with ‘first-wave’ US forces, whilst for French military interoperability with the US is less prominent goal (Guthrie, 2001; Dorman, 2004b; Jackson, 2004). Territorial Defence: In this ideal type, relatively large armed forces are primarily oriented towards national territorial defence, but the aspiration is that forces are also capable of contributing in a very limited way to international security missions – both peace enforcement and a variety of interventions at the lower end of the spectrum of conflict. The defining feature of this model of defence reform is that, while governments may contribute armed forces to international security missions, force structure, equipment and organisation are primarily driven by the goal of maintaining forces capable of defending national territory from ground or air attack. Armed forces in this model are also generally based on relatively large and ‘heavy’ armoured formations, rather than more lightly armed joint forces. The reform philosophy is based around developing an ‘all arms’ concept rather than wholesale transformation of armed forces, with a small component of the armed forces capable of participating in low- to medium-level operations within the spectrum of conflict. Late Modern: In this ideal type, armed forces are relatively small in size and share a dual commitment to national defence and a contribution to international security missions. To sustain a national defence role, many states retain a commitment to conscription and mobilization of a large number of reserves in time of war. In terms of the international security role armed forces are trained to contribute to more cosmopolitan

Military Reform of Armed Forces in Europe 47

missions such as traditional peacekeeping operations and stabilization operations. Unlike the Expeditionary Warfare ideal type, governments of Late Modern states do not plan for military contributions to international security missions at the very highest end of the spectrum of conflict, notably full-scale war-fighting operations. The key distinction between Territorial Defence model and Late Modern model armed forces is the latter’s reliance on the quality rather than the quantity of armed ground forces. The key difference between Late Modern forces and the Expeditionary Warfare model is the limited capability and intention of engaging in war-fighting. However, in terms of the military reform process transformation is the predominant reform philosophy. Post-Neutral: Under this ideal type, armed forces are almost entirely oriented towards national defence. Post-Neutral armed forces also rely on more lightly armed ground forces and mass mobilization in the event of war, but in contrast to the Late Modern model they make no – or only very limited – contribution to international peacekeeping or intervention operations beyond national territory and have no aspiration to include peaceenforcement in the missions of the armed forces. In this ideal type the defence reform philosophy is modernization rather than transformation. The next section explores the different type of defence models and the challenges of defence reform in these states using exemplars of each type. See Table 2.3 for where European states match the typology. The Expeditionary Warfare model The emergence of some European armed forces that have as their principal function an Expeditionary Warfare role is the most striking characteristic of trends in Europe since the late 1990s. The UK has not only led the way in this area, but also had important consequences especially for the French, and to a much lesser extent the Italian and Spanish armed forces. The key feature of this type of armed force is a mission focused on deployment outside national boundaries, often justified on the basis of a need to uphold international values, with defence of national territory assumed but not the prime determinant of force structure, equipment and personnel policies. Such forces require mobility based on the development of air and sea transport, sustainability premised on their own operational logistics support and integrated land, sea and air components, and tri-service joint HQ. Since 2000, governments seeking advanced Expeditionary Warfare capabilities, led by the US and Britain, have also been embracing the concept of force transformation which includes network centric

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warfare, Sensor-Decision-Maker Effectiveness, ‘joint-ness’, the promotion of concept development and experimentation and attitudinal change (Cronin, 2002: 119; IISS, 2003: 17; Schulz and Reimer, 2004: 420; UK MoD, 2003a: 3). This has been championed by the US and taken institutional form in the establishment of NATO’s Allied Command Transformation and a Multinational Interoperability Council in which France and the UK play a prominent role.6 Increasing emphasis on developing Expeditionary Warfare capabilities has come from the decision of EU governments in December 1999 to create a European Rapid Reaction Force, along with NATO’s decision of November 2002 to create a NATO Response Force (NRF) (Giegerich and Wallace, 2004: 178). These organisations see in the development of new power projection capabilities an important means to ensure their relevance in a turbulent world (Binnedijk and Kugler, 2002: 117; Terriff, 2002). Notwithstanding considerable difference concerning specific operations, the French and the UK governments also see the development of an Expeditionary Warfare capability as an important means to increase the amount of influence they have within these organisations. These initiatives are seen as a reference point for enhancing old and developing new defence capabilities through NATO’s Defence Capabilities Initiative and more recently the NRF and the European Capabilities Action Plan, and the Headline Goal 2010 initiative of the EU, and they reflect particular interest in ensuring high levels of interoperability between advanced armed forces (Shake, Bloch Lainé and Grant, 1999; Rasmussen, 2002: 39).7 See Table 2.2 for the respective commitments in response to EU.8 So far as the UK government is concerned, the chief point of departure, however, has been the 1998 Strategic Defence Review, which set out the requirement for the armed forces to undertake both high and low intensity operations simultaneously through the indefinite deployment on peacekeeping duties of a divisional sized force or a brigade, whilst also deploying an armoured or mechanised brigade for a period of 6 months (UK MoD, 1998; Dorman, 2004a). This process of change has steadily gathered momentum following experience from Operation Telic in 2003–2004; it has been profoundly informed by the publication in the US of the Transformation Planning Guidance in June 2003, which promotes the goal of changing US forces from what is termed ‘an industrial age’ to ‘an information age’, altering the way in which service personnel think and train and which promotes the idea of continual transformation (Mahnken and FitzSimmonds, 2003: 112; Schulz and Reimer, 2004: 42). Since this time, the UK government has continued to trade force size for capabilities, and in July 2004 announced further

Military Reform of Armed Forces in Europe 49 Table 2.2

Troop commitments in response to the EU

Country

European Union HFC % of active military forces

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

5.6 2.5 under negotiation N/A Opt Out from EU defence under negotiation 6.3 4.1 4.2 2.2 under negotiation 8.7 2.4 under negotiation under negotiation 11.1 N/A 9.6 under negotiation 2.2 under negotiation under negotiation 3.6 2.8 5.9

Ground forces 2,000 1,000

2,000 12,000 13,500 3,500 1,000 6,000

100 5,000 1,000

6,000 1,500 12,500

Sources: Adapted from Table 3 Commitments Made for the Helsinki Headline Goal in 2000, Giegerich and Wallace (2004: 174); IISS Military Balance; correspondence with Defence Attaches.

cuts, reducing the army by four battalions as an additional and drastic means to increase investment in spend per troop and equipment (Guardian, 2003a; UK MoD, 2003a: 1). In France, a desire to match UK capabilities has, since the mid-1990s, been a key driver of change, with President Chirac referring for instance ‘. . . to the lessons of the Gulf War as a crucial indicator of the need for reform’ (McKenna, 1997: 136). As Justin Mckenna notes ‘out of the “combat ready” army of 280,000, plus the FARs 47,000 troops the French were only able to muster a total of 12,000 for their Daguet Divisions. The British, on the other hand, were able to raise almost three times that

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number from a force of only 160,000’ (McKenna, 1997: 134).9 This was a major trigger behind the French announcement in 1996 to end conscription, with all volunteer forces from 2001 and a focus on developing more readily deployable forces capable of operations at the highest level of the spectrum of conflict (Bratton, 2002). In terms of generating appropriate expertise, the European armed forces aspiring to an Expeditionary Warfare model have relatively high qualification levels for entry into the officer corps, and typically twothirds of the officer corps has a degree. Expeditionary warfare armed forces are also typified by high levels of occupational/technical specialisation, both within the officer corps and especially amongst NCOs. Despite this, training and the need for near constant re-skilling are major features of Expeditionary Warfare forces, with up to 25% of an individual’s career spent in professional training.10 The main tensions in developing appropriate expertise revolve around a threefold need for high levels of technical skill, the growing need for presentational and managerial abilities, and also exposure to operational experience. A further challenge of the Expeditionary Warfare model is maintaining war-fighting capacity alongside what Peter Volten describes as the ability to play ‘. . . the role of a diplomat in international legal authority’ (Volten, 2002). In particular there is a persistent fear that too much of a focus on peacekeeping and humanitarian intervention missions will undermine the war-fighting capability. For states aspiring to this model, conscription has been abandoned for three reasons: first, it is too expensive and consumes too much resource to sustain it; second, the deployment of conscripts in war-fighting has proved impracticable; and third, the emphasis on a small force based around high technology and high levels of spend per troop makes conscription superfluous (Jehn and Selden, 2002: 95). Notwithstanding this, one problem in Britain has been the significant reduction of the armed forces of 30.5% from their 1990 level of 308,000 down to 207,630 with the British Army element settled at 116,760 personnel, the smallest since 1830 (IISS 2004: 73). Coupled with an increase in the number of overseas deployments amounting to some 35% of service personnel on active service in 2003, this has eroded the amount of time available for training to deliver missions across the spectrum of conflict, and increasingly skills must be acquired through on-the-job experience. In France similar problems are evident with some 40,000 troops deployed overseas in 2003 (Giegerich and Wallace, 2004: 171). In terms of recruitment, the preference of governments adopting an Expeditionary Warfare model has been almost exclusively for volunteer

Military Reform of Armed Forces in Europe 51

forces, supplemented by relatively small numbers of specialist reserve forces. The UK has had a fully all-volunteer force since 1962 and France since 2001 (see Table 1.1). A key reason for this is that the levels of risk and the duration of many types of ‘new’ international security missions are considered too high and too long for conscript personnel or territorial or reserve forces (Jehn and Selden, 2002: 93). Thus in the UK, despite a reserve force of nearly 250,000 personnel, the government chose not to fully mobilise reservists for duty in Iraq in 1991 and in 2003 preferred to call for volunteers, and selective call-up from territorial and reserve forces with 7500 mobilised for operations, contributing some 10% of the manpower stationed in Iraq (UK MoD, 2003a: 15). In France the law explicitly prevented conscripts from serving in overseas operations and in the past they have done so on a voluntary basis. During the 1991 conflict, President Mitterrand felt unable to seek parliamentary approval and therefore ruled out the use of the aircraft carrier Clemenceau which was crewed by a large proportion of conscripts, and other ships disembarked their conscript personnel before sailing to the Gulf (McKenna, 1997: 134; Boëne and Danet, 2000: 235).11 One area in which the Expeditionary Warfare model has had particular problems is that of retention. With reduction in force size, opportunities for promotion diminish, and long or frequent deployments away from home can reduce the attraction of service life. Moreover, the type of skills which service personnel develop may have commercial value in the civilian sector. In both Britain and France, problems of retention are leading to significant under-manning. In 2003 the British armed forces were under-recruited by 9000 personnel and this has led to increased pressure for more rapid rotation of deployed troops (an increase in operational tempo) and an increasing number of requests for reserve forces to volunteer for military operations. In the UK 35% of forces were on operational tours of duty in 2003 (Giegerich and Wallace, 2004: 172) but as the Chief of General Staff argued, the challenge is to aim for 20% on operational tours of duty with no less than 24 months between deployments (Jackson, 2004). In France a similar pattern is evident with armed forces deployed on 20 missions across the world. As Chapter 4 analyses in more detail, difficulties of retention have also been reflected by the increasing speed with which women and ethnic minorities are being wooed to join the armed forces as alternatives to the traditional recruitment pool, although the British and the French governments have shied away from deploying women in front-line combat roles (NATO, 2004). Reflecting the shortage in recruits, British recruiters have been active in former colonies and

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commonwealth states, notably Nepal from which Ghurkha regiments are recruited and more recently in Fiji (Miller, 2001). In Expeditionary Warfare forces, command and control is far more complex and less hierarchical than in other models, especially the Territorial Defence and Post-Neutral models. In Expeditionary Warfare forces, rank distribution is not pyramidal but diamond shaped, with the most numerous ranks in junior and mid-career levels comprising high numbers of specialist technicians. For example, in the British Army 62% of officers are Captains and Majors (OF-2 and 3) and in France the figure is 49%. In the UK 27% are Corporals and Sergeants (OR-4 and 6) (NATO, 2004: 42,159). In addition, vertical lines of authority are supplemented by horizontal relationships which in many technical branches are better described as negotiated agreements amongst experts, rather than orders to subordinates. Unsurprisingly, in Expeditionary Warfare forces, there is also a high level of dependence on mid-ranking NCOs who have specialist training and expertise. In the Expeditionary Warfare model, promotion is firmly rooted in merit based on technical competence. Promotions systems are typically based on annual formal review and performance in professional examinations and courses. A particularly important role is played by the single service military academies and joint service staff colleges, which provide a common ‘controlled’ environment in which judgements can be made about the skills of service personnel by directing staff who themselves represent the best of their generation (Caforio, 2000). Historically across Europe, the navy has placed less emphasis on performance at these schools, but the emphasis on joint operations within the Expeditionary Warfare model has led to an approach more similar to the other two services, since senior commanders compete for other posts with air force and army colleagues. The key to promotion, however, still remains operational experience, including operational command responsibilities (the most prized of all) and operational staff duties across the spectrum of conflict, while tours of duty with ‘special’ and other elite forces carrying a particular kudos.12 Overall, for those European states which have sought most fully to embrace the Expeditionary Warfare model, the central challenge remains the sheer range of external missions which armed forces may be called on to deliver, coupled with the high costs of developing the necessary rapid deployment capabilities (Guardian, 2003b). In France and the UK the levels of investment required to create forces capable of operating at the highest level of the spectrum of conflict has led to a very significant decrease in the size of forces in an attempt to trade force size for

Military Reform of Armed Forces in Europe 53

capabilities by redirecting investment to equipment and increasing the overall levels of spend per troop. In France where armed forces have traditionally been based on conscription, there is a specific fear that the transition to an Expeditionary Warfare model could leave them under funded and inadequately equipped as the costs of moving to an all-volunteer force consume additional resources (McKenna, 1997: 137). For UK armed forces the scale of change is very dramatic even without the specific problems the French armed forces have faced in ending conscription. Whilst the UK and the French governments are modestly increasing defence expenditure albeit from historically low levels (currently 2.4% and 2.6% of GDP respectively), it is clear that this is not enough to match current US levels of investment (IISS, 2004: 353). Concerns therefore remain as to whether the steps taken to date will be sufficient, without further significant increases in defence expenditure or the creation of two-tier forces within the armed forces – with a small elite force capable of operating alongside first-wave US forces and a larger second tier of forces with less expensive capabilities able to undertake follow-on missions (Table 2.3). Territorial Defence model Notwithstanding the focus on an Expeditionary Warfare model, it is the Territorial Defence model under which armed forces are organised Table 2.3

Typology of armed forces in Europe

Ideal type

Country

Expeditionary Warfare Territorial Defence

France, UK Albania, Belarus, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Bulgaria,Croatia, Czech Republic, Estonia, Finland, Georgia, Greece, Hungary, Latvia, Lithuania, Macedonia, Moldova, Norway, Poland, Russia, Serbia-Montenegro, Romania, Slovakia, Slovenia, Sweden, Turkey, Ukraine Belgium, Denmark, Germany, Italy, Netherlands, Portugal, Spain Austria, Ireland, Switzerland

Late Modern Post-Neutral Outliers: Andorra, Cyprus, Holy See, Iceland, Liechtenstein, Luxembourg; Malta, Monaco, San Marino*

* These states have either no armed forces or very small armed forces that exclude them from the typology set out above.

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around the principal task of protection of home territory, which as yet remains the dominant one across Europe with 25 states subscribing to this type of armed forces. The core purpose of the military strategy is not so much to inflict military defeat on what is presumed to be a far superior enemy, but to make any invasion and subsequent occupation as difficult and costly as possible and to some degree invasion defence remains a cornerstone of the role of the armed forces (Skrastins, 1995: 36; Zaccor, 1995: 53; Kotnik-Dvojmof and Kopaf, 2002: 149, 150). It should be noted nevertheless that this is predominantly favoured by postcommunist states. As Andrew Michta notes ‘Their recent history of Soviet occupation and concern over resurgent Russian imperialism figure prominently in their security calculations, making territorial defense a priority . . .’ (Michta, 2004: 413). Alongside postcommunist states, Finland, Greece, Norway, Sweden and Turkey share this model. Territorial Defence states have generally been willing to engage in peacekeeping tasks only to a very limited degree, with still less enthusiasm for high intensity peacemaking and war-fighting operations, and relatively few resources have therefore been allocated to the development of rapidly deployable forces.13 Instead, efforts are focused on sustaining a mass force structure, equipment and organisation and indeed the military and societal culture necessary to defend national territory from ground or air attack; to this end armed forces are generally based on wholesale conscription and relatively heavy armoured formations. Despite the common factor of a shared role for the armed forces, a striking feature of states adopting the Territorial Defence model is the variety between states and their armed forces in this group. Indeed, even for the postcommunist states adopting this model, legacies from the Cold War period have varied, with some such as Hungary and Ukraine inheriting heavy armoured formations, and others such as Croatia and Slovakia being bequeathed little in the way of equipment and military infrastructure. For Russia, Ukraine and Serbia-Montenegro in particular, the forces inherited from the communist period, numbering 977,100, 303,800 and 105,500 respectively, have posed extremely far-reaching challenges, with the combination of their large size and a collapse of defence spending and defence infrastructure, contributing to a breakdown in morale, prestige and quality of professional life to a degree not experienced in other armed forces in this category. These three states aside, levels of defence expenditure also diverge sharply within the group. Greece and Turkey have the highest levels of defence expenditure across the whole of Europe reflecting the degree

Military Reform of Armed Forces in Europe 55

of threat each is perceived as posing the other. Thus in Greece in 2003/ 2004 defence spending was 4.1% of GDP ($6.5billion) whilst in Turkey it was 4.9% ($9.2billion). However, in other states in this group, defence expenditure has been more variable, though it is now increasing, with Bulgaria (2.4%), Hungary (1.9%), Poland (2%) and Romania (2.3%) contributing expenditure at or greater than the NATO European average of 1.9% (IISS, 2004: 353–354). It is also worth noting that in practice Territorial Defence states have considerable diversity. While Greece and Turkey have prepared their armed forces for land warfare over many decades, Romania has for instance moved to this model from an originally neutralist approach (Zulean, 2002: 238). In Croatia a three-phase change has occurred, with the promotion of a neutral defence model until 1991, followed by a need to provide for national defence during the war of independence, whilst more recently with stable borders, the removal of Milosevic and international guarantees of Croatia’s territorial integrity, there have been indications of an aspiration towards developing a Late Modern model of armed forces (Bellamy, 2002: 166). For Finland, Norway and Sweden on the other hand, a commitment to keep conscription in some form or another remains, but with ambitions to collaborate in international peacekeeping missions. This has led to a shift towards targeting resources on developing forces for international security missions, but with an ongoing commitment to Territorial Defence which continues to distinguish these states from the Late Modern group. This has created a number of tensions in terms of sustaining the bulk of the armed forces which are still focused on defence of home territory and what might be termed ‘new roles’. Here even without the aspiration towards Expeditionary Warfare, the need for defence reform is already evident. For example, in Sweden new procurement decisions are being informed by a desire for Swedish forces to have a capability to be interoperable with partners. Defence reform plans outlined in the autumn of 2004 emphasise an interest in contributing to international security missions albeit with a very modest contribution of up to 1500 troops for EU missions (see Table 2.2). In Norway and Finland similar trends are evident though in all cases the cost of maintaining conscription is limiting the speed and amount of resources (2% of GDP and 1.8% of GDP) which are available for modernisation (Herranen, 2004: 97; IISS, 2004: 353, 354). Perhaps for the reason that only a very small proportion of forces are assigned to or undertaking international security missions, it is important not to overstate this aspect. The size of forces assigned to international

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security missions in 2002 were Finland 917, Norway 1000, Sweden 779, Greece 1989 and Turkey 3546 (Giegerich and Wallace, 2004: 169; IISS, 2003; Krohn Devold, 2004: 5). The postcommunist states generally deploy even fewer forces. The Czech Republic has, for example, created one battalion capable of deployment on international missions, but has only a modest 576 personnel on Peace Support Operations and Hungary has 539. Three key issues can be identified as affecting the development of expertise within states whose armed forces are modelled on Territorial Defence lines. First, there tends to be a lack of funding which undermines military proficiency; second, given that Territorial Defence structures are based on single service structures and formations that are not integrated, there is quite extensive duplication. The third problem is that whilst in theory most of the military curriculum has been updated to take into account post-1989 changes in the military and strategic environment, in practice the military education system remains rather traditional. In addition in the case of at least some of the successor states of the FSU that are not members of NATO they remain a bastion of Cold War thinking (Herspring, 2002: 201). In terms of entry qualifications for joining armed forces in European states adopting a Territorial Defence model, standards are generally high, with officer candidates expected to have a first degree in, for example, Croatia, Greece, Hungary, Poland, Romania, Slovakia and Turkey. At the same time, in Russia and Ukraine there has been a severe decline in entry level standards, and Dale Herspring notes that the once very intensive competition for places at officer schools has collapsed with recruitment now motivated by attaining sufficient numbers to avoid closure (Herspring, 2002: 202). In terms of recruitment, despite drastically reducing the size of their armed forces, almost all states retain conscription typically of around 12 months (see Table 1.1).14 In general, states retain conscription because of the sense of threat from neighbours, typically states in the Former Soviet Union (FSU) and particularly Russia, or because ending it is too expensive (IISS, 2004: 98). In the case of some newly created or re-founded central and east European states such as Bosnia-Herzegovina, the Czech Republic, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Macedonia, Moldova, Serbia-Montenegro, Slovakia, and Slovenia and Ukraine, the need to create armed forces from scratch required manpower that could only be provided through conscription and in addition was linked to nation building of new states (Jehn and Selden, 2002: 96). However, an important distinction within this group lies between those states that

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have difficulty in sustaining conscription as an effective form of recruitment and those that do not. Norway conscripts its entire youth cohort of 25,000 with equally high levels in Finland (Jehn and Selden, 2002). In these states discussion of ending conscription has been neither widespread nor particularly popular, though steps towards more selective conscription may change this. For example, of the 50,000 available for conscription each year in Sweden, in the latest white paper the government proposes only calling up 10,000 which may in turn raise questions about the equity and sustainability of such a selective system. In terms of retention none face greater problems than the states of the FSU. Draft avoidance is so high in Moscow that only between 5% and 10% report for duty, and more than 18,000 men evade conscription in Ukraine even though 90% are released from duty or allowed to postpone their military service (Sherr, 2002: 220). In postcommunist states, given the poor levels of volunteer and conscript recruitment, the shortage of skills and low levels of retention in the armed forces, moving to smaller all-volunteer forces has looked attractive to almost all the governments in the Territorial Defence category with Slovenia abandoning conscription at the same time as it joined NATO – a step that many new and future NATO members might follow once an Article 5 commitment to collective defence has been secured. However for many states ending conscription would prove too costly (Herspring, 2002: 202; Sherr, 2002: 216), and a stop gap to which governments have tended to resort is to reduce service time for conscripts. Thus Greece has reduced conscription from 21 to 12 months, Hungary from 3 years to 9 months; Turkey has reduced conscription from 18 to 15 months and in Poland it has been reduced first from 2 years to 18 months, and then to 12 months, and by 2004 conscripts will serve for only 9 months (Jehn and Selden, 2002: 94; Latawski, 2002: 27; Simon, 2000). Notwithstanding public positions to the contrary, Jehn and Selden argue the fact that training now being so short means that it is only a matter of time before many states with service of less than 12 months eliminate conscription altogether (Table 2.4) (Jehn and Selden, 2002: 98). One way in which some Territorial Defence armed forces have addressed the problem of relatively low quality conscripts and the need for career NCOs, thereby sustaining professionalism during the interregnum between reducing periods of conscript service, and the full introduction of all-volunteer forces, is the use of a contract system. In Russia for instance 32% of the army’s NCOs serve under contract and in

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Armed Forces and Society in Europe Table 2.4 Conscription in Territorial Defence states Country

Conscription

Months

Albania Belarus Bosnia-Herzegovina Bulgaria Croatia Czech Republic Estonia Finland Georgia Greece Hungary Latvia Lithuania Macedonia Moldova Norway Poland Romania Russia Serbia-Montenegro Slovakia Slovenia Sweden Turkey Ukraine

Y Y Y Y Y N (ended in 2004) Y Y Y Y N (suspended in 2004) Y (due to end in 2005) Y Y Y Y Y Y (due to end in 2007) Y Y Y (due to end in 2006) N (ended in 2004) Y Y Y (due to end in 2015)

12 12 12 9 6 N/A 11 12 18 12 N/A 12 12 6 12 12 9 12 24 9 6 N/A 15 15 18

Sources: International Institute for Strategic Studies 2004 and information supplied from Defence Attaches in London/NATO HQ.

Ukraine 19% of other ranks. In Poland a new category of extended service on contracts has been created, with the aim of encouraging conscripts to stay in service and to become NCOs through financial incentives and better terms and conditions of service (Bilski, 2004; Latawski, 2002: 29). However, even the contract system is proving an imperfect mechanism for developing professionalised armed forces. In Poland, the system has suffered from the uncompetitive nature of the incentives, and the efforts to increase the number of personnel on contracts have been limited by lack of funding (Latawski, 2002: 28). Despite this, in Finland, Norway and Sweden, extended contract systems on the basis of very good employment terms and conditions have been introduced; given sufficient funding they may well be successful.

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In terms of training, while a number of states in this category have invested significantly in training both at national and at multinational levels, notably Finland, Norway and Sweden, difficulties persist. In these states debates about whether anti-invasion doctrine is more central to the role of the armed forces than preparing for international security missions has been the key issue. Elsewhere in this group postcommunist debates have focused around which doctrine should be taught; this has led to a parallel approach under which both Warsaw Treaty Organisation and NATO doctrine is offered, and as Dunay notes ‘. . . the legitimacy and direction of training at the Hungarian Defence Academy are still hotly contested’ (Dunay, 2002b: 71). In some states military education academies have served the function of a dumping ground for personnel not interested in serving in operational units. For example in Poland, eight academies employ 23,000 lectures, but produce only 600 officers and 2500 NCOs, while the total size of the armed forces is 150,000 (Latawski, 2002: 29). Similar problems exist in almost all FSU States of Belarus, Georgia, Russia and Ukraine. Understaffing of units and lack of resources for field training also remain significant problems for a sizable group of postcommunist states. In the cases of Russia and Ukraine, units are understaffed sometimes by up to 50%. For Russia, the war in Chechnya has also been a significant drain on scarce resources, but while the problem is less acute in other armed forces, it is still prevalent. In Romania the navy only received 15% of its fuel, and 70% of the air forces were not operational through a lack of flying time (Zulean, 2002: 124). Even where there are high levels of defence expenditure, for example in Greece and Turkey, the costs of maintaining mass armies, especially sustaining the call-up system and duplication across the army, air force and navy, often limits the amount of resources for investment in high technology equipment and the introduction of network centric capabilities. Notwithstanding attempts in some Territorial Defence states to develop a contract system for NCOs, one of the most notable features of postcommunist armed forces in this category is that the role of NCOs is relatively underdeveloped. In the Cold War period, officers in communist militaries did many of the tasks undertaken by NCOs in western Europe, and delegation of responsibility was rare. One of the challenges of professionalisation within armed forces geared towards Territorial Defence is therefore the development of an effective NCO cadre. Where none previously existed, NCO rank structures have had to be created, and most armed forces have also invested in the development of NCO training establishments; for the Czech Republic, this has extended to

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a joint military cooperation project with the UK to develop an east-central Europe regional training centre (an issue explored in further detail in Chapter 6). Nevertheless, the shape of most European armed forces within the Territorial Defence category remains top heavy, with senior officers outnumbering junior officers, producing an inverted pyramid; thus in Ukraine, the officer class amounts to some 28% of the armed forces (Sherr, 2002: 219). In most armed forces within the Territorial Defence category considerable steps have been taken to develop effective promotion systems based on merit and the objective evaluation of performance and competence. Differences within this group do, however, remain with the more advanced Territorial Defence states such as Finland, Sweden and Norway having promotion systems which are similar to those in the Expeditionary Warfare and Late Modern states. In other states in this group notably the postcommunist states, the promotion of younger officers is often hampered by more senior personnel whose formative experience and training occurred during the Cold War. Their refusal to retire blocks promotion and outdated attitudes act as a constraint on the operation of effective promotion systems.15 In the successor states of the FSU, promotion systems are the least fit for purpose. For example, the influence of local commanders in Russia and Ukraine, rather than merit, affects who is appointed to the most desirable posts which are often based on patronage (Herspring, 2002: 207). Moreover, as James Sherr notes ‘. . . the chronic shortage of housing is a further curb on meritocracy. Whatever the merits, officers are unlikely to be appointed to a particular post if there is no housing for them’ (Sherr, 2002: 219). In the Balkans there is also a higher probability that either political interference and party affiliation will affect promotion, or promotion will be based on previous military experience gained during the wars of liberation/occupation (Kotnik-Dvojmof and Kopaf, 2002: 152). Three general challenges of maintaining and developing a robust promotion system are evident. First, in these armed forces one of the paradoxical elements of the promotion system is that despite the priority given under this model of organisation to defence of home territory, prestige attaches to international experience and English language skills (Dunay, 2002b: 71). Second, anecdotal evidence suggests that where promotion structures have been reformed, the absence of major personnel changes has worked to hamper the scope for promotion of a newer generation of officers. Third, in a number of states – notably Croatia, Serbia-Montenegro and Slovakia – the very different backgrounds

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of officers have had adverse consequences. Some officers have come through the pre-1989 system, some served in the territorial forces and became full-time soldiers having fought for independence and some joined up in the post-Cold War period, many joining through a defence studies graduate system. This has led to a lack of cohesion among the officer corps and within the military organisation more widely (Bellamy, 2002).16 Overall, the European states adopting a Territorial Defence model for the organisation of their armed forces are characterised by considerable diversity. One area of difference is that of historical legacy and resourcing, which in particular places Finland, Greece, Norway, Sweden and Turkey in a different league to most central and eastern European states who in turn generally have better resources than the successor states of the FSU, such as Belarus, Georgia, Moldova, Russia and Ukraine. But there is also diversity in terms of the degree of success with which professionalisation and military reform is taking place. Here the greatest distinction is between the bulk of the group on the one hand, and FSU states and successor states from the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, notably Bosnia-Herzegovina, Croatia, Macedonia, Serbia-Montenegro, on the other, where it is arguable that a process of de-professionalisation has actually occurred, with the armed forces now less capable of undertaking operations efficiently and effectively than a decade and a half ago. For all states sustaining the Territorial Defence model, however, perhaps the key challenge centres on the ongoing commitment to Territorial Defence based on mass armies and heavily armed formations, and on the desire to contribute international security missions. Moreover, Cindy Williams argues transition from conscript to an all-volunteer armed forces can be expensive (Williams, 2004: 85).17 Norway is a leading example of a state committed to making a form of this duality work. Whilst the March 2004 Modernisation Plan commits the armed forces to national security as its first priority, it also aims to create more deployable forces from a brigade-sized force (Norwegian MoD, 2003; Berg, 2004: 23). As Marit Nybakk puts it, defence reform in Norway is about changing forces from a static ‘. . . anti-invasion defence to a mobile more flexible expeditionary and reaction defence’ whilst retaining widespread conscription in defence of Norwegian territory (Norwegian MoD, 2003: 3; Nybakk, 2004: 4). The comment applies equally to Finland and Sweden where conscription remains even if the rationale for it has significantly diminished. Hannu Herranen comments that Finland ‘. . . could not afford the costs of the kind of professional armed forces that would meet the requirements of a credible national defence

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and international crisis management . . . [and] conscription has been and remains the only sustainable and credible option for Finland’s defence’ (Herranen, 2004: 97). However, in these states it remains to be seen whether a more differentiated form of mass conscription can prove an effective means and flexible form of providing personnel for this type of European military (Frisvold and More, 2004: 12). Late Modern model The key feature of the Late Modern model of professional armed forces – the model adopted by Belgium, Denmark, Germany, Italy, Netherlands, Portugal and Spain – is a dual mission providing what might be termed a ‘residual Territorial Defence function’, but in parallel a commitment to provide a significant contribution as a proportion of overall force size to international peacekeeping (rather than expeditionary warfare) tasks, often those sponsored by the United Nations, NATO and the European Union. Typically this contribution amounts to around 4.5% of active military forces (see Table 2.2) whilst nominally the first priority thus remains defence of home territory.18 In the case of the territorial defence function, defence transformation has pushed in the direction of moving away from large armoured divisions to a force structure based on lightly armoured rapidly mobile armed forces, rather than mass mobilisation of relatively static military formations. In these states there is also an investment in developing distinct mobile forces typically of brigade strength (5000) capable of co-operating on external missions with logistical infrastructure coming from a lead nation or international body like the UN. In the case of Germany, recent reforms aim at creating a corps strength formation (35,000) with supporting command and control infrastructure (German MoD, 2003; Bright, 2004: 18; Schulz and Reimer, 2004: 42). The most advanced examples of the Late Modern model are that of the Danish and Netherlands armed forces, which have been largely re-oriented to undertake Peace Support Operations, principally under the UN and since 2003 under the auspices of the EU (Netherlands MoD, 2003; Bright, 2004: 1; Danish MoD, 2004; Kamp, 2004; Schulz and Reimer, 2004: 42). In the Danish case the June 2004 Danish Defence Agreement almost completely re-orientates Danish armed forces around the creation of internationally deployable military capabilities (Danish MoD, 2004: 2).19 Because the Belgium, Denmark, Germany, Netherlands, Portugal and Spanish armed forces developed significant armoured units and offensive sea and air defence systems during the Cold War, this group also has brigade and in some cases divisional level military

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capability to engage in peace enforcement operations, though lacking the ability to deploy these forces on a wide scale. The criteria for recruitment in Late Modern armed forces vary. While volunteer forces of Belgium, Italy, Netherlands, Portugal and Spain tend to require academic qualifications similar to those of Expeditionary Warfare forces, the main source of recruitment for Germany and Denmark is via conscription. For officer entry a general requirement is a university degree, although some non-graduate recruitment does remain with provision for entrants to obtain a degree through military higher education systems. The training system is broadly that of the Expeditionary Warfare model with initial training supplemented by specialist technical training, followed by mid-career command and staff training. Involvement in peace support missions has offered a further means by which to develop expertise in Late Modern forces. Germany, Spain, Netherlands and Italy have been active in this area, supplying forces for instance for the NATO-led missions in the Balkans, Afghanistan and Iraq and EU missions in Afghanistan and Bosnia, and this has had a number of military and political trickle down effects (Forster, Edmunds and Cottey, 2002: 242). For example, the need for deployment, the development of interoperability and operational experience have had significant consequences on promotion prospects and investment in new equipment. However, the ambitions of some states in the Late Modern grouping to undertake international security missions almost exclusively as peace support rather than peace enforcement operations are also a source of tension in developing the level of expertise of the armed forces. The armed forces have had to train for territorial defence operations as well as for multinational operations with NATO troops, often on the basis of extremely limited national defence budgets, in all cases except Denmark constrained by the rigours of the monetary union (German MoD, 2003: 13; Kamp, 2003; Netherlands MoD, 2003: 1). For the grouping overall, limited resources, the scale of defence transformation and the level of ambition are therefore making defence reform decisions difficult, often resulting in the implicit and in some cases most notably the German Bundeswehr, explicit creation of what can be termed ‘two-tier forces’ (German MoD, 2003). To compound the problem, two further challenges are the desire to move to a greater proportion of volunteers matched against the cost of doing so, and how to create terms and conditions attractive enough to encourage volunteers while also maintaining a system of selective

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conscription to provide the necessary personnel for the armed forces.20 A related problem is that of retention, with all armed forces in the Late Modern grouping facing severe problems of retention of highly qualified personnel with field experience. The central difficulty here is that the pool of such personnel available is relatively small, making overstretch widespread. In Spain, for example, the government recently resorted to approaching Spanish immigrants in South America to fill shortfalls caused by the end of conscription, with the first recruits arriving in June 2001. In Late Modern forces, the rank system and clear vertical lines of authority comprise the dominant form of command and control. These armed forces therefore remain very hierarchical and in this sense have not significantly changed their division of labour from a predominantly Cold War approach. Across all the armed forces in this group the promotion system is based on merit and technical competence as gauged by annual performance review as well as performance in common promotion examinations and on courses. Increasingly amongst this group of states importance is attached to evaluations by service personnel who have received training at national and multinational staff colleges in the UK and France – in the Expeditionary Warfare group of states, however, because of cost, only a handful of officers experience this training. A further point across the grouping is that promotion systems increasingly value international operational experience at all levels of deployment, from individual secondments to command of national units in multinational forces; deployment and secondments are becoming a condition of promotion. Closely connected with this, English language skills are also becoming an important requirement for high senior rank. In summary, the challenge of professionalisation for the Late Modern group of forces is threefold. First, more than any other group they face pressure to reconcile two competing priorities: the continued need for defence of national territory and the aspiration to provide a contribution to international peace support operations which typically are peacekeeping missions but might include peace enforcement actions. Balancing the maintenance of a territorial defence role and commitments to international deployments requires the creation of mobile forces against a backdrop of existing large Territorial Defence forces and a culture of conscription. Some of these problems have been overcome by the ending of conscription, but in the cases of Germany and Denmark their governments have tried to square the circle through a selective form of conscription. However, the role of conscription in these states remains problematic. On the one hand it acts as a valuable deterrent to potential

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aggressors, and on the other it certainly provides an important link to civil society and in some instances is not only accepted, but remains popular. However, conscription is also very costly and given the reductions in length of conscript service, this is limiting how and on what tasks they can be deployed. For those states that have ended conscription creating all-volunteer armed forces has not been without problems, notably in recruitment (Agence France Press, 2003). Second, and perhaps a core challenge, is the fact that in most of these Late Modern states, defence expenditure is less than the NATO average and on the decline. Often there are insufficient funds to invest in the development of two-tier forces and a further problem is that as with the TD group, the operating cost of deploying and sustaining forces on international missions has to come from the existing defence budget, thus further diminishing the funds available to invest in developing more forces and future capabilities for these type of missions. Third, the core issues are sustaining the dual roles of territorial defence and a commitment to mid-level international security missions. Alongside this a linked issue is how much change is needed. Whilst the proportion of troops committed to international security missions though the EU Helsinki Headline goal may look small, typically around 4.5% of overall force numbers, these forces consume a significant share of the defence budget, raising questions about the sustainability of this type of defence transformation.

Post-Neutral model The role of the armed forces under the Post-Neutral model is dominated by the protection of the national integrity of the state. There is a basic predisposition against participation in combat operations but a willingness to undertake peacekeeping task at the lowest level of the spectrum of conflict and participation in civilian humanitarian tasks. Austria, Ireland and Switzerland are the examples, but it is Switzerland that is the best exemplar.21 In 1990 the first review of Swiss security policy validated the commitment to neutrality and defence of national territory and in 1993 whilst neutrality was conceptualised as a last resort, commitments to the international community had been limited to non-military tasks and the most benign forms of peacekeeping (Borchert and Eggendberger, 2003: 12). Unlike armed forces in the Territorial Defence model, however, structures are based around local and regional territorial defence, using a small permanent volunteer cadre of officers and NCOs supported by conscript forces and a large

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national reserve capable of rapid mobilisation at times of national crisis. It is this model of professionalised armed forces which Switzerland has embraced, with active standing forces of 4400 and reserves of 170,600 (IISS, 2004: 93). But although the model avoids many of the complications of other approaches, it also presents a number of reform challenges of its own. In particular, a key plank of the dissuasive purpose of Swiss citizen army is not necessarily to defeat the enemy, but to make any invasion and subsequent occupation as difficult and costly as possible. Military strategy is thus premised on arming of citizens at low cost and using a low technology. At the same time however, the defence structure of Post-Neutral forces is static and based around quite inflexible infrastructure (including HQ, command and control networks and fuel supplies) which requires very low levels of investment to ensure that it is capable of resisting attack. Swiss defence expenditure has fluctuated from 1.9% in 1989 to 1.1% over the last 5 years (IISS, 2004: 354). As with Territorial Defence states, the military structure is single service in nature and this injects an additional element of rigidity. In providing expertise for this type of force structure, standards of entry into the Swiss armed forces are high, with officers needing a degree to enlist and receiving similar periods of training throughout their careers as those seen under the Expeditionary Warfare model: one year of basic officer training followed by early mid-career specialist training, command and staff training; and further assessment and training for senior command. What is distinctive about the officer training is the emphasis placed on offering higher educational training in the form of master’s and doctorates in military subjects. Indeed, there is a case to be made that, assisted by their narrowly focused mission, training for officers under the Post-Neutral model is better funded and of a higher quality than under other models. Swiss NCOs similarly receive high quality training and while they may be limited in terms of technical expertise and range of skills, this is nevertheless appropriate for the role they are expected to carry out in a hierarchical command and control structure on Swiss territory. In the Swiss case the armed forces are based on conscription with a cadre of officers and NCOs, and large reserve forces with the ratio of active duty personnel to reserves 1: 38. Generally there is widespread acceptance of the need for conscription with reporting rates high and few conscientious objectors, though as Karl Haltiner notes this is increasingly resented (Haltiner, 2003). Retention in the regular forces does, however, pose a challenge since unemployment in Switzerland is

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low. The Swiss armed forces therefore offer very favourable terms and conditions of employment and the work approximates as closely as possible to that of civilian life, with relatively strict office hours from 8 am to 5 pm, and few personnel living in barracks or service quarters. Command and control in Switzerland is based around regional or territorial formations in peace time and in times of conflict the chain of command is highly decentralised with a high reliance on individual and small group initiative premised on attrition rather than fixed battles and decisive encounters. As exemplified by Switzerland, promotion procedures under this model are transparent and consistent and effective in generating direction for the type of leaders the Swiss armed forces need. However, unlike other models, particularly high value is placed on peacetime personnel, management capabilities and budgeting skills as distinct from martial qualities and operational experience. It is also worth noting that the relatively small size of the armed forces does mean that promotion can be slow and the rank structure relatively flat. Overall, the experience of Switzerland underlines that the key challenge in maintaining and developing a Post-Neutral armed forces model is the higher level of societal commitment required than under other forms of defence organisation (Haltiner, 2003b). Thus as well as needing to recruit and retain high quality personnel to the permanent cadre of officers and NCOs, societal support for conscription needs to be sustained as does a societal willingness to comply with the regular call-ups required to ensure the ongoing competence of reservists. Few states have been able to maintain this complex balance, with Romania (which embraced it between 1969 and 1989), Finland and Sweden preferring to move to a Territorial Defence form of defence. A further challenge to the Post-Neutral model is the backdrop of increasing pressure on governments to develop at least a modest capability to engage in peace support operations and to cooperate in international military missions with other armed forces. The extent to which the Swiss armed forces will therefore continue to be distinctive in the long term may be open to question.

Conclusion This chapter has argued that there is not a single European military model to which all governments subscribe, but rather there are four major types of European armed forces. Different perceptions of threat lead to different roles and force structures. Moreover whilst there are common challenges which can be identified across European militaries,

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these should not overshadow the fact that each model faces distinctive challenges in their military reform process. In analysing patterns and trend within this context, five points are relevant. First, in considering the purpose of European armed forces, there are a range of different missions which they undertake. It is therefore questionable whether, as the Postmodern military posits and Charles Moskos argues, the concern for national survival has really given way to other missions ‘. . . that reflect a fundamental shift from defense of the homeland to multinational peacekeeping and humanitarian missions’ (Moskos, 2000: 17). A more fine-grained analysis suggests that whilst armed forces are contributing to international security missions, the extent to which this has led to major mission redefinition and reorientation of force structures is questionable. In the two Expeditionary Warfare states (France and the UK), power projection and war-fighting at the highest level of the spectrum of conflict are the avowed goals – and whilst these forces can act as cosmopolitan militaries undertaking peacekeeping tasks and nation building, they are being structured and organised around the application of deadly force beyond national borders. In the 25 Territorial Defence armed forces, concern about the integrity of territorial borders remains the core organisational purpose, to which participation in mid-level intensity peacekeeping is an important and prestigious but supplementary activity. The two types of armed forces that most clearly fit with the contention of a fundamental shift in missions are what have been termed here ‘Late Modern’ and ‘Post-Neutral’ armed forces. The Late Modern forces most accurately fit the description of forces which have embraced relatively low intensity security missions in support of international peace and security and reorganised their force structures accordingly, but only seven comprise this group of states and it is therefore numerically small. Likewise the Post-Neutral group of three states has embraced low to medium level peace support operations, but not as a replacement for the defence of national territory function and all of these states have a complex Post-Neutral relationship with multinational organisations.22 Second, in turning to the nature of the reform process this chapter challenges the contention of the Postmodern military thesis that the direction and impact of military reform is similar across European states. Timothy Edmunds offers a more nuanced argument to the effect that most European militaries have been persuaded through the passage of norms in NATO and the EU (factors explored in more detail in Chapter 5) and to which we can add a demonstration effect of the US

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military, that ‘Modern’ armed forces are synonymous with the Expeditionary Warfare type, even if this is not the case in reality (Edmunds, 2004). In this regard, alongside many military personnel, Giuseppe Caforio argues, there seems to be a common trend of European national armed forces moving from a Modern to a Late Modern model and, arguably from a Late Modern to a Postmodern one. The implication of this is that similar reform processes will ultimately lead to the dominance of a Postmodern military, even if this will take considerable time to achieve, and in practice for some militaries this will remain an unobtainable goal. This chapter challenges this by arguing that there are four distinct models with ‘selective emulation’ across them. In Expeditionary Warfare states, the aspiration to create forces capable of war-fighting operations marks out the scale and depth of an ongoing reform process in the UK and France from other European states. In the Late Modern, Territorial Defence and Post-Neutral groups, developing forces capable of contributing to international security missions involves numerically less forces. In addition it requires a different mix of technologies, training and attitudinal change because it is aimed at a lower level in the spectrum of conflict, typically peace support operations and peacekeeping rather than war-fighting. In this regard it is important to highlight the different challenges governments face in delivering a military force ‘fit for purpose’. Third, almost all European governments are struggling to match the ambitions and roles they have set out for their armed forces, with the amount of expenditure they are willing to invest in transforming their armed forces. In most states defence budgets are declining, with the impact of the September 2001 attacks at best stabilising rather than significantly increasing defence budgets. In addition, for most states operating costs of international security deployments come out of the overall defence budget, creating a widespread tension between the immediate commitments governments have made to international security missions, and the medium- and long-term need to invest resources in military reform to create the force structure which governments would like. Having said this, some force structures are quite simply more expensive to deliver than others with the Post-Neutral structure financially the least expensive to maintain (though, as Haltiner and Hirt show, highly dependent on conscription and societal support), whilst military reforms in the Expeditionary Warfare states, especially network-enabled warfare and full interoperability, are both more expensive and more ambitious, involving defence reform across the whole of the armed forces compared with other defence models.

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Fourth, in terms of the role and responsibilities of service personnel both Expeditionary Warfare states and those in the Late Modern group share similar approaches to these issues. Mission command and negotiated decision-making predominate in both groups, though the distinguishing feature between them is the scale of the commitment to joint and combined operations reflected in training, military education and force doctrine. In the Expeditionary Warfare states the introduction of technology into the battle space and the challenge of high intensity war-fighting are leading to a greater emphasis on the need for training and operational experience, which in turn is putting significant pressure on commanders at all levels of responsibility. By contrast in Territorial Defence and Post-Neutral groups the hierarchical and single service nature of these forces requires less training and places more modest demands on commanders in these type of armed forces and is also less expensive. Fifth, in terms of recruitment in all models a competitive market place requires improved terms and conditions of service to attract and then retain military personnel; this within a context of declining birth rates which makes the task even more challenging. However, a clear distinction lies between those states that have abandoned conscription and the majority of European governments that have chosen to retain it. For Expeditionary Warfare states, the requirement that most of the armed forces are capable of deployment overseas rules out conscription. However, the pattern of staffing is more complex in the three other models with the majority of Late Modern states abandoning it (the exceptions are Germany and Denmark), and the majority of Territorial Defence and two out of the three Post-Neutral states retaining it (Austria and Switzerland). For those states that have abolished conscription, the challenge of sustaining an all-volunteer force is similar to the Expeditionary Warfare states. For those states that retain conscription within both the Late Modern and the Territorial Defence models, the move in Germany and Denmark towards what might be termed ‘professional conscripts’ has been the major means to square the circle of maintaining some form of conscription (often on a selective basis) whilst providing personnel for international operations. The sustainability of this in terms of expense and the financial opportunity cost remain open questions, as does the societal support for it. In terms of promotion, a common feature of the Expeditionary Warfare, Late Modern and Territorial Defence models is the value placed by these armed forces on operational experience. Since the tempo of operations in Expeditionary Warfare states is greater than the other

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armed forces, opportunities to gain experience are greater, but so too is the scale of overstretch and the level of tension between training and operational experience. In the Late Modern and Territorial Defence models, the opportunity to gain operational experience is generally more circumscribed and principally limited to UN, NATO and EU peace support missions at the lower end of the spectrum of conflict. In all states proficiency in English as the language of international security missions is emerging as a prerequisite for commanders at all levels. Finally, in terms of developing appropriate expertise, for all states military training and education is increasingly important. However, in Expeditionary Warfare and, to a much smaller degree, Late Modern forces, an increasingly diverse range of skills are required of different ranks in the services, compared with the Territorial Defence and Post-Neutral models. Moreover the increasingly technical nature of warfare is supplementing the traditional virtue of courage with the need for service personnel to have high levels of technical and often technological expertise. In the Territorial Defence model the main challenge for most states is one of developing an effective post-Cold War system of training to produce personnel with the right skills. In the postcommunist states the need to develop an effective NCO cadre remains one of the most pressing issues in military reform. In sum, there is considerable evidence to challenge the contention that ‘The Postmodern type is ascendant in the contemporary era’ and indeed the notion that any type is dominant without taking into account considerable diversity across Europe (Moskos, Williams and Segal, 2000: 2). The extent to which armed forces are legitimised, sustained and supported by the societies they serve is clearly a key issue of armed forces–society relations, since without societal support, being ‘fit for purpose’ serves little value and it is this issue which lies at the centre of the analytical focus of the next chapter.

Notes 1. For the different strategic context compare the current strategic context with what James Burk identified as the major concerns of the immediate post-Cold War period (Burk, 1998: 1-1-23). 2. In their typology of 31 European states, 14 currently have AVF; 17 retain various forms of conscription termed ‘pseudo conscription’ (Austria; Germany; Latvia; Lithuania; Norway; Russia; Serbia and Sweden); ‘soft-core conscription’ (Bulgaria; Croatia; Estonia; Poland and Romania); and ‘hard core conscription’ (Finland; Greece; Switzerland and Turkey) (Haltiner and Szvircsev Tresch, 2005: 6).

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3. Edmunds and German use this threefold classification (Edmunds and Germann, 2003) whilst Vankovska and Wiberg use a classification that includes a fourth element, the study of historical development of the military professional (Vankovska and Wiberg, 2003: 18–20). I am grateful to Timothy Edmunds for this point. 4. The four models are explicitly not set out in terms of better and worst options – indeed this has been the error of much of the contemporary literature. Neither should any prima facie implication of military power be ascribed to any particular model. For example, conceptually and empirically it is entirely plausible that a state promoting the TD model has more military powerful armed forces than a state promoting an Expeditionary Warfare model. I am grateful to Niels Olsen for drawing my attention to this point which arose from a discussion concerning Danish defence reform. 5. Writing in the early part of this decade, Forster, Edmunds and Cottey termed this the ‘Power Projection model’ (Forster, Edmunds and Cottey, 2003: 1–2). Since this time many governments in the Late Modern armed forces group have embraced the concept of power projection at least for a small proportion of their armed forces. In terms of role, the key differences between the Expeditionary Warfare model and the Late Modern Armed forces model centre on whether the armed forces are structured around high intensity expeditionary war-fighting as the primary objective or whether there is merely acceptance that it is a possibility as part of an international deployment; for example, acceptance that peacekeeping missions might deteriorate into a peace enforcement operation. 6. Germany is also a member alongside Australia and Canada. See Schulz and Reimer, 2004: 420. 7. For some like Bastian Giegerich and William Wallace the key driver has been the external pressure of the US on European government states rather than European ideology (or indeed NATO) per se (Giegerich and Wallace, 2004: 178). 8. The impact of European security organisations is analysed in further detail in Chapter 5. 9. Even to do this required the French to move 5000 professional soldiers to create a division (Bloch, 2000). 10. Interview with a UK MoD official, August 2004. 11. Boëne and Danet note that in 1991 all volunteer army units had to be supplemented by AVF personnel from over 50 mixed battalions disrupting 40% of units in the French land forces. (Boëne and Danet, 2000: 235). 12. Interviews with serving officers in London and Brussels. 13. The inclusion of Norway in this category may be a surprise. However, following the analysis of John Berg, Norway is often compared with Denmark and Belgium but Norway’s situation is different. As Berg argues ‘its landmass covers 3,000,000 km2 more area than either country and it borders Russia in the north – two factors that significantly influence defence planning (Berg, 2004: 23). Whether Norway will move from a TD model to a Late Modern model will depend on the speed with which the government breaks with core focus on territorial defence. 14. The exception is Slovenia which ended conscription in 2004. 15. Interview with Slovenian and Polish Delegations to NATO, 14 July 2004, and Ukrainian defence official, London, 30 September 2004.

Military Reform of Armed Forces in Europe 73 16. Interview with an official in the Slovenian Delegation to NATO, 14 July 2004. 17. In many states this tension is further exacerbated by the hope pinned on participation in these types of mission that this will help promote the legitimacy of the armed forces and justify defence spending (an issue explored further in Chapter 3). 18. This compares with contributions from TD states which are numerically smaller and at around 2%, a smaller percentage, of active forces. 19. For some Danish service personnel the 2004 Danish Defence Agreement marks a declaratory transition from the Late Modern to the Expeditionary Warfare model. Background interviews with Danish defence officials in London and Brussels, October 2004. 20. Haltiner and Szvircsev Tresch argue that in practice a key factor in ending conscription is whether the political system is ‘governmental’ i.e. executive or ‘parliamentary’ dominated, and whether republicanism or liberal political culture underpin civil–military relations (Haltiner and Szvircsev Tresch, 2005: 11) 21. Interview with officials in the Irish Delegation to the EU, 14 July 2004; interview with General Plascher, Austrian Embassy, London; and correspondence with the Swiss MoD, September 2004. 22. A general point to make is that the Postmodern military case study selection (comprising Denmark, Germany, Italy and Netherlands) may at least in part account for a bias towards considering the features of this group as dominant, since all four militaries and, to a lesser degree, Switzerland are the European cases studies. However, it does not explain the other two European cases (the UK and France) also used by Moskos, Williams and Segal. It certainly casts doubt on the claim that the armed forces of the United States and those of other Western developed democracies are moving from what can be termed a ‘Modern’ to ‘Postmodern’ form of military organisation (Moskos, Williams and Segal, 2000: 1).

3 Armed Forces and Societies: Changing Roles and Legitimacy

One of the enduring concerns regarding the relationship between the armed forces and the society is how the armed forces are legitimised and sustained by the societies which they exist to protect. One area of debate here, highlighted by sociologists of the military and considered in the succeeding chapter, has been the right or the need for armed forces to be different from society, in order to carry out their unique responsibilities – and ultimately to sacrifice their lives if necessary in discharging those responsibilities. In a number of respects this focus has overlooked broader reflections on armed forces and society relations, in particular how and what roles the military should have. Important questions here surround the structural relationships between societies and their armed forces, and specifically the issue of how the roles of the armed forces enhance or hamper their linkage to and legitimacy within societies across Europe. This and the subsequent chapter take as their point of departure that armed forces are organisational entities shaped for a range of purposes which are located around the controlled use of violence, but then shaped and reshaped in relation to not only functional demands but also social and political factors (Krebs, 2004: 89). This chapter analyses whether and how changes in the roles of militaries across Europe are impacting on perceptions of their legitimacy within society. The chapter goes on to explore whether the challenges of changing roles and legitimacy are similar or different across Europe and the impact of any change on the legitimacy which armed forces may have in the societies they serve. Arguments about changes to the roles of the armed forces and the reasons for them are not new (Burk, 1998; Nelson, 1998). At the height of the Cold War, Morris Janowitz for instance argued that armed forces 74

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had to adapt in response to the organisational demands of developments in weapons technology and the changing nature of military force. This, he contended, was leading to a new ‘constabulary concept’ in which emphasis was shifting from the task of national defence to the more complex one of maintenance of international security (Janowitz, 1960: 417–22). Charles Moskos, John Allen (Jay) Williams and David Segal have argued that armed forces are being reshaped by broader societal changes from which the military cannot remain immune (Moskos, Williams and Segal, 2000: 1–3). These societal changes include evolving public attitudes towards the military, the increased impact of the media, the growing role of civilian employees within the military, and the equal opportunities agenda. Indeed, as noted above, Moskos, Williams and Segal argue that the scale of the changes is such as to comprise a new ‘Postmodern’ stage in the development of armed forces, with roles increasingly dominated by non-traditional and frequently multinational operations such as peacekeeping, and the military itself increasingly internationalised (Moskos, Williams and Segal, 2000: 2). The argument here is threefold: first, despite much literature to the contrary, European armed forces have never merely been the organisational and functional response of the state to an objective threat, such as the post-9/11 war on terror (Edmunds, Forster and Cottey, 2003: 8–9; Edmunds, 2004). Rather what armed forces are for, has been mediated through the perceptions and policy frames of political executives, often with complex motives in shaping (and re-shaping) the armed forces for particular and often partisan purposes. The prioritisation of different military roles also reflects broader socio-political perceptions of threat, as well as the responsiveness of the military to any agenda for change. Second, this chapter offers a conceptualisation of armed forces–society relations by advancing a threefold typology – ossified, reconnected and renewed groups – which helps explore particular types of relationship which societies have with their armed forces, and the often dynamic nature of those relationships. Underpinning this analysis is the view that armed forces have multiple roles on which their legitimacy is based, which in turn leads to different levels of legitimacy and often quite different types of military and society relations. Finally, this chapter identifies the major challenges of legitimising the armed forces within these different contexts. This chapter takes as its point of departure the security needs of states and their insecurities as given, and thus focuses on and further explores the consequences of discourses about insecurity in terms of societal legitimacy for these functions. Further developing and applying the

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conceptual work of Forster, Cottey and Edmunds, this chapter therefore advances a framework for understanding the roles of armed forces vis à vis society which uses five distinctive functions – National Security, Nation Building, Regime Defence, Domestic Military Assistance and Military Diplomacy – as a means to conceptualise the roles of the armed forces and subsequently to gauge the sources and extent of the legitimacy of the forces (Forster, Edmunds and Cottey, 2003: 11–20; Edmunds, 2004). These functions co-exist and overlap, but the weight attached to each and the changes in the relative balance between them, along with the military’s ability to carry out these functions effectively, will have different implications for the military’s relationship with society and its bases for legitimacy. The roles comprise specific tasks carried out by the military, but all of them are also inextricably socio-political, since they derive from and impact upon societies (Edmunds, Forster and Cottey, 2003: 8–9). It is important to make the distinction between roles, how they affect organisational structures of the armed forces, and how this typology affects legitimacy. In the conceptualisation used here, roles are functional tasks which the military undertake and which shape how it is organised. The professional structure of armed forces takes one of four ideal type forms set out in Chapter 2: Expeditionary Warfare, Territorial Defence, Late Modern and Post-Neutral ideal types (see Table 2.1). Layered on this are interactions which determine the forms of their relationship between armed forces and their societies and the legitimacy of their relationship. These are national security, nation builder role, regime defence, domestic military assistance and military diplomacy role. National Security: Traditionally the National Security role has been seen as corresponding to the functional imperative, in realist, neo-realist and rationalist conceptualisations. This is typified by Hans Morganthau’s argument that military power exists to maintain sovereignty of a state in circumstances of anarchy and is therefore a functionally derived imperative of the state (Herz, 1951; Morgenthau, 1985: 33). In this view states need to secure their survival in the face of objective external threats. As Barry Buzan argues, the object of security has been extended to include allies and organisations (Buzan, 1991). Security functions have also been re-conceived beyond narrowly defined Territorial Defence, to include the defence of the values of peoples (included, for example, in the Washington Treaty), economic well-being and human and environmental security (Tuchman Matthews, 1989). However, since the end of the Cold War and particularly since the events of

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September 2001, two key changes have been the increased danger from non-state actors and the further erosion of the distinction between internal and external threats. For some analysts this has led to greater emphasis within the National Security role on international security missions, ranging from Territorial Defence to pre-emptive intervention outside the territory of the state, based on the concepts of preventive defence and military responses to the ‘war on terror’. However, there has also been an important focus on ‘humanitarian’ intervention, where militaries have been called upon by their governments to act in support of ‘the moral community of humankind’ to protect victims of human rights abuses – what Lorraine Elliott and Gareth Cheeseman term ‘cosmopolitan militaries’ (Elliot and Cheeseman, 2004: 1). The National Security role is a significant task, since it is this role that was the foundational role of most European armed forces and it remains important since it is the first duty of the state to provide security for its citizens (Mann, 1984). Where the threat to a state is amenable to a military response and is widely accepted, the National Security role is likely to remain the core source of legitimacy for the military within society, as has been shown by studies exploring the prestige and standing of the armed forces during times of military conflict (Edmunds, Forster and Cottey, 2003: 13). However, the value of claiming a threat to national security has led governments to define and re-define what specific tasks comprise the National Security role. In turn this highlights that discourses about (in)security or what David Campbell has called ‘representations of danger’ are not ‘given’ but are socially and politically constructed around identities and interests, and a sense of ‘us’ and the ‘other’ (Campbell, 1992; Wæver, 1995). Effective delivery of the National Security role may also reinforce the sense of linkage between a society and its armed forces. However, where levels of threat perception are low and where the armed forces are perceived to have failed to deliver defence effectively, the legitimacy of the armed forces within society is likely to be weakened. Nation Building: The Nation Building aspect of the relationship between the armed forces and the society is at a general level closely linked with the National Security role. As Michael Mann has shown, the delivery of defence against external and internal threat and perceptions of national interests and values are closely linked, especially during formative periods of state building (Janowitz, 1964b). However, there is typically another dimension to the role of the armed forces as Nation Builder, often associated with the existence of conscription.1 In the UK for

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instance, pressure to re-introduce conscription is frequently based on a belief in the ability of the armed forces to instil particular social or moral values (Baynes, 1972: 76). In many militaries across the whole of Europe, conscription was seen by many to facilitate political and social indoctrination in one concentrated institutional context. Ronald Krebs argues that in many countries the military comprises one of very few national institutions, and here conscription represents a key experience shared by all citizens, and one which is therefore extremely powerful in promoting a sense of national unity (Krebs, 2004: 102). For example, Krebs argues that in Italy in the 1860s the Italian military consciously combined conscripts from different regions to foster ‘Italianità’, a sense of Italianess, and likewise in the Soviet Union Brezhnev ‘. . . turned to the armed forces and the policy of universal military service at least in part to help build cohesive national forces out of their countries’ multinational jumbles’ and more recently in the now disbanded Yugoslav People’s Army and this situation remains in some recently created postcommunist states in Europe (Jones, 1985: 150; Edmunds, 2004: 12; Krebs, 2004: 85). Where it is fully embraced, the role of the military as Nation Builder hence provides legitimacy to the military by associating it proactively with the promotion of national values, and connects the military to society through a sense of participation and ownership in the activities of the military. Regime Defence: The Regime Defence role comprises support by the armed forces for a particular set of political interests, typically those of a regime, but occasionally those of a party or individual. The role is most common in relation to authoritarian regimes, but can also occur in liberal democracies where the armed forces perform tasks which may derive more from partisan government than state interests. A key point is that the armed forces become directly linked to a specific partisan regime rather than society; indeed from the military perspective, society has the potential to represent a threat to the regime. Given the distance the Regime Defence creates between the armed forces and the society, the role usually tends to undermine societal perceptions of military legitimacy, although the military may benefit from association with a successful regime, or because it is regarded as the unwilling instrument of an unpopular regime. Domestic Military Assistance: Legitimacy may, however, also derive from other domestic functions performed by the armed forces, which are conceptually distinct from the Regime Defence role and addressed in more detail in Chapter 8. Tasks in this category are threefold: first,

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‘military aid to the civil power’ (MACP) including state responses to civil disobedience which covers the domestic counter-terrorist functions of armed forces (Noailles, 2003: 68); second, the provision of ‘essential services’ on behalf of the government, notably support of public services, often termed ‘military assistance to government departments’ (MAGD); and third, the use of armed forces to help cope with naturally occurring or man-made disasters and emergencies, often termed ‘military aid to the civil community’ (MACC) (NATO Defence College, 1997).2 Military legitimacy in these Domestic Military Assistance roles stems from a number of factors. It is dependent on the nature of the civilian regime deploying the armed forces in this way, especially its credibility and motives, on the character of the military’s relationship with that government and willingness to be used in these roles. In the case of MACP tasks it also crucially depends on the specific nature of the threat to law, order and public safety. In addition, perceptions of legitimacy will be shaped by not only the ‘demand’ on armed forces but also the quality of ‘supply’ – the effectiveness of the armed forces in carrying out the tasks asked of them. Military Diplomacy: The Military Diplomacy role involves non-operational use of the armed forces by the government in order to pursue foreign and defence policy objectives; this is covered in greater detail in Chapter 6. It is related to, but distinct from, the National Security role, involving non-operational cooperation in various activities (Cottey and Forster, 2004: 6). These include defence diplomacy tasks such as bilateral and multilateral military training and exchange, assistance for military reform and defence conversion, and military confidence-building measures, as well as the use of armed forces in security sector reform activities (Hills, 2000; Chanaa, 2002; Cottey and Forster, 2004). A central point is that the legitimacy accruing to the armed forces in this role is linked closely to the emphasis placed by governments on its normative aspects, and the part it plays in preserving or promoting particular values and or enhanced international peace and security as a ‘force for good’ (Hills, 2003; Elliot and Cheeseman, 2004). In addition it is often seen as an overt ‘political’ use of the armed forces to promote a state’s case for membership of international organisations In advancing the five categories of relationship outlined above as a framework against which to analyse the realities of the roles served by armed forces within and for societies in Europe, it is important to restate that there are plainly a number of overlaps between functions

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within the categories. Bernard Boëne argues that the priority given to National Security is often only true in the abstract and should not obscure challenges to this functional ‘natural order of priority’ (Edmunds, Forster and Cottey, 2003: 9). Moreover, when governments deploy armed forces in peacemaking operations, they may, for instance, be motivated by an expansive interpretation of the National Security goal of defence of the state against a threat, and may also wish to advance particular foreign policy objectives and values, a central premise of the Military Diplomacy role (Bergman, 2004: 177). Despite these linkages, the roles remain sufficiently distinct to be valuable conceptual tools of analysis, and when used as a prism through which to understand perceptions of the legitimacy of armed forces in Europe, three main groupings of states emerge. In conceptualising the roles of armed forces, it is clear that rarely do armed forces undertake a single role. Rather their functions – established through defence white papers and ministerial documents, defence reviews, parliamentary statements and more broadly military-political discourse – set out a range of strands that are woven together, to form what looks like a purpose for the armed forces. At the highest level of aggregation, as Karl von Clausewitz demonstrates, the purpose of armed forces is ‘. . . a continuation of political activity by other means’, which is the organised use of violence in ‘proscribed conditions’ in defence of the realm (Huntington, 1957: 12; Von Clausewitz, 1976: 87; Boëne, 1990: 4). Some of these strands are ‘thicker’ or stronger than others. This will vary over time in response to functional but especially socio-political imperatives, since threats and responses to them are inter-subjective rather than objectively ‘given’ (Wæver, 1995; Forster, Edmunds and Cottey, 2003; Edmunds, 2004). This chapter explores the nature of changing bases of legitimacy for the armed forces, by analysing the way in which rationales have changed and the impact this has on the legitimacy of armed forces (Table 3.1). It advances a threefold typology: a first ossified category, where old rationales for armed forces are losing legitimacy at the same time that governments have failed to promote new roles and forms of legitimacy for the armed forces. Second, a group of states that have re-connected armed forces–society legitimacy in challenging circumstances, where old roles of armed forces have lost legitimacy, but legitimacy is being derived from new roles. In a third group of states renewed legitimacy comes from long-standing roles of the military supplemented by new roles that are generating widespread support. This conceptualisation of the linkage between armed forces and society is a dynamic

Table 3.1 Typology of changing roles and legitimacy in Europe Group

Exemplars

Roles

Legitimacy

Challenges

Ossified legitimacy

Croatia (until January 2000); Serbia-Montenegro; Ukraine, Russia; Switzerland

Old roles declining and no new roles emerging

•

To move from the ossified to the re-connected or renewed groups:

• •

Failed adaptation as consequence of de-legitimised armed forces Declining legitimacy & competence in existing roles Failure to successfully promote new roles

• • •

• •

Develop a national political consensus on the roles of armed forces Become more efficient and effective in what roles are currently undertaken Development and successful promotion of new roles through bilateral actions and through international organisations Radical organisational change either downsizing or ending conscription in order to re-invent legitimacy Undertaking a ‘decisive act’ such as breaking with an unpopular regime through aligning with the citizens against undemocratic regimes

81

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Table 3.1 (Continued) Group

Exemplars

Re-connected Poland and legitimacy Denmark

Roles

Legitimacy

• Old roles declining and • new roles created for the armed forces

Successful adaptation in terms of societal support and legitimacy Renewed through successfully promoting new roles

Challenges Challenges of sustaining legitimacy: • • • •

Renewed legitimacy

Italy and the UK

• Old roles continue alongside and new roles created for the armed forces

Successful adaptation through the twin processes of restored or sustained legitimacy for old roles and legitimacy for new roles

More volatile levels of legitimacy often on a ‘mission by mission’ basis New roles are often more contingent in generating legitimacy than old roles Tax payers more reluctant to fund what are perceived as ‘optional’ functions Danger of a thin rather than broad basis on which legitimacy is based

Challenges of sustaining legitimacy: • •

Multiple roles generate high legitimacy, but lead to overstretch Multiple roles can challenge those that want a dominant role and purpose

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rather than static one, based on the relationship between what governments claim is the role of the armed forces and the interplay between this claim and societal perceptions of it, which includes how efficient and effective the armed forces are at undertaking what is asked of it and its professional conduct in peacetime and war.

Roles and legitimacy of armed forces: Patterns and trends Ossified legitimacy In a first group of states typified by Croatia (until January 2000), SerbiaMontenegro, Ukraine, Russia and, perhaps surprisingly, Switzerland, the continuation of traditional roles is leading to a reduction in legitimacy for the armed forces in society, as these functions appear increasingly irrelevant to electorates, which are expected to serve in and pay taxes to equip the armed forces (Bellamy, 2003a; Gow and Zver}anovski, 2003; Sherr, 2003). Difficulty in developing new sources of legitimacy has had a significant impact on the ability of governments in this group to sustain armed forces at an appropriate level, so that they are ‘fit for purpose’ as specified by the government through defence white papers and defence documents and as analysed in Chapter 2. As a consequence, recruitment and retention of personnel have suffered in terms of both compliance with conscription and adequate staffing of units, as well as securing the necessary level of defence expenditure. For states in this group, the legitimacy and standing of the armed forces has not been sustained by their role in the delivery of a National Security function. For example, in the Russian Federation and Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (SFRY), despite the threat to territorial integrity posed by Chechens in the Russian Federation, or the ongoing secession of the constituent republics from the SFRY, perceptions of legitimacy of the armed forces have declined (Gow and Zver}anovski, 2003: 265). In the successor state to the SFRY of Serbia-Montenegro, Milorad Timotie argues that trust in the armed forces has dropped from 65% during the Milosevic era, to 45% more recently, and 19% expressing little or no trust in the armed forces whatsoever (Timotie, 2003: 208). Whilst in these countries the electorate’s perceptions of threat from NATO states and regional instability continue to provide a degree of legitimacy in the National Security role, to some states in the Balkans and Caucasus, this appears to have little discernible impact on the levels of public engagement with or acceptance of the armed forces. Thus in opinion poll sampling in October 2001, Mykola Churylov

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argues, 49% of respondents did not feel secure on Ukrainian soil and 63% of respondents believed that Ukraine lacked a strong and effective army (Churylov, 2003: 150). At the same time that few Ukrainians want to serve in the armed forces, there is little support for increasing defence expenditure – what has elsewhere been described by Karl Haltiner and Eduard Hirt in Switzerland as a ‘without me’ attitude (Haltiner and Hirt, 2000: 215). For many states in this group, the extent to which the armed forces remain as a symbol of national unity is also under threat as a source of legitimacy and means of linkage between the armed forces and society. Indeed in Croatia (up to 2000), Serbia-Montenegro, Ukraine and Russia, very poor terms and conditions of service, low levels of investment in equipment and military infrastructure, and military ineptitude in routine and combat tasks have led to a near complete collapse in societal legitimacy for the armed forces (Herspring, 2002; Bellamy, 2003a; Churylov, 2003; Timotie, 2003). In these states, the belief that the armed forces embody a special set of national values is increasingly threatened. In large part this de-professionalisation, involving the collapse in resourcing and professionalism, which is a result of has completely undermined the ability of the armed forces to function as the school of the nation (Herspring, 2002: 207–208). For example, in Ukraine 45% of service personnel lack housing and 55% regard general conditions in the armed forces as poor, while conscript pay is below the official subsistence levels (Sherr, 2002: 220; 2003: 230). In Serbia-Montenegro only a small proportion of those called up for conscription actually report for duty. Moreover, in opinion poll surveys 62% wanted a further reduction in the period of service for conscription (which since 2001 stands at 9 months) with only one in four wanting conscription in some form to continue (Timotie, 2003: 211).3 Part of the reason for the collapse in legitimacy of the armed forces in some of the eastern European states in this group is their close association with the defence of specific discredited or unpopular authoritarian regimes. This was notably the case in Serbia-Montenegro in the Milosevic period until 2002, and in Croatia under Franjo Tudman until 1999, with the armed forces still regarded as too close to the Hrvatska Demokratska Zajednica (HDZ) party even after this (Bellamy, 2003a: 186). Likewise, in Ukraine, as domestic politics became more corrupt after 1991, declining trust in the Ukrainian state authorities has had adverse consequences for the status and popularity of the armed forces. Until the debacle of the December 2004 presidential election and the subsequent election and inauguration of Viktor Yushchenko, Ukrainian armed forces were

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seen as closely linked with, and an integral part of, the support network of President Leonid Kuchmar, and as a consequence were extremely unpopular (Cabalamat Journal, 2004).4 A further problem is that where such new roles have tried to be developed for the military, they are often not sufficient to create a renewed sense of purpose in the forms of legitimacy and connection between the armed forces and society. For this group of states Domestic Military Assistance tasks, for instance, tend by their nature to be transitory in impact, while also exposing the armed forces to often fierce competition from alternative institutions eager to ensure that budgets and prestige are not diverted from themselves. Thus in Ukraine the Ministerstvo Vnutrennykh Sprav (MVS) exercises key domestic military assistance functions and has between 400,000 and 600,000 interior ministry troops at its disposal (Sherr, 2003: 223). Moreover, the Ministry of Emergency Situations, the Ministry for Responding to Emergency Situations and the Consequences of the Chernobyl Catastrophe (MChS) are the pre-eminent state organisations for tasks relating to assistance to the civil community and to other government departments, and derive separate legitimacy and recognition for undertaking these tasks (Sherr, 2003: 224). In terms of developing a Military Diplomacy role, an inhibiting factor for the central and eastern European states in this group has been lack of support amongst electorates for closer links with NATO – although higher levels of support are evident for membership of the EU. In SerbiaMontenegro for instance only 12% consider it necessary to prepare to join NATO, while only 30% support NATO membership at all (Timotie, 2003: 205). In Ukraine there has in the past been little public support for joining NATO, and even less support for using the armed forces to promote this goal, although 67% are in favour of EU membership, though attitudes may be changing since the Orange revolution in December 2004 (Churylov, 2003: 150). Overall, the area where national security functions have been redefined is in the form of international peacekeeping. Ukraine is a leading exponent of this, with 1168 troops participating in missions in 2003–2004 and some 20,000 Ukrainian troops have participated in international peacekeeping operations since 1989 (IISS, 2003). As Chapter 2 argues, while the impact of these tasks often skews investment and leads to two-tier forces, it can play a role in any attempt to restore the standing of the armed forces. However, despite this attempt to identify and promote new roles, the Ukrainian electorate remain sceptical and overall levels of perceived legitimacy are low.

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This issue of ossified armed forces–society legitimacy is not simply a postcommunist European phenomenon as the case of Switzerland illustrates. Bordert argues that despite a sustained attempt by Swiss governments to re-assert the importance of traditional roles of the Swiss armed forces of Territorial Defence and school of the nation functions, these traditional roles have been a declining source of legitimacy, which has not been accompanied by a successful promotion of new roles (Borchert and Eggenberger, 2003: 20). Historically, the Swiss militia had the role not only of defending the state’s national security, but also as a ‘school of the nation’ based on conscription of male citizens and an ongoing commitment to militia service (Haltiner, 2003: 82). However, while in 1986, 56% of respondents agreed that the militia served as an agent of national cohesion, by 1998 this had fallen to 47% (Haltiner, 2003: 82). The prevailing trend is an apathy towards the armed forces described by Haltiner and Hirt as ‘a without me’ attitude (Haltiner and Hirt, 2000: 215), with 30% of the population wanting an immediate end to conscription, and unsurprisingly an even higher proportion opposed to conscription among those of conscript age (Haltiner, 2003: 26–80). Perhaps all the more seriously for Switzerland, however, the legitimacy of the armed forces is steadily being undermined by a lack of interest in a militia system that requires high levels of societal participation and therefore lacks acceptance and high social and civil prestige (Haltiner, 2003: 82). Coupled with this, there has also been a failure to successfully develop new tasks, and along with them sources of legitimacy for the armed forces. In part this reflects a failure amongst the political elite to create a new national political consensus on the role of the armed forces (Bordert, 2003: 20). Some attempts have been made in this regard with the 1993 Foreign Policy Report promoting the idea of solidarity with the international community and support for international organisations. Likewise the 2000 Swiss defence review report downgrades Territorial Defence and argues that the first priority is peace support and crisis management, the second priority is managing and preventing civilian crises and only third is the role of Territorial Defence. However, Heiko Borchert and René Eggenberger comment that a lack of consensus ‘. . . was one of the reasons why the latest Security Policy Report was watered down’ (Borchert and Eggenberger, 2003: 13). In truth there appears to be a general reluctance amongst Swiss voters to really embrace the new roles which have been advanced in the sort of way that would reconnect or replace the traditional basis upon which electoral support for the Swiss armed forces has been based. With contributions to international security missions – a range of new outreach activities, notably the work of the ‘Geneva’ centres (the Geneva

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Centre for Security Policy; the Geneva Centre for Democratic Control of the Armed Forces and the Swiss De-mining Centre) – the hope is that the Swiss armed forces will become ‘. . . more efficient, more effective, more highly legitimised’ (Borchert and Eggenberger, 2003: 14). However, frustrating this aspiration are two issues: first, the small scale of new roles; and second, scepticism amongst the electorate, which takes on particular relevance in a state that requires referenda to endorse any changes to the established parameters of security policy. For example, a referendum in 1994 saw the rejection of the establishment of a battalion of ‘blue helmets’ under UN or OSCE command (Haltiner, 2003: 75). However, in 2001 a revision of military law passed by Swiss voters permitted international deployments. Swiss international deployments typically involve between 180 and 244 personnel deployed per year, including the deployment of a Swiss logistic unit in Kosovo (Giegerich and Wallace, 2004: 170). However, these have been too small to make any significant inroad into declining levels of legitimacy and interest in the SAF. In the view of one experienced analyst, Karl Haltiner, the three principles of Swiss security policy continue to be sacrosanct – Swiss neutrality, the militia system and conscription, with participation only in UN mandated peace support and humanitarian operations. For Haltiner there remains ‘. . . little room for fundamentally redefining Swiss security policy in the years to come’ (Haltiner, 2003: 76). As is the case of Serbia-Montenegro, Russia and Ukraine, therefore, core military tasks appear to have lost their salience in legitimising armed forces and have not been renewed or reinforced by new tasks. It is, however, worth noting that a decline of legitimacy even to quite critical levels is by no means irreversible. In at least one case, Croatia from 2000, legitimacy has been slowly rebuilt from a quite parlous state in the 1990s (Bellamy, 2003a). Here Alex Bellamy argues that the particular focus has been on the Military Diplomacy role, making the armed forces a leading agent of modernisation and placing them at the forefront of closer engagement with west European institutions and Euro-Atlantic integration (Bellamy, 2003a: 187). In a second group of states whilst old roles have declined in saliency, the armed forces have been successfully re-connected and re-legitimised and it is to this group of states the next section now turns. Re-connected militaries In a second set of states exemplified by Poland and Denmark, the longstanding roles of the armed forces in the areas of National Security and Nation Building are being eroded as these roles appear to electorates to

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be less important than in the past. Defence expenditure appears to be rather resented and along with recruitment and retention of service personnel, general levels of public support for the armed forces and the esteem in which the armed forces are held are suffering. However, in this second group of states, new roles particularly in the areas of National Security, Domestic Military Assistance and Military Diplomacy have been added and, where these are carried out effectively, are creating new sources of legitimacy and esteem for the armed forces. As a consequence there is not an overall decline in support for armed forces, but rather a reorientation in the functional roles and socio-political basis of legitimacy of the armed forces. In Poland, the collapse of communism in 1989 and the creation of a liberal democratic state have created important opportunities to successfully re-define the functions of the armed forces and to promote these new functions both as roles and as new sources of legitimacy. The primary function of the armed forces as set out in the 1997 Constitution is to ensure the protection of the independence of the state, and the integrity and inviolability of its territory. However, prior to the September 2001 attacks, opinion poll surveys showed a declining interest in external security, with 46% considering in 1998 that there was no threat to Poland’s independence (Gogolewska, 2003: 91–99). However, during the first 10 years after independence the government built on the existing prestige, to promote the armed forces as a key means of winning entry into NATO and the EU, and as a state institution undergoing radical transformation in order to secure this goal, with NATO membership secured in 1999 and EU membership in 2004. At the same time consecutive governments deployed Polish armed forces in a range of UN, EU and NATO missions with some 9285 personnel deployed in 1999–2003; see Table 5.5. These deployments were generally greeted by widespread support, with, for example, the NATO-led Kosovo Force supported by a majority of public opinion (Gogolewska, 2003: 91–99). Following 9/11, widespread unease emerged concerning the threat to Poland posed by international terrorism, with 51% considering that Poland might also become a target of terrorist attack (Gogolewska, 2003: 96). The effect has been a reinforced sense of the link between national security and global security, with continued solid support within society for the involvement of the armed forces in a number of high profile peace enforcement missions. In the aftermath of 9/11, some 77% declared support for NATO military operations; the deployment of 300 troops in Afghanistan for instance achieved widespread approval as did the initial deployment to Iraq after the formal end of hostilities in

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2003. In addition a further new task for the armed forces is their use by the local authorities in the area of aid to the civil community, enshrined in the 2002 Law of Natural Disasters. At the same time, for obvious historical reasons, there remains widespread opposition to the use of the armed forces for the maintenance of law and order (Latawski, 2002; Gogolewska, 2003: 91). The prestige of the Polish military as a symbol of national pride and autonomy has been sustained both prior to and since the end of the cold war (Szemerkenyi, 1996; Michta, 1997). However, while public opinion surveys show high levels of trust in the armed forces, certain quite serious challenges for armed forces–society relations remain. First, whilst there is high social status attached to the military by society at large, few citizens have any interest in joining up – the ‘without me’ feeling referred to by Haltiner and Hirt – in large measure as a consequence of low pay and poor terms and conditions of service. There is thus a lack of thoroughgoing connection between the armed forces and the society, illustrated particularly clearly by problems surrounding conscription, with only 23% of those drafted in Poland reporting for duty in 2001, and only 15% of the public continuing to support conscription which lasts 9 months (Gogolewska, 2003: 105). At the same time, there is little support for all-volunteer forces due to serious concerns about affordability (Latawski, 2003: 37). Second, in Poland, public support also appears to be crucially dependent on mission ‘success’. For example, initially only 37% of respondents were willing to send Polish troops to the Kosovo conflict, but after a successful deployment, 59% supported the decision; in Afghanistan only 43% initially supported the decision to deploy Polish forces, but after the deployment some 57% were in favour (Gogolewska, 2003: 91). More recently since the end of hostilities in Iraq in 2003, public opinion appears to have turned against the high profile role of a 2500 Polish military contingent leading a multinational division, with some estimates placing public support as low as 35% (BBC News Online, 2004c). Public opinion with regard to some of these new tasks is therefore subject to volatility, and, with little public appetite for significant increases in defence expenditure or willingness to engage in responsible public debate about fundamental issues, questions therefore remain about sustaining healthy levels of legitimacy for the armed forces in new roles. As regards Denmark, there has traditionally tended to be little national debate on defence issues. With threat perceptions reduced following the end of the Cold War, coupled with low levels of defence expenditure, amounting to 2% or less for the last 15 years, the national military

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mission of territorial defence has increasingly declined as a source of legitimacy in armed forces–society relations (Sorensen, 2000b: 122). At the same time, however, a number of tasks have been developed for the armed forces which have helped reinvigorate the standing of the armed forces. As Annika Bergman notes, ‘National defence is by no means the only dimension to Nordic military policies; rather there is a wide array of international tasks’ which they undertake (Bergman, 2004: 181). As with Poland, a particular focus has been on external engagement, especially in peacekeeping and humanitarian tasks, with a key watershed being the decision made in 1990 to relax the conditions placed on participating in UN missions (Viggo Jakobsen, 2005). Since 1992, governments have consistently developed an international security mission for the armed forces. A further sign of Denmark’s increased willingness to deploy forces beyond national territory came in 1993 with the Law on Defence Personnel, which assigned to the armed forces a new and rather open-ended role of ‘. . . future tasks initiated by international developments’, albeit requiring the consent of the Danish Parliament. Indeed on 27 February 2001 the Danish MoD’s ‘Objectives, Tasks and Organisations’ document explicitly refers to PSOs, and promoting human rights is now the principal task of the armed forces. Henning Sorenson argues that this ranges from ‘. . . military to humanitarian/environmental missions, acceptance of “management of organised violence” missions, deployment of many more Danish soldiers, . . . worldwide involvement in out-of-area operations, and less concern about the belligerent parties’ acceptance of a Danish role’ (Sorensen, 2000b: 126). In turn, Peter Viggo Jacobsen argues that this has led to very close association in the public mind between international missions and national security and that peace support operations are now the flagship task of the Danish armed forces, with levels of public support reaching 80% (Viggo Jakobsen, 2005). The events of 9/11 have given further stimulus to Danish involvement in new international security operations with the Danish government deploying military forces in the combat phase in Iraq (albeit a submarine).5 Key effects of this change have been a threefold increase in the numbers of deployed forces, which in 2004 stood at 1500 personnel, along with the creation of the Danish International Brigade of 4500 troops, a major contribution to the UN Sand-by High Readiness Brigade (SHIRBRIG) whose permanent multinational military staff HQ is based in Denmark (see Table 5.5). Considerable effort has also been invested in the use of the armed forces for Military Diplomacy objectives, although due to limited

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resources Danish outreach activities are regionally focused, and principally directed towards states in the Baltic sea region including the Russian Federation (Nielson, 2001). Multi-year projects have been launched aimed at assisting the development of a limited range of capabilities with considerable emphasis on multilateral cooperation, the benefits of which are mainly felt through strength of numbers, resources and increased political weight. Overall, the new tasks appear to have made a contribution to reversing the decline in perceptions of the legitimacy of the armed forces within Danish society. Whilst Henning Sorensen argues that relatively high levels of support (the defence will) were evident during the Cold War, since 1989 on a scale of 0–10 these have increased from 4.8 in 1990 to 5.9 in 1998 (Sorenson, 2000b: 121). Renewed legitimacy In a third group of states, exemplified by Italy and the UK, legitimacy has been sustained or renewed as regards the more established functions of the armed forces, especially National Security. In addition, new roles in the area of Domestic Military Assistance and Military Diplomacy have created fresh sources of legitimacy, and where these tasks are carried out effectively, the prestige and esteem of the armed forces has been raised. In this group of states, armed forces–society relations are balanced in terms of legitimacy from long-standing and new roles and there is good linkage between the armed forces and society. In Italy there has always been a relatively high level of support for the National Security role of defence of the homeland as set out in Italian Law, with 53.6% approval registered in 1999 (Caforio and Nuciari, 2000: 273). In addition, however, the armed forces have traditionally carried out a wide variety of tasks including that of Nation Building, although there has tended to be more support for this in the north than in the south, where the armed forces were historically regarded as ‘. . . a new symbol of a new domination’ (Nuciari, 2000: 141). As Republican Democracy has become established the former ‘school of the nation’ function has declined (Krebs, 2004: 85). More recently, the participation of the armed forces in international peacekeeping and peacemaking operations under the auspices of the UN and NATO has added a new element of legitimacy to armed forces–society relations, based around a more broadly defined National Security function. While in 1996 the number of peace support operations in which Italian troops had been involved stood at 33, by 2003 this had risen to 7362 forces engaged in

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23 international operations in 2004, including 7000 troops in the Balkans and 3000 in Iraq (see Table 5.5). Public opinion has been very supportive of this type of military operation, though Italian deployments in Iraq after the end of hostilities have been volatile. Giuseppe Caforio notes that these peace support operations have ‘. . . given new popularity to the armed forces, both because of their use in functions more easily reconciled with pacifist ideals and because, finally put to the test, they have demonstrated capabilities and skills that for many have been a revelation’ (Caforio, forthcoming, 2005). Renewed legitimacy has also been gained from a number of Domestic Military Assistance roles, with public support for tasks in support of the civil community and of other government departments registering an 85% approval rating (Nuciari, 2000: 151). The role of the military in Sicily, Calabria and Puglia in addressing illegal immigration has for instance attracted widespread support, while the military has also reinforced the presence of the state and undertaken protection of fixed installations to release the police to focus on organised crime in tasks including Operation Forza Paris and Operation Vespri Siciliani (Caforio and Nuciari, 2000: 264). The new role of the armed forces in combating domestic terrorism has also worked to enhance perceptions of the legitimacy of Italian armed forces. In particular the threat from Islamic fundamentalism has raised the salience of the security issue and in turn the esteem and social acceptance of the Italian armed forces (Caforio, forthcoming, 2005). In short there has been a significant turnaround in the legitimacy of the Italian armed forces over the last decade. Nevertheless, there are some residual tensions between the Italian armed forces and the society. In particular whilst the introduction of all-volunteer forces (AVF) in 2005 has removed the unpopularity of the armed forces amongst those who resented being conscripted, it has not yet overcome a crisis in recruitment. First, the transition remains challenging in terms of both the declining population of eligible age and the need to recruit 25,000 personnel per year, with the Italian MoD reported to be considering the recruitment of Albanians (the second largest immigrant group in Italy) as one means of enrolling enough recruits.6 Second, there remains concern relating to the defence budget. Defence spending currently stands at 1.9%, but the costs of an AVF have increased personnel spending by 6.7%, and procurement investment is planned to fall by 4.8% as a consequence of insufficient funds (IISS, 2004: 272). Recent opinion data indicates a willingness amongst some groups to somewhat increase defence spending (Caforio, forthcoming, 2005); however, constraints on public expenditure have arisen from the EU’s (suspended)

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Stability and Growth Pact which the Italian government breached in 2004.7 In summary, while, as Caforio and Nuciari note, ‘new “peaceful” and humanitarian missions of the armed forces have given new spirit and breath to Italian foreign and defence policy’ (Caforio and Nuciari, 2000: 282), the sense of connection between the armed forces and the society contains a degree of vulnerability, with increased levels of appreciation running in parallel with a reluctance of sufficient citizens willing to volunteer for service. Moreover, whilst there does appear to be some shift in public attitudes towards increasing defence expenditure, as yet it is unclear whether this matches the resources required to support all volunteer armed forces and, as important, the new international security roles demanded of the Italian military (Caforio, forthcoming, 2005). In the UK the government has adopted what might be described as a layered approach to the role of UK armed forces, which offers a legitimacy based on eight defence missions for the British armed forces set out in the Strategic Defence Review of 1998 and more recently revalidated in the 2003 defence white paper. These can be aggregated into three main functions: National Security, Domestic Military Assistance and Military Diplomacy (UK MoD, 1998, 2003a). In terms of the National Security role, the self-image of being unprepared for war in the late 1930s and standing alone in 1940 has left a residual belief that military preparedness cannot be taken for granted, and there is remarkably solid public support (the defence will) for appropriate provision to be made for defence of the realm (Strachan, 2000). This derives from being in a geographically exposed position and as a result of the relationship between US and UK governments, a political target. Moreover, perhaps as a legacy of the British empire, the electorate has consistently accepted an expansive interpretation of British national security interests and, with the exception of Operation Telic (the second Iraq war), has generally been supportive of committing UK forces to international security operations (BBC News Online, 2003b; Dorman, 2004). Indeed, there has been only one year since 1945 when British forces have not been on active duty somewhere in the world; this has served as a constant reminder of the UK militaries’ preference for operational war-fighting roles (Dorman, 2004: 247). In terms of the Domestic Military Assistance roles, since the 1960s the armed forces have played a role in counter-terrorist activities, often referred to as military aid to the civil power (MACP) (France, 1997: 134–135; Noailles, 2003: 68). In the UK context this has focused on Northern Ireland, and only to a very limited degree in the UK mainland itself. Officially up to 30,000 troops were stationed in Northern Ireland during the height of hostilities which lasted from 1969 to 1999. However,

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given the fragility of the peace process, some 14,320 personnel remain stationed in Northern Ireland in 2003 (DASA 2003: 7.1).8 In general, this role has also kept the armed forces firmly in the public eye, with high levels of public confidence in the professional conduct of these tasks (Jefferson, 1993; Milne, 1994). Since September 2001, a homeland security function has also been added to the roles of the UK armed forces. However, as Chapter 8 explores in more detail, in the UK, internal security functions have been allocated to specific units, notably an SAS squadron and reserve units (the Civil Contingency Reaction Force) and high profile ad hoc military deployments in response to specific threats, rather than the armed forces as a whole (BBC News Online, 2003a). These tasks have thus contributed to the ongoing legitimacy of the armed forces, but limited the impact on its organisation structures and predominant culture (UK MoD, 2002, 2003c). Whilst these tasks contribute to general levels of legitimacy, they are supplementary to the core tasks of expeditionary war-fighting typified by the post-9/11 deployments in Afghanistan and Iraq. As regards military assistance to government departments (MAGD) and the maintenance of essential public services, the armed forces have been active in this area too, often providing cover to a grateful society (Peak, 1998). For example, troops were deployed to provide emergency cover during a strike of refuse collectors in 1979; the army for instance played a leading role in measures taken to combat the outbreak of foot-andmouth amongst sheep in 2001, which involved 2100 troops; and in the 2002 fire workers strike (Operation Fresco) a total of 19,984 British troops and 148 fire engines were deployed in 4 industrial disputes, all related to providing emergency cover during fire service strike action (DASA, 2003: 7.6).9 Military assistance to the civil community (MACC) covers the consequences of severe weather such as floods and storms and catastrophic events such as major accidents where human life is judged to be in danger; this has been a long-standing function. Since 1995 the armed forces have been deployed in 20 missions involving some 25,000 personnel. An extension of this is the high profile deployment of armed forces units on humanitarian missions and during natural disasters, of which the December 2004 deployment in south east Asia is the most recent example. In terms of Military Diplomacy, or what the UK government terms ‘defence diplomacy’, this has been enshrined as one of the eight core missions of British defence policy since the 1998 Strategic Defence Review (UK MoD, 2000: 2). The underlying philosophy is one of long-term engagement on a wide range of levels to build capacity and promote

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interoperability with British armed forces, all within the general context of promoting Western liberal democratic values. Collaborators range from the new states (for instance, in central and eastern Europe) to longstanding partners including Saudi Arabia and former colonies such as Kenya (Cottey and Forster, 2004). Use of the armed forces in nonoperational defence diplomacy tasks was at its zenith between 1998 and 2001, and has provided a residual basis of legitimacy within society. Despite high levels of legitimacy and indeed respect for the armed forces in the UK, there remain, however, a number of problematic elements in the armed forces–society, relationship in terms of legitimacy. As Chapter 4 analyses in more detail, whilst there is convergence between the armed forces and the society, there remains some distance between the UK armed forces and the society at large. As James Burk has argued, the reduction in contact between civilians with military often poses important challenges (Burk, 2002: 19). In part a long-term consequence of the ending of conscription and the reduction in the size of the armed forces, a declining proportion of the public now has direct or even indirect experience of service in the armed forces. As Christopher Dandeker notes, there is also a growing tendency towards recruitment from a narrow pool, where contact and perhaps family ties do remain, making it challenging to attract women, ethnic and other minority groups (Dandeker, 2000b). Indeed in many ways this is an advanced version of the ‘without me’ attitude witnessed in all European states. A further consequence has been the emergence of a ‘chocolate box’ idealised image of the armed forces, with a dichotomy between the realities of service life and the image the general public has of it, and a growing divergence between societal and armed forces’ perceptions of the pressing security and socio-economic issues of the day (Burk, 2002). However, opinion poll sampling suggests high levels of support for the armed forces as a respected institution which remains unaffected by unpopular campaigns such as Operation Telic.

Conclusion As Chapter 2 analyses in terms of defence reform, the level and nature of threat has indeed changed from the predominant climate of the Cold War, where nuclear war and conflict between NATO and Warsaw Pact military alliances provided a context in which national and alliance Territorial Defence had an elevated and generally uncontested status (Smith, 2003). However, since 1989, the range of defence tasks that governments now need to plan for has become less clear-cut, often

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transcending the internal and the external divides and become more contested. Against this backdrop, the attacks of September 2001 and the ‘war on terrorism’ have provided an additional context in which governments are wrestling with the twin challenges of understanding what armed forces are for and how they are legitimised (Heyman, 2001; Posen, 2001; Cronin, 2002). Across Europe it is now clear that a major change has taken place in the overall balance of the roles of the armed forces and the sources of their legitimacy within society. In particular, there has generally been a decline in Regime Defence and Nation Building functions. In most states the National Security role has undergone significant modification though in two different directions. There are indications that some societies are feeling less at risk from external threats to their security from other states, and so less supportive of National Security as this role has been traditionally defined in terms of territorial defence. However, in other states, the September 2001 attacks have increased a sense of threat to national security. As a consequence of the post-9/11 world, for these states, armed forces’ tasks in this area now frequently include a more broadly defined set of roles including expeditionary war-fighting roles. Irrespective of whether it has delivered new forms of legitimacy, a common theme which is taken in Chapter 7 is the way in which most governments have promoted peacekeeping functions for their militaries. Fresh emphasis has also been placed on Domestic Military Assistance functions, where military assistance to the civil power (notably counterterrorist tasks), support to government departments and to the civil community, are all linked by civil defence concerns about the effects of catastrophic terrorism. However, as yet it is not clear that this has reprioritised internal security issues for armed forces across Europe. Likewise, the use of the armed forces for non-operational diplomatic objectives has also been a feature of the last 15 years, though one might speculate that it may be declining in importance as a source of legitimacy between armed forces and societies following the enlargement of NATO and the EU to include postcommunist states. Certainly the end of the Cold War led to a re-shuffling of the tasks of armed forces with normative functions, notably Military Diplomacy, coming to the fore. However, the extent to which events since September 2001, including the war and terror and military campaigns in Afghanistan and Iraq, have definitively re-asserted Boëne’s ‘natural order’ of tasks is an open question. If the reassertion of the National Security role for armed forces is occurring, it will provide empirical evidence to challenge the idea that at least in one respect – the centrality of a broadly defined

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National Security role – the Cold War period was ‘unique and particular’ (Smith, 2003: 29). At the same time as roles are changing and evolving, states are struggling to ensure a connection between the armed forces and their societies. In almost all states, armed forces are now smaller and less visible than during the Cold War, challenging the mechanisms that have traditionally linked the armed forces to their societies across Europe. As Table 1.1 shows, since 1989 nine states have ended or will end conscription, and this has clearly removed a major source of interaction between armed forces and the societies in question. In addition, however, in almost all European states there appears to be a ‘without me’ attitude toward the armed forces, which, although takes different forms in the different groups of states, has left most armed forces finding it increasingly difficult to recruit and retain personnel. One factor of special relevance here is that across Europe, support for military operations appears to be far more conditional then ever it was in the past. In part this is a consequence of a decline in deference towards authority, addressed in more detail in Chapter 4. In part too it is a result of the more complex post-Cold War strategic environment, where governments today are more likely to have to decide whether to participate in international missions and fight ‘wars of choice’. In some states, the need for the involvement of international organisations to legitimise the use of force in these circumstances is increasingly important and this issue is explored further in Chapter 7. In almost all states the need for mission success – measured in various ways but which includes the minimisation of national casualties – is a crucial factor in affecting support for particular operations, with only perhaps the UK and France and more authoritarian states with sufficiently dominant executive political systems, to deploy armed forces, even when there is public opposition to a particular mission (Luttwak, 1999). These factors pose intriguing questions about the development of an EU rapid reaction force considered further in Chapters 5 and 7. Whilst most attention has been focused on the development of military capabilities and of command and control HQ, different levels of threat perception and perspectives on the legitimate use of force across the EU, remain issues that could significantly handicap the effectiveness of a military deployment by such a body. All governments are struggling to identify the appropriate level of expenditure to devote to defence and to justify the investment in a time of scarce resources. Two issues remain under-explored. First, in some cases it may be that support for the armed forces is being shored

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up by governments securitising political issues, deploying scare tactics and the consistent use of language of new security threats (Buzan, Wæver and Wilde, 1998). As a result, there is plainly a wide range of levels of threat perception within Europe. Whether electorates in any European state feel at war in quite the way most do in the US, poses serious questions about whether any European government will be in a position to spend 3.7% of GDP on defence (IISS, 2004: 353).10 Second, and closely related to this, different types of defence model, whether they are Expeditionary Warfare, Late Modern, Territorial Defence or Post-Neutral, require different levels of defence expenditure and societal support. For states like the UK where the government has committed itself to ensuring that their forces are capable of deploying alongside a first wave of US forces in any future military operation, the amount of investment needed will be considerably greater than for those with more modest ambitions. In turn, levels of public support will need to be higher if resources are to match ambitions. What is clear is that patterns in the roles and legitimacy of armed forces in Europe cannot simply be explained by a difference between the ‘old’ Europe of the 15 existing member states of the EU and other west European states on the one hand, and the central and the eastern postcommunist states of the ‘new’ Europe on the other. Moreover, the roles and legitimacy of armed forces in societies across Europe are characterised by a significant degree of dynamism, with the example of Croatia suggesting that even quite a parlous state of armed forces–society relations can be turned around. In a group of states where fresh legitimacy has been gained from either revitalised old roles or new roles, this has led to greater societal support for the armed forces. Important questions remain not only about legitimacy for the different types of role of armed forces, but also concerning the extent to which armed forces should remain different from the societies they serve and it is to this issue the next chapter turns.

Notes 1. Krebs argues that there are three processes in socialisation of soldiers to national norms embedded in the militaries’ manpower policies, shaping who serves and in what capacity. The armed forces bring together individuals of different ethnic religions and socio-economic backgrounds; they break down and recreate new identities; and the military alter the views of future leaders (Krebs, 2004: 87). 2. This third task is also an international role for the armed forces and came to particular prominence in the aftermath of the December 2004 earthquake

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5. 6.

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and Tsunami where a wide range of European militaries were deployed in support of humanitarian tasks in Southeast Asia. There is a marked difference based on age with some 71% of the youngest and 53% of the oldest respondents expressing a desire to see conscription reduced (Vlachová, 2003b: 211). In the ‘Orange revolution’ of December 2004 many voters feared that the armed forces would side with President Kuchma and Prime Minister Yanukovich and as a consequence barracks in the west of Ukraine were blockaded by citizens’ groups. The Officer Commanding Lviv Western Regional forces felt it unreasonable to have to declare the army’s position of non-interference but did so anyway stating ‘. . . that divisions of the Western Regional Headquarters will not fight their own people’ (Cabalamat Journal, 2004). The extent to which the armed forces will benefit from its stance in the December elections is an open question. Many considered this type of support was chosen specifically to avoid public visibility and the possibility of causalities (Viggo Jacobsen, 2005). During the phasing out of conscription many Italians avoided conscription either by choosing service in a civilian structure or by avoiding any sort of service altogether. Conscientious objection increased from around 3% of those eligible for service to around 10% in the mid-1990s, despite the reduction in the length of service. In addition the use of the armed forces in military operations like that in Bosnia has led to a significant reduction in those responding to the call-up (Caforio and Nuciari, 2000: 265). In fact the ECJ ruled the Pact was illegally suspended. Alongside Italy, Germany, Netherlands, Greece and Portugal were in breach of the rules (IISS, 2004: 271). It is important to note that with rotation and specialist training required prior to deployment, an even higher proportion, possibly as high as twothirds of British land forces were directly or indirectly engaged or assigned to counter terrorist tasks. It is widely believed that if the military had been involved earlier, the crisis would not have been as devastating or as badly managed as it was (Maxwell, 2002; Uhlig, 2002; Langlois, 2003). The US government spent $404,920 million in 2003, compared to the combined total of $210,996 million for European NATO states (IISS, 2004: 353).

4 Armed Forces and Societies: Differences and Similarities

Previous chapters have argued that armed forces across Europe have different functions and societal roles which have varying implications for their relationship with society and their bases for legitimacy. Armed forces–society relations are however crucially affected by a further consideration, and that is the degree to which the armed forces resemble or differ from the societies they are designed to serve in terms of social composition, value systems, rules and procedures. In the 1970s Charles Moskos argued that a continuum existed between military organisations that were ‘highly differentiated’ and divergent from the societies they served and those less differentiated and ‘highly convergent’ with civilian structures, the former militaries being characterised as an Institutional model and the latter as an Occupational model (Moskos, 1973: 266). Moskos went on to argue that militaries were rarely homogenous institutional or occupational types but rather synchronic, with most ‘. . . internally segmented into areas which will be either more convergent or more divergent’ with a focus at the level of branch or service (Moskos, 1973: 266; Moskos, 1988a). The central concern of this chapter is to broaden and aggregate upwards the level of analysis to explore the extent to which national armed forces as a whole, with their unique set of operational obligations in terms of the protection of the state and society against external and internal threat, are different from or similar to society. Historically, to differing degrees between European states, the armed forces and indeed service personnel have had a distinct status in relation to the rest of society. As Bernard Boëne notes, ‘. . . the soldier is the one who when ordered to do so, will if need be take to impersonally killing or maiming designated human beings, destroying property and suppressing freedoms, all in the name of legitimate or even sacred 100

Armed Forces and Societies: Differences and Similarities 101

duty . . . [it] . . . implies a peculiar socialisation, hence distinctive structures together with a unique normative system’ (Boëne, 1990: 4). In the light of this, European armed forces developed strongly hierarchical organisational structures supported by distinct military codes and laws, and supplemented by norms and values which legitimate the controlled use of violence and taking of life in the name of the state. Moreover, within armed forces, pressure for change has tended to be resisted because there is not just a need but a right to be different, because of the unique demands placed on service personnel in the controlled use of extreme violence (Dandeker, 2000a: 27; 2000b: 174). For many service personnel, preventing any negative impact on operational effectiveness (what Boëne terms the ‘functional imperative’) must always take precedence over the anticipated positive normative effects of any change. Typical of what is a functional ‘ends-oriented’ mind-set is the view expressed by the former British Chief of Defence Staff, General Sir Charles Guthrie. ‘The Chiefs of Staff have a duty to recommend to the government how to produce the best operational capacity for the nation . . . When the time comes, if the advice of Chiefs of Staff upsets those who seek equality as an end in itself then so be it’ (Guthrie, 2001). While many (but not all) senior military commanders explicitly support this view or have sympathy with it, there is now, however, a degree of consensus amongst analysts that, as Christopher Dandeker observes, a series of challenges have emerged to military culture and its ‘need to be different’ which amount to ‘new times’ for the armed forces (Dandeker, 2000a, 2003). However, the specific outlines of this remain contested. For Moskos, Williams and Segal, indeed the changes have led to a new, ‘Postmodern’ phase in both military organisation and military–society relations, characterised amongst other things by increased inter-penetrability between the civilian and the military spheres and a diminution of differences within the military itself (Moskos, Williams and Segal, 2000). This chapter therefore examines the factors influencing the traditional separation between the armed forces and society, and reactions to them. This chapter takes as its point of departure the idea that militaries are social as well as functional organisations ‘. . . shaped but also shaping social structures and values’ (Krebs, 2004: 89). It suggests that the pattern is in fact varied more than the Postmodern thesis would indicate, with a threefold distinction capturing the diversity and complexity of armed forces and society, termed here ‘Weakened’, ‘Shared’ and ‘Strong Gatekeeper’ Militaries. A key consideration affecting the speed of convergence between armed forces and the societies

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they serve is the nature of societies, the source and nature of pressure for change and the extent to which armed forces retain their role as the key arbiter of their professional space, and so to play the part of gatekeeper as regards internal change. This chapter goes on to suggest that while many of the pressures in favour of greater homogeneity are generally similar across Europe, it is important to recognise where differences exist in terms of the source, type and direction of pressure. Such differences between armed forces and societies challenge arguments of a single Postmodern model.1

Factors for change While most are agreed that the armed forces are experiencing ‘new times’, a range of causes have been advanced for this. For Christopher Dandeker, it is a product of changes in the strategic and societal context coupled with cost pressures which have led to the civilianisation of many traditionally military jobs (Dandeker, 1999a). Moskos, Williams and Segal also highlight the combination of changes in the geopolitical environment and societal developments (Moskos and Burk, 1994; Moskos, Segal and Williams, 2000), while Martin Shaw sees it as resulting from the emergence of a ‘common risk’ society in which perceptions of threat have broadened and become transnational, at the same time as service in the military has become unusual rather than expected within society (Shaw, 2000, 2001). Clearly, however, when considering pressures for change in the armed forces, a key question is what is being compared, and whether the referent object is civilian society as a whole or a specific civilian organisation (Segal et al., 1974; Buzan, Wæver and de Wilde, 1998). The first point to make is that the focus here is on the armed forces as a whole, matched against what might be considered generalised standards in civil society in Europe, and that this focus is applied during peace time circumstances rather than operational periods, where the nature of military uniqueness is often different (Boëne et al., 2000: 26).2 Likewise, as Boëne notes, it is inescapable that the nature of the analysis will depend on the aspects of the armed forces on which the focus falls, whether social structure, recruitment, skills requirements, culture, societal or legal status and, for some, the variation amongst European states makes any attempt at comparison problematic (Boëne, 1990: 57). Notwithstanding this, the chapter contends that there are three issues useful to gauging the extent of convergence between armed forces and the societies they serve, and which allow valuable if tentative

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comparisons are to be made across European armed forces. The first of these is the degree to which the equality and diversity agenda has been embraced. This area therefore encompasses issues related to women’s rights, the treatment of ethnic minorities in the armed forces and sexual orientation. A second area comprises what might be termed the moral standards applied within the armed forces, especially as regards sexual conduct and policies on drug use, and whether and how far these differ from standards within society more generally. A third area relates to employment rights, and involves the extent to which the armed forces resemble any other employer, and service personnel any other employees within society. While acknowledging the general contextual influence of the strategic environment and especially in some European states domestic economic circumstances, these three aspects of military behaviour are useful markers in highlighting the impact of pressure on European armed forces and the extent to which armed forces are different or similar to their societies. First, as a result of a decline in deference, general levels of support for the armed forces are more conditional than in the past (Beevor, 1991). As explored further in Chapter 7, one reflection of this – as illustrated by the popular protests across Europe surrounding the 2002 Iraq war – has been the greater willingness within society to question decisions to deploy the armed forces, particularly as regards the ‘wars of choice’ of the post-Cold War period, where greater discretion appears to surround the issue of what constitutes a threat to national survival (BBC News Online, 2003b).3 The UK government felt itself obliged for instance to place its interpretation of intelligence on Iraq in the public domain before the intervention of March 2002. In addition for the first time in modern history it held a vote in Parliament in support of the war, and after the formal end of hostilities held a Public Inquiry which reported in January 2004 into the use of intelligence in reaching a decision to go to war.4 As the Defence Secretary commented, ‘. . . we live in less deferential times, we are more democratic but it also means the word of the prime minister is not taken for granted. We have the media in our face all the time. Inevitably, we have to substantiate what we are saying’ (Baldwin, 2004). Issues related to the conduct and behaviour of the armed forces are also more likely to be the subject of critical enquiry than in the past, notably bullying, racism and sexism and justifications less likely to be taken on trust.5 A further aspect of this decline in deference is that it is now up to the military to prove that change will damage operational efficiency, rather than the burden of proof being on the proponents of change (Dandeker, 2000b: 181). As discussed further below, in part this

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is so because as other European armed forces embrace changes without a significant impact on their operational efficiency, it becomes more problematic for other European armed forces to ‘play’ the operational efficiency card. A second set of drivers working to undermine the separate character of the armed force relates to the issue of recruitment and the increased competition from civilian employers for a limited labour force. Here, a key factor is demographic change and the decline in numbers of men, the traditional basis of service personnel in Europe. In the UK for instance, the ‘demographic trough’ has led to a significant decline in males of eligible recruitment age by 30% between 1982 and 1995 and with estimates of the annual average population growth between 2002 and 2015 expected to be zero (Dandeker and Segal, 1996: 38; Jehn and Selden, 2002; IISS 2004: 280). There is therefore a strong functional need to ensure that the recruitment base is as large as possible through widening and deepening the pool beyond the cohort of 18 to 29-year-old males, through the recruitment of hitherto neglected or excluded groups, principally women, ethnic groups and homosexuals. This has led to what might be termed a ‘women’s recruitment strategy’ in states such as Norway, Denmark and the UK (Carreiras, 2004: 194, 370). Likewise, previously uncontested shibboleths such as traditional ideas of masculinity that have been intimately linked to war and the military have started to break down (Morgan, 1994; Ehrenreich, 1995, 1998; Cohn, 1998: Enloe, 2000). As Paul Higate and Gerhard Kümmel observe, the dominance of ‘military masculinities’ has become more contested, reflecting a broader transformation in social values, changing aspirations of young men and women in which the very presence of more women in the military is having an effect (Connell, 1995, 2000; Kümmel, 2002a, b; Higate, 2003; Woodward and Winter, 2004). Individuals volunteering or being conscripted into the armed forces also import their own civilian values, many of which are surprisingly tenacious in the face of military socialisation. Paul Higate, argues that there is a subtle and frequently overlooked dynamism in military culture ‘on the ground’ (Beevor, 1991; Higate, 2003). For example, in Slovenia women now comprise 19.2% of the armed forces, in France 12.79% and in the Czech Republic 12.3%, with female representation in European forces averaging around 8% see Table 4.1 (NATO, 2004).6 In many cases the cumulative effect of these changes is that the armed forces are becoming more open as a career to women, some of whom are attracted to serve.7 In Germany significant inroads have been made in developing a positive working

Table 4.1 Policies and representation of women in selected European Armed Forces 2004* State

Posts open to womena

Belgium

Since 1981 all branches open to women

8.26

43

Bulgaria

Since 2004 all branches open to women All branches open to women

4.2

–

OF-4 (Lt. Col.)

12.3

44

OF-4 (Lt. Col.)

5

47

OF-9 (Gen.)

12.79

45

OF-6 (Brig.)

5.2

44

OF-2e (Lt.)

Czech Rep

Denmark

All branches open to women

France

Since 2000 all branches open to women except infantry, armour, Foreign Legion, submarines, SF of the Gendarmerie Since 2001 all branches open to women

Germany

Women as a % of the military 2003b

Women as a % of workforce 2003c

Highest Female Ranka,d

Other comments

OF-5 (Col.)

Maximum quota for recruitment to academies was eliminated in 1991 Until recently women could not serve on operations Women excluded from NCO ranks and limits restricting access to military schools existed until 1999 Since 1971 women allowed to NCO and enlisted ranks and since 1974 women allowed to military academies Maximum quota for recruitment to academies was eliminated in 1998

105

Since 1975 women allowed to join Medical Service. It is expected women will reach OF-3 in 2008/2009 and OF-4 (battalion command) in 2016 (CWINF, 2004: 46)

106

Table 4.1

(Continued)

State

Posts open to womena

Women as a % of the military 2003b

Women as a % of workforce 2003c

Greece

Since 2000 all branches open to women

4.2

Hungary

Almost all career fields open to women

Italy

Since 2000 all branches open to women

Luxembourg

Since 1997 all branches open to women Since 1986 all branches open to women except Marine Corps & submarine service

Netherlands

Highest Female Ranka,d

Other comments

40

OF-6 (Brig.)

44

OF-5 (Col.)

0.53

39

–

6.04

–

–

8.65

43

Women previously excluded from NCO ranks. Women cannot represent more than 10% of cadets in military academies. Partial segregation of training occurs Women excluded from NCO ranks until 1999. Segregation of men and women in training occurs Women cannot represent more than 20% in military academies and NCO ranks and 30% of enlisted ranks First female EU citizen joined the AF in 2004 Marine Corps & submarine service are ‘. . . closed to women due to reasons of combat effectiveness and practicality’. In 1999 a recruitment goal of 12% was set for 2010

10

OF-5 (Col.)

Norway

Since 1985 all branches open to women

6.3

47

OF-6 (Brig.)

Poland

Since 2003 all branches open to women

0.47

46

OF-4 (Lt.Col.)

Portugal

Since 1991 all branches officially open to women, with Army opening up all specialities since 2002. Navy exclusions relate to submarines, divers, mine clearance Not all posts are open; with main fields in which females are found being logistics, administration, medical services and education Almost all branches open to women All branches open to women Since 1999 all branches open to women

8.4

46

OF-3 (Maj.)

3.99

–

OF-6 (Brig.)

6.1

–

OF-4 (Lt. Col.)

19.2

–

OF-4 (Lt. Col.)

10.5

39

Romania

Slovakia Slovenia Spain

OF-3 (Maj.)

A goal of 7% (excluding conscripts) of female personnel has also been set for 2005 ‘Preference’ for traditional roles. Women excluded from NCO ranks until 1999 Since 1991 women allowed to join all ranks

Traditionally undertakes ‘women’s jobs’ Since 1988 women allowed to join military academies 107

108

Table 4.1

(Continued)

State

Posts open to womena

Turkey

Since 2003 women serve in all branches except armour, infantry and submarines

3.95

UK

All branches except where the primary duty ‘is to close with and kill the enemy’ i.e. close combat roles (R Marines, armour, infantry, RAF Regiment, submarines and mine clearance divers)

8.8

Women as a % of the military 2003b

Women as a % of workforce 2003c

Highest Female Ranka,d

Other comments

27

OF-5 (Col.)

Only as officers until Aug. 2003 when women NCOs were first recruited. Women cannot represent more than 4% of cadets in military academies

45

OF-6 (Brig.)

* Data taken from Summary Record of the Committee on Women in the NATO Forces annual meeting, June 2003 and IISS Military Balance 2004–2005 and as follows: a Unpublished Summary Note provided by Major Dimitriou, Chief of the Office on Women in NATO Forces; b Summary statistics 2004; c Presentation by Lt. Col. Knackstedt, Women in NATO Annual Meeting, Ottawa, June 2003; d OF-10 Field Marshall, Admiral Fleet; OF-9 General, Admiral; OF-8 Lieutenant General, Vice Admiral; OF-7 Major General, Rear Admiral; OF-6 Brigadier, Commodore; OF-5 Colonel, Captain (Navy); OF-4 Lieutenant Colonel, Commander; OF-3 Major, Lt. Commander; OF-2 Captain, Lieutenant; OF-1 Lieutenant, 1st Lt. Sub Lieutenant, Second Lieutenant; Officer Cadet. e Estimate of rank in land forces excluding Medical services and military bands.

Armed Forces and Societies: Differences and Similarities 109

climate in what has been described as ‘. . . the former “male sphere” of the Bundeswehr’ (NATO, 2004: 48). Motivations for women’s participation in the military clearly vary across Europe. In Bulgaria women are choosing a military career ‘basically connected with the high unemployment rate in the small provincial towns’ (NATO, 2004: 7) and in the Czech Republic survey evidence suggests that women’s motivation varies widely, but includes the pragmatic benefits of service such as social benefits, educational opportunities and social stability which the army gives them, as well as the prestige derived from being a member of the armed forces (NATO, 2004: 25). A related factor in terms of creating pressure to widen the recruitment pool is change in the field of technology, which is transforming the nature of much of the work of the armed forces, and in particular reducing the relative importance of physical size and strength. Traditionally, political and military leaders have justified excluding women from most parts of the armed forces on the grounds that women are not suited to combat and are naturally less aggressive than men, though this stereotype of men in Jean Elshtain’s depiction as ‘just warriors’ and females as ‘beautiful souls’ has been fiercely contested (Ruddick, 1983; Elshtain, 1995; Jones, 1997). Some have also focused on the potential reaction of men in units where women serve with the claim that men become distracted from fighting the enemy by feeling obliged to protect women. Other arguments have focused on the impact on morale if women were injured or captured (M. Segal, 1983; M. Segal and Hansen, 1992; M. Segal, 1999). For Caroline Kennedy-Pipe, many of these debates miss the point; with the declining centrality of physical ability and rise in the probability of virtual wars, ‘. . . there is therefore a new functional need to ask questions about how and where women can best serve in the new wars that require new warriors’ (M. Segal, 1982, 1983; Kennedy-Pipe, 2000: 32). In response to pressures of this type, almost all European states have altered the physical requirements for entry to the services and to particular posts (M. Segal, 1999; Carreiras, 2004: 37).8 Procedures and practices have been amended to permit women to serve in most branches of the armed forces and introduced better policies to support women personnel in the military, with France the Netherlands, Romania, Turkey and the UK important exceptions; see Table 4.1.9 The extent to which technology will increasingly come to supplant physical strength is unclear, though for some armies face-to-face fighting of the type in Iraq and Afghanistan, and urban and guerrilla warfare will undoubtedly continue (Cohn, 2000).

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More broadly, it has also been argued by internal military campaign groups that by widening the recruitment pool, the armed forces will directly benefit from a more diverse set of skills that recruits bring with them, and that a military freed from racial discrimination and focused on diversity, tolerance and decency will be operationally more effective (Dandeker and Segal, 1996: 38).10 As Marcelite Harris notes ‘To fail to accept women in senior positions or as equal co-workers is to fail to make maximum use of the strength of NATO military forces’ (Harris, 1997: 25, 26 cited in Carreiras, 2004: 185). In addition some have promoted the idea that through more representative recruitment, the armed forces will become a modern organisation with which all citizens can identify, thus increasing recruitment and retention as well as overall legitimacy (M. Segal, 1982, 1993; D. Segal, Kinzer and Woelfel, 1977; Tobias, 1990). For example, Mark Oliver comments that disability campaigners have argued that encouraging their recruitment ‘. . . would allow hitherto excluded patriots to serve their country in uniform’ (Oliver, 2000). The impact of such arguments was reflected in the 2003 UK MoD discussion paper on strategic issues with the acknowledgement that ‘. . . intolerance and discrimination are becoming less acceptable to domestic opinion. This should reinforce our determination to tackle vigorously examples of discrimination within the Armed Forces if we are to have access to the widest possible recruiting pool’ (UK MoD, 2003d). An additional set of pressures for change is legal in nature and has principally taken the form of legal rulings eroding and more recently outlawing discrimination. For instance, the 1979 UN Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination Against Women began the change in climate of international legal opinion, but of more direct effect has been the European Court of Human Rights (ECHR) and European Court of Justice (ECJ) provisions and rulings.11 In terms of the impact of the ECHR, Article 4 addressing slavery and forced labour has been used for instance to end compulsory military service where provision is not made for conscientious objectors. As regards the ECJ, the rulings of which are binding on member states with no right of appeal, the impact on military exceptionalism in EU member states in the area of employment rights has also been profound. Here the EU has provided a deus ex machina requiring compliance on the equality and diversity agenda and leading to convergence around a European set of norms. In particular, landmark rulings have required the lifting of the formal exclusion from the armed forces of people on the grounds of their sexual orientation (Dandeker, 1999b; D. Segal, M. Segal and B. Booth,

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1999), while rulings followed by a series of test cases on the Equal Treatment Directive (1976) have required employers not to discriminate on the grounds of gender. In the UK, for example, the practice of making pregnant women serving in the armed forces redundant was challenged and made unlawful in 1993. In Germany the restriction on women serving in all branches of the armed forces was lifted in 2000 as a result of an ECJ ruling (Court sentence of 11 January 2000, Tanja Kreil, Case C285/98) based on the principle of the equal treatment of men and women (Kümmel, 2001: 146). Similarly in 1999 the ECJ rejected the UK government’s view that decisions affecting the combat effectiveness of the armed forces were outside the scope of the EC Treaties.12 Only where governments have actively secured opt-outs and derogations from legislation have armed forces been able to maintain distinctive practices. Learning from this experience the UK for instance secured a derogation from Article 13 of the Directive on Equal Treatment in Employment and Occupation, to limit the effect of disability and age rights on employment practice, arguing that allowing disabled personnel in the armed forces would have a detrimental effect on operational effectiveness (Hill, 2000; Prime Minister’s Office, 2000). The 2000 Charter of Fundamental Rights of the EU and any similar initiatives are likely to mark another step change in terms of impact on the employment practices of the armed forces. Employment practices in the armed forces have also come under pressure from EU health and safety legislation, especially as regards the duty of care and other employer’s obligations.13 The emergence of societal concerns about and duty of care responsibilities is also becoming pressing, as more European armed forces are deployed on operational missions. Eleanor Lee has argued that many see the military profession ‘as just a job’, and the military ‘as just an employer’, what Charles Moskos and Frank Wood conceptualise as a shift from an institutional to an occupational mind-set (Moskos and Wood, 1988b: 3; Lee, 2003). In this respect, of particular concern are the psychological after-effects of exposure to operational deployments and the obligation of the armed forces to minimise the risk of psychological harm. Alongside this, Lee notes, ‘. . . less and less sense of any “greater good” that it might be worth fighting, and possibly even suffering’ with a context of growing scepticism in society that war is justified leading to a ‘blame and claim culture’ (Lee, 2003). As this takes place, the expectation of service personnel is that in return for placing them in harm’s way, there should be considerable support for veterans in coping with their experiences. The emergence of campaign organisations, such as Combat Stress in the

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UK and trans-European Organisations such as La Confédération Européenne des Anciens Combattants (CEAC) which is recognised by the European Commission and the Council of Europe, is leading to not only better comparisons of national approaches, but also more effective campaigning for veterans’ interests and concerns (Colbey, 2003).14 Coupled with this, across Europe there has been a steady flow of challenges to military law and its different legal procedures, standards of evidence and punishment. The effect has been to question the centrality of military law in upholding the ethos and professional conduct of the armed forces as a self-regulating body with regulations distinct from the rest of society. Indeed, even the belief that armed forces are bound by what J. Carl Ficarrotta terms a higher ‘moral standard’ from that in civilian life and commercial practice is under threat (Ficarrotta, 1997: 59). Challenges in this area have been mounted on the grounds that different moral obligations are not necessary for functional effectiveness, and in the most contentious issues many armed forces have preferred to discharge service personnel through mutual agreement, rather than prosecute them and run the risk of overturning points of military law governing morality. Illustrating this change is the case of Jaroslava Brokesova who underwent gender reassignment who was refused entry to the Czech Army on the grounds of a sexual identity disorder. Whilst Defence Ministry officials wanted to treat this ‘. . . as just a one-off case and would rather let the whole matter die down’, Brokesova refused to accept an apology and vowed to fight for the collective rights of transsexuals (Vaughan, 2004). In 1999 the UK MoD preferred to allow a serving officer who underwent a sex change to remain in service, rather than face a legal challenge to any decision to force her resignation (Davies and Jones, 1999). One particularly notable feature of the legal pressures which have increasingly impacted on militaries is the fact that they have in many cases resulted from initiatives by service personnel themselves. Part of this can be attributed to the decline in deference alluded to above, which has affected members of the armed forces in the same way as it has wider society. However, the ability to compare practices in other European armed forces has also played a leading part. One of the main reasons UK litigants took their case on rights of gays and lesbians in the armed forces to the ECHR for instance, was that the UK was the only NATO country, apart from Turkey, operating a total ban on homosexuals in its armed forces (Council of Europe, 2000). It has therefore proved very difficult to argue that a change in the law would lead to a loss of morale and operational effectiveness, when it has not been the case in other comparable European states (Powell, 1999; Crea, 2004)

Armed Forces and Societies: Differences and Similarities 113

It is striking that human rights groups such as Amnesty International, civil rights groups such as Liberty, and equal opportunities groups covering race relations, disabilities and gender rights have become more active in promoting the rights of service personnel. Moreover, transnational groupings such as the International Gay and Lesbian Association, CEAC, and the Committee for Women in NATO Forces (CWINF) are offering influential cross-national alliances to promote universal values.15 As Helena Carreiras notes with regard to women’s rights ‘. . . the simple fact of disseminating information and facilitating exchange of experiences may progressively contribute to homogenizing dominant integration models’ (Carreiras, 2004: 184). Important powerful relationships of (in some instances traditionally anti-military) activist groups and service personnel have been formed that straddle the internal–external divide and are challenging military culture from both within and without. As armed forces have become more diverse in terms of gender, ethnicity and sexual orientation, they have been keen to stave off any legal challenge concerning questionable employment practices and to close the gap between official polices and the realities of military service (Yoder, Adam and Prince, 1983: 334; D. Segal, M. Segal and B. Booth, 1999). For example, the UK MoD has preferred to develop a relationship of dialogue with the UK Armed Forces Lesbian and Gay Association to promote an equality agenda, rather than see issues settled through judgments in the courts. In more progressive militaries, initial reforms are therefore frequently followed by what might be termed a ‘second-wave’ normalisation process, with ongoing effects for organisational culture in the armed forces. For example, in addition to the Women’s Network in 2002 in the Netherlands ‘gender-ambassadors’ were appointed at Deputy Commanders-in-Chief level and in 2004 a watchdog committee was established to promote a range of Gender Mainstreaming policies in the armed forces.16 In Denmark, from 2005 diversity management training has been introduced into all NCO and officer training as an integral part of the subject of leadership, and local counsellors appointed and available to managers and employees. The UK Equality Centre has been created to try and advance strategies to improve retention rates of women in the armed forces while high profile support has been made available from the state-funded Equal Opportunities Commission to tackle the institutional culture of sexism in the workplace. Finally, institutional change is providing an opportunity structure in which challenges to entrenched practices are taking place (Haltiner 1998a, b; Iskra, et al., 2002; Kümmel, 2002a, b). In a major study of women’s participation in the military, Carreiras argues that where

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militaries recruit on the basis of all volunteer forces there is a strong likelihood of a higher presence of women, and therefore greater convergence with levels of national economic and social participation of women. Where recruitment is based on conscript forces, there is a lower presence of women (Carreiras, 2004: 321).17 In 2003 this was certainly the case amongst conscript armies, notably Bulgaria (4.2%), Poland (0.47%), Romania (3.99%) and Turkey (3.95%), where levels of women’s representation is very low. Likewise, European armed forces with the highest levels of female participation are all-volunteer armies, notably Slovakia (19.2%), France (12.79%), the Czech Republic (12.3%), Spain (10.5%) and Hungary (10%). However, in terms of forces that retain conscription, some militaries have relatively high levels of female representation. For example, Latvia has 10%, Russia 10%, Norway 6.3%, Denmark 5% and Germany 5.2%, all of which are typical or higher levels of representation than many all-volunteer armed forces (Mathers, 2002). Likewise, Italy no longer has conscription and yet has only 0.53% of women in the armed forces. In the five states listed above which retain conscription (see Table 1.1), levels of female representation need to be explained by other factors, as does the extent to which women hold senior positions in the armed forces and the extent to which women have access to all branches and military professions (Carreiras, 2004). Overall, it is worth noting that as regards the pressure for change in the armed forces identified here – declining levels of deference, recruitment and staffing considerations, and legal developments and organisation change – the balance in terms of functional drivers for change and normative factors varies, depending on both the issue in question, and the circumstances within armed forces and those prevailing in the society at large. Groups and individuals advancing arguments for an erosion in exceptionalism based on ideas of social justice for instance have often linked this to better functional outcomes for the armed forces themselves (Oliver, 2000). Moreover, even where functional pressures appear predominant, as Dandeker notes, these pressures are mediated and interpreted by politicians and policy-makers; the choices made therefore depend on the values and aspirations of decision-makers as they respond to perceptions of strategic and political need (Dandeker, 2003: 134). To this one should add the key role that senior commanders in the armed forces play in mediating the pressures on the armed forces, in terms of balancing the right and the need to be different. In this regard the use of the notion of operational effectiveness (often used to resist change to long-standing employment practices) has started to erode. As other armed forces have embraced change this has

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challenged any clear relationship between acceptance of homosexuals in the military, the levels of female presence in the military and the degree of force of cohesion and readiness.18 However, the influence of the various pressures for greater convergence between armed forces and societies is by no means uniform and it is this issue and that of responses across Europe which this chapter now turns to consider in greater depth.

Patterns of similarity and difference This section analyses three issues to highlight the complexity of gauging the extent of convergence between armed forces and the societies they serve. These allow valuable comparisons to be made across European armed forces through an exploration of the extent to which an equality and diversity agenda has been embraced, the degree to which moral standards and codes applied within the armed forces differ from those in wider society, and how closely the armed forces resemble any other employer (and its personnel any other employee) in society. Using these issues to analyse homogeneity between armed forces and societies in Europe, this chapter suggests that militaries have tended to fall into one of three broad groupings in terms of the sources of pressure for change and the way in which it has been mediated by military commanders (Table 4.2).

Table 4.2 different

Typology of resilience of armed forces in defending the right to be

Group

1: Weakened Gatekeeper Militaries

2: Shared Gatekeeper Militaries

3: Strong Gatekeeper Militaries

States

Austria; Belgium; Denmark; France; Finland; Germany; Greece; Ireland; Italy; Luxembourg; Netherlands; Norway; Portugal; Slovenia; Spain; Sweden; Switzerland; UK

Bulgaria; Czech Republic; Estonia; Hungary; Latvia; Lithuania; Poland; Slovak Republic

Albania; Armenia; Belarus; BosniaHerzegovina; Croatia; Georgia; Macedonia (FYROM); Moldova; Romania; Russian Federation; SerbiaMontenegro; Turkey; Ukraine

Notes: Excludes: Andorra; Cyprus; Holy See; Liechtenstein; Monaco; San Marino. Exemplars in bold.

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Group one: Weakened Gatekeeper Militaries In a first group of states, change has been far-reaching and the distinctiveness of the armed forces within and as compared to society has been considerably eroded (as in the Netherlands and Germany) and in others states notably the UK reduced. Tellingly, almost all states in this group are long-standing member states of the EU, although there are also some non-EU members, including Norway and Switzerland. What unites states in this group is the level of social and economic development as advanced industrial democracies and especially the impact of international legal rulings on the right of the armed forces to be different. However, this group is also characterised by diversity in two ways: first, there is considerable variation in terms of motivation for the erosion of differences between the armed forces and the society, in terms of whether convergence with society has been imposed or embraced; and second, some armed forces in this group continue to resist the principle of convergence on the grounds of ‘operational efficiency’ – issues explored further in this section through an examination of a paired case study analysing Germany and the Netherlands. As regards the equality and diversity agenda, in Germany, women were until 2000 excluded from the combat arms (infantry, armour and artillery) units of the armed forces and it was only through legal action that this position was reversed (NATO, 2004: 44). In particular, the German Federal Constitutional Court ruled in 1997 that existing policies violated women’s basic rights to a choice of profession and to hold any public service office, while the ECJ also ruled in support of the complainant on the issue of EC 76/207 on the grounds that the German regulations were in breach of the equal treatment of men and women. In parallel with this, the rights of women and the cases of individuals seeking to challenge the absence of opportunities were championed by the German Federal Armed Forces Association. Ultimately the ban was lifted in 2000, with women subsequently granted access to the full range of professions within the armed forces and by 2004 women formed 5.2% of personnel see Table 4.1 (Kümmel, 2001). In the Netherlands, women have been able to join the armed forces since 1986 and comprised 7.4% of the armed forces in 1998, 8.65% in 2003, with a recruitment target of 12% by 2010. In contrast to Germany, Dutch women have been able to join all branches of the armed forces with the exception of the Marines and submarine service, though in practice the physical standards set for entry to combat branches have limited women’s entry (van der Meulen, 2000: 112).

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Moreover, the promotion of women’s rights in the Dutch case has not relied on legal pressure, but rather has been embraced proactively by the services themselves and has been part of a wider set of Ministry of Defence policies to ensure that the services reflect the composition of Dutch society as far as possible (van der Meulen, Rosendahl Huber and Soeters, 2000: 299). Thus improving terms and conditions for women has been a policy in place in the Netherlands since the mid-1990s, with improvements to child care introduced in 1997, and opportunities created for part-time work, with almost all posts opened to female senior officers on a part-time basis from 1998 (van der Meulen, Rosendahl Huber and Soeters, 2000: 299), and parental leave and re-entry up to 6 years after leaving the services (NATO, 2004: 83). The proactive Dutch approach contrasts with that in Germany where policies have been more conservative and the promotion of women’s rights (and women) slower (NATO, 2004: 46). As regards sexual orientation, whilst stopping short of a total ban on homosexuals serving in the armed forces, German policies have generally discriminated against homosexuals if their sexual orientation is made known by themselves or others (Kline and Kuhlmann, 2000: 218). The claim of the Bundeswehr is that loss of personal authority prevents homosexuals from functioning in command positions and as instructors or trainers, with adverse consequences for operational efficiency, and as Bernhard Flekenstein notes, ‘. . . this policy was . . . upheld repeatedly by the courts, specifically in 1978, 1984 and 1990, and again by a decision of the Federal Administrative Court’ in 1997 (Flekenstein, 2000: 94). In contrast to the UK experience, homosexuals serving in German armed forces have not sought to challenge discrimination, and activist groups have chosen not to campaign for change, in part due to lack of interest in joining the armed forces amongst lesbians and gays (Flekenstein, 2000: 96), and also perhaps as a consequence of anti-militarism amongst activist groups (Boëne and Martin, 2000: 68). However, the German armed forces have not remained immune from European-wide trends, and following ECHR rulings the Bundeswehr was forced to remove all restrictions on homosexuals in January 2001 (Human Rights Watch, 2003: footnote 250). By contrast, in the Netherlands the position in the armed forces as regards the issue of sexual orientation has been very supportive, with official acceptance dating back to the 1970s and active integration polices introduced in the 1980s (van der Meulen Rosendahl Huber and Soeters, 2000). This has broadly brought the armed forces into line with other public services in the Netherlands. This situation has come about

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in part because of conceptions of tolerance within Dutch society, and also as a result of pressure from inside the armed forces. Here serving gay and lesbian personnel have pressed for second generation ‘deep’ reforms that move away from a general policy of tolerance in recruitment, to measures addressing terms and conditions as well as the attitudes of heterosexual colleagues as evidenced by a commitment to equality and diversity educational training programmes, and the introduction of new complaints procedures on all forms of undesirable behaviour in the Dutch armed forces (NATO, 2004: 84). In terms of the active recruitment of ethnic minorities in Germany, the recruitment of Turks and Kurds that form a sizeable minority of 2.5 million (3.45% of the population) in Germany has not been successful. The 2000 change in nationality laws means that children of Turkish workers born in Germany can become naturalised citizens, which at least theoretically opens up the possibility of more Turks serving in the Bundeswehr, but this group are still under-represented and looks likely to be so for many years. In the Netherlands, the Ministry of Defence has since 1986 implemented personnel policies designed to ensure the representative nature of the armed forces, although ethnic minorities were in addition recruited into the services through the rather indiscriminate mechanism of conscription. Under conscription, however, ethnic groups comprised a relatively low proportion (2%) of the armed forces in relation to society, and since the end of conscription in 1996, ethnic minorities have been targeted as a functional necessity to maintain recruitment levels (van der Meulen, Rosendahl Huber and Soeters, 2000). Jan van der Meulen et al. argue that, though it is difficult to estimate, in part because Dutch society is now so multi-cultural and also because anti-discrimination legislation itself prevents registration of ethnicity without consent, the proportion of ethnic minorities in the armed forces now stands at approximately 6% (van der Meulen, Rosendahl Huber and Soeters, 2000: 300).19 In the second key area of standards of morality within the armed forces, drug use is explicitly forbidden in both the German and the Dutch armed forces and can lead to dismissal. This marks both armed forces out from society more generally, but the difference is perhaps widest between the armed forces and the society in the Netherlands where laws on drug use are considerably more relaxed than in Germany. With regard to standards of sexual conduct, German and Dutch military codes regulate behaviour and have made sexual activity on military property a punishable offence, although both fall short of the quite extensive code used by the British armed forces. While

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German society in general remains conservative in terms of issues of morality, however, the concept of ‘citizen soldier’ in Germany has meant that society does not generally expect higher moral standards from service personnel than from other professionals. In addition, in terms of military law, in Germany a Military Discipline Code sets out a system of discipline supported by a military court system. However, in keeping with the citizen in uniform concept – Innere Führung – this is supplemented by Military Complaints Regulations, so that service personnel are aware of and can defend their rights (Large, 1996).20 In general then, the German armed forces share almost all of the legal and political rights of their civilian counterparts and where criminal offences are committed, these are investigated by the civilian police authorities. Military law has also been civilianised in the Netherlands through a series of steps including the integration of military chambers within civilian courts; accused personnel have clearly specified rights under which they have the right, for instance, to be heard by their commanding officer, may request an officer to represent them or bring their own civilian lawyer and may call their own witnesses. They also have the right to appeal at national and indeed European level (van der Meulen, Rosendahl Huber and Soeters, 2000: 292). As regards employment rights, German service personnel have since 1956 been permitted to join professional associations, the most prominent of which is the Deutsche Bundeswehr-Verband, and have been able to participate fully in trades unions since 1966. As with other commercial and non-commercial enterprises, members of the armed forces have had the right since 1990 to set up and participate in works councils, and the Deutsche Bundeswehr-Verband has successfully campaigned to ensure that service pay is in line with that of other civil service employees, with good pensions and retirement for most at the age of 55. Compliance with the Working Time Directive and the introduction of a 46-hour working week have further brought the armed forces broadly into line with their civilian counterparts, with overtime remunerated either through time off or by extra pay. Convergence with practices in wider society has also been evident as regards decision-making structures, where rigidly hierarchical organisation has given way to a more consensual approach, under which subordinates can discuss issues of common concern with superiors, and mediators have been appointed to liaise between superior and subordinate ranks. Indeed these steps have introduced what Paul Kline and Jürgen Kuhlmann term ‘union-like negotiations and procedures’ into military order, which play a key role shaping policies of commanders (Kline and Kuhlmann, 2000: 211). In

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parallel with this, off-duty service personnel can actively engage in political activities including standing for election. In theory they may also participate in public debates about defence policy, although in practice this freedom tends to be constrained, especially if comment is critical (Kline and Kuhlmann, 2000: 210). In the Netherlands, some 80% of service personnel are members of military unions, where there is a growing trend towards merger with civilian unions (van der Meulen, Rosendahl Huber and Soeters, 2000: 294). Long-standing union activism has led to high levels of pay and a restriction on hours of work to a 40-hour week, rising to 50 hours during training and education courses. With additional pay or leave provided for overtime, retirement at 55 and generous pension schemes, terms and conditions for members of the armed forces are in many respects more generous than those of their civilian counterparts (van der Meulen et al., 2000: 290). The one right service personnel do not have is the right to strike. Overall, service in the armed forces at least in peacetime now shares many of the features of civilian employment in public services and private companies. Service personnel can moreover join political parties, although to stand for public office they must resign from the armed forces. In Weakened Gatekeeper Militaries, an ever smaller and ‘penetrated’ professional space diminished by legal intrusions and societal expectations, the armed forces have the characteristics of a ‘weakened gatekeeper’. Recruitment policies have – either willingly or through external imposition – been put in place to ensure that the armed forces better reflect the societies they serve in terms of both gender balance and ethnic composition. In terms of standards of morality, expectations of service personnel are generally similar to those within society more widely, and the distinctive nature of employment practice in the armed forces is being eroded and brought into line with civilian practices. However, the reasons for change vary between states. In some states, notably the BENELUX and the Nordic States, governments have been more normatively committed to promoting an equality and diversity agenda in particular and taken proactive steps to achieve this. In states such as Germany, Austria, Italy and the UK, change has been more reactive, and imposed as a result of legal rulings and functional need, and has broadly taken place within a discourse which prioritises operational efficiency.21 Whatever the different motivations, however, the effect in Weakened Gatekeeper Militaries has been an erosion of the distinctiveness of the armed forces in key areas, with the armed forces no longer able to play the part of gatekeeper in the process of change.

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Group two: Shared Gatekeeper Militaries In a second group of states, including Bulgaria, Czech Republic, Estonia, Hungary, and Latvia, Lithuania, Poland and the Slovak Republic in the three areas explored here, the armed forces share some of the characteristics of societies which they serve, but remain strikingly different in other areas. All of these states are from central and eastern Europe and their militaries have undergone considerable transformation over the last 15 years. Where convergence has taken place principally in terms of better gender representation it is more likely to be as a consequence of a functional need caused by the end of conscription and declining interest of males in serving in the armed forces, typified by Hungary and Czech Republic. In other areas the armed forces have been left relatively unchallenged in terms of their ability to prioritise operational efficiency over the need for armed forces to be reflective of their societies. In part this is so not only because societal forces are not demanding change, but also because of the absence of a deus ex machina to impose change on militaries in these states. The armed forces of the Czech Republic are a good exemplar of this group of states. In terms of the equality and diversity agenda, considerable effort has been directed by the Czech Republic armed forces into the recruitment and retention of women. In 2000, 3.3% of the regular armed forces were women and by 2003 there were 12.3% with a target set by the MoD of 20%. All posts are officially open to women and there is a very high level of interest of women in serving in the armed forces with 16.44% applying to join (NATO, 2004: 25). The motivation to recruit women has not been a normative commitment to equal opportunities, but rather a pressing functional need to ensure the widest possible recruitment pool given generally low levels of esteem for the armed forces, with only 17% of people of recruitment age expressing an interest in enlisting and an annual average predicted growth rate of −0.2% between 2002 and 2015 (IISS, 2004: 275). In addition, the organisational changes required as a consequence of a move to an all-volunteer force in 2004 has further increased pressure on the Czech Ministry of Defence to ensure a broad-based recruitment strategy for the armed forces. As Vlachová argues it has become necessary for the Ministry of Defence to promote and recruit from the whole of the labour market in order to sustain an all-volunteer force (Vlachová, 2003c: 50–1). However, whilst there is a relatively high proportion of women in the armed forces compared with other European states – typically 4 percentage points higher than most west European armed forces – two issues are striking. First, despite the lifting of restriction on service, in practice

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many combat roles are closed to women who work mainly in logistical, engineering, medical support and administrative posts and are almost entirely absent from combat units, limited assignments to combat operations with women comprising only 5% of overall forces deployed on peacekeeping and monitoring operations (Carreiras, 2004: 201, 373; NATO, 2004: 19, 24). In addition women are less likely to hold command positions than their male counterparts with 22.5% of women holding these posts in the MoD and General Staff (NATO, 2004: 22).22 Women generally serve for shorter periods than their male counterparts. However, women’s preferences are important since ‘. . . they tend to be interested in professions characterised by regular working hours, lesser time demands and lesser requirements for physical capabilities, fieldwork, and direct command over a large number of soldiers’ (NATO, 2004: 22). The skills of valuable experienced staff are therefore lost to the Czech armed forces at a time when pressure is high to improve retention rates (NATO, 2004: 19). A practical effect of this is to limit promotion prospects and few women hold senior ranks in the armed forces with the highest rank at the time of writing being OF-4 (Lt. Col.). A number of steps have been taken to promote equality in the armed forces and to improve the terms and conditions of service. Amongst the specific measures include a 1999 Act on Professional Soldiers, the introduction of a Military Code of Ethics, the swearing of an oath to promote responsible service and in 2004 the establishment of an interdepartmental working group to improve working conditions for service women (NATO, 2004: 26).23 Second, as Vlachová notes, government policies and the culture in Czech society have not generally encouraged women to enter the labour force. At least to some degree this has acted as a brake on moving more quickly both to increase overall numbers of women in the armed forces, and perhaps more importantly to broaden the types of positions and responsibilities women hold (Vlachová, 2003c). In this instance indeed the armed forces are more progressive than Czech society, both in terms of promoting female recruitment and specific and more progressive measures than general employment legislation. For example, in 1999 the MoD introduced enhanced protection for the employment of pregnant women soldiers and parental leave, which highlights an asymmetry between society and the armed forces that is the reverse of many west European states (Carreiras, 2004: 212). The challenge is to ensure that increasing the numbers of women in the armed forces is not accompanied by widespread societal unease or an undermining of the broader bases of legitimacy of the armed forces.

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The Czech Republic is generally the least homophobic of countries in central and eastern Europe (International Gay and Lesbian Association (ILGA), 2001). Homosexuality is not an offence and since 1989 legislation on sexual offences has been drafted in a gender-neutral way, with a specific prohibition on discrimination in the field of employment (ILGA Europe, 2001). Although if a recruit is gay and has a medical examination they are usually released from duty, policy in the armed forces otherwise closely follows this line. There is thus no restriction on homosexuals entering and indeed continuing to serve in the armed forces once their sexual orientation has been made known and no formal procedures discriminate according to sexual orientation among service personnel. Perhaps highlighting the functional rather than the normative rationales behind the equality agenda is the contrast between the high level of investment in recruiting women and the more modest efforts directed towards recruiting ethnic minorities, comprising Moravian 3.6%, Romanies 2.5%, Slovaks 1.8%, Polish 0.5% and Germans 0.4% (Institute for Jewish Policy Research, 2002). Whilst an Act of Professional Soldiers (passed in 1999 and amended in 2002) includes a commitment to prohibit discrimination on the grounds of racial origin and ethnic or social origin (and sexual orientation), progress has been limited. In particular, recruitment from the small, but symbolically important Romany groups has been unsuccessful in part because of broader discrimination in Czech society, and also because educational and health standards for entry have excluded many recruits (Vlachová, 2003c: 51). It is also worth noting that where advances have been made on the equality and diversity agenda, this has not been the product of lobbying within the armed forces or from civil society groups, but has tended to result from pressure within political elites, based on functional arguments in the face of widespread apathy within society as regards the armed forces. Indeed, there are no specific civil society groups promoting the interests of service personnel; the independence of the country’s only security institute, the Club for Security, Defence and the Protection of the Society and State (BOOSS), created in 1999 to promote debate on defence issues, has been hampered by its dependence on the Ministry of Defence for financial support (Vlachová, 2003c). Overall, therefore, the Czech case provides an illustration of a reversal of the arguments traditionally advanced by armed forces, with the case for increased operational effectiveness here being based on greater convergence with, rather than separation from, society.

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In terms of moral standards for the conduct of service personnel, expectations are similar to those in other public services and commercial entities. Czech military codes have made drug use and sexual activity on military property a punishable offence, but what service personnel do in their off-duty hours is not deemed a matter for the Ministry of Defence. As with the equality and diversity agenda, the generally low levels of esteem in which the armed forces are held have worked to reduce the credibility of arguments that different standards of integrity are necessary, rather lending weight to the case that the requirement is in fact for greater convergence. In certain other key respects nevertheless the armed forces remain very distinct from the rest of Czech society. Serving members of the armed forces are not permitted to engage in any form of political activity for instance and military law governs professional conduct and individual duties, although as part of the process of de-politicisation of the armed forces, independent military courts have been abolished and all legal matters now fall within the jurisdiction of civilian courts. In addition, as regards employment rights, members of the armed forces are not allowed to belong to unions, have no right to strike, and, unlike their counterparts in the civilian sector, enjoy no restriction on working hours. The absence of any professional associations and unions for the armed forces in part explains the relatively poor terms and conditions of service, but so too do limitations in levels of defence expenditure which have been further reduced as part of a broader reform of public finances (NATO, 2004: 28). There is a recognition, however, that with the phasing out of conscription, spending on personnel costs will increase to 50% of the overall defence budget, in order to provide attractive terms and conditions and so to compete with civilian alternatives, and it is probable that this consideration will also lead to increased convergence between employment conditions in the armed forces and wider society. Another factor that will over time impact on this area is the Czech Republic’s accession to the EU in May 2004, with EU regulations and directives having the potential for far-reaching implications for working time provisions and duty of care obligations on the Czech armed forces towards their employees. As the case of the Czech Republic indicates, convergence between the armed forces and the society in the Shared Gatekeeper Militaries therefore tends to be uneven, with a high degree of overlap in some areas, driven principally by a functional need, but with continued dissimilarity in others. Thus in the Czech armed forces employment rights are not particularly well developed when compared with civilian society, but

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considerable effort has been invested into developing the equality and diversity agenda. The explanation for this is that Shared Gatekeeper Militaries have ‘out of necessity’ had to adapt their policies in order to recruit women and ethnic minorities and to retain well-qualified personnel. In addition change has generally been functionally motivated, with no special value attached to making the armed forces better representative of society as a goal in its own right, and has been guided by political elites and the armed forces themselves, rather than resulting from lobbying by individuals or civil society groups. Within a semiautonomous space, the armed forces have succeeded in maintaining the role of gatekeeper in terms of mediating change. However in the case of the Czech Republic and Estonia, Hungary, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland and the Slovak Republic, it is likely that EU membership will increase the influence of external factors on them, particularly as regards employment rights and diversity agenda, where pressure may be felt to open posts to women quicker than either the Ministry of Defence or the civil society would wish. Group three: Strong Gatekeeper Militaries In a third group of states of Albania, Armenia, Belarus, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Croatia, Georgia, Macedonia, Moldova, Romania, Russian Federation, Serbia-Montenegro, Turkey and Ukraine, the armed forces’ position as the arbiters of internal change is essentially unchallenged, and little reform has taken place in the areas of equality and diversity, codes of conduct and employment rights. At the same time, however, unlike the Weakened and Shared Gatekeeper Militaries, states in this group have relatively few positive reference points in terms of standards, procedures, practices and rights in civil society. In particular, the equality and diversity agenda and employment and human rights, along with debates on them, are not well advanced within society as a whole, and far from resisting pressure for convergence, the armed forces are in many respects simply reflecting a situation which prevails more widely in society despite membership of the Council of Europe. These states have not been subject to the political and legal effects of the EU, and through weak governance regimes have avoided effective implementation of pan-European legal obligations contained with the ECHR. They also share relatively weak economies and poorly developed civil society groups; and citizens have weak political, employment and legal rights within generally conservative societies. The case of Ukraine is a good illustration of the situation of armed forces of these states.

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As regards the equality and diversity agenda, there has been no move in the Ukrainian armed forces to embrace a proactive equal opportunities programme in terms of the recruitment and retention of women, homosexuals and ethnic minorities. In part this reflects societal norms, since Ukraine remains a patriarchical society where levels of female employment in the labour force are low and women are expected to be the homemakers. Moreover, public attitudes on the issue of sexual orientation remain conservative and few gays come out in civilian life let alone in the armed forces. In addition, while as a consequence of the history of Ukraine, 19% of the population classify their nationality as Russian, assimilation of ethnic Russians serving in the armed forces also reflects levels of acceptance – or at least apathy on this issue – within wider society, where most Ukrainians continue for instance to use Russian as their first language. A further explanation as to why the equality and diversity agenda has not been promoted in the armed forces is that, however imperfectly, conscription has ensured that the armed forces to some degree reflect the society. As a consequence, the representative nature of Ukrainian armed forces has not become a pressing concern. Quite apart from this, debates about diversity have anyway tended to be perceived as irrelevant when the major need over the first decade of independence has been to create national armed forces from the remnants of what was left after the dissolution of the Soviet Union (Sherr, 2003: 220). In terms of standards of integrity expected of individual service personnel, military laws set out specific regulations governing military conduct. The armed forces are rigidly hierarchical both in structure and in procedures, and individual rights strictly curtailed and subordinated to the needs of the service, as interpreted by more senior officers. Military laws and military courts set out a code of practice which underpins the hierarchy and from which there is no appeal, in many instances making more senior officers both the judge and the jury on cases. There is, moreover, almost no linkage between the civilian courts and the military courts; the armed forces maintain their own prison system. In terms of employment rights and practice, terms and conditions of service in the armed forces are amongst the worst in Ukraine. Members of the armed forces are not allowed to belong to trades unions or professional associations, other than those sanctioned by the government. Hours of work are generally long and not only poorly paid but because of the ‘special needs’ of the armed forces are largely unregulated. Wages, anyway low, are often paid late and sometimes not at all, with few forms of redress. Where improvements have occurred, this has not been

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a product of campaigning by unions and professional associations but rather of government initiatives driven by the acutely functional need to stave off the near collapse of the armed forces. In particular, in 2001 President Kuchma launched a reform programme designed to address pay and housing, and improve terms and conditions to a degree sufficient to persuade Ukrainians willingly to serve in the armed forces. Salaries have increased but wages for newly recruited contracted servicemen, NCOs and officers are still below the official subsistence level, although similar to salaries in the Militsia, police and customs services (BBC News Online, 2003d). One major issue of concern has been health and safety issues and the duty of care of the Ukrainian MoD towards service personnel. Ukrainian armed forces have a lamentable safety record with major military incidents including the shooting down of a Russian passenger jet during an air defence exercise in October 2001, the death of 83 people and almost 200 injured in the world’s worst air show disaster in July 2002. In May 2003, 160 people died when the cargo-bay door on a Ukrainian defence ministry transport plane opened over the Democratic Republic of Congo, and 75 peacekeepers were killed in the same month in a crash of a chartered Ukrainian passenger jet (BBC News Online, 2003). As an employer at unit level the situation is equally bad with President Kuchma recognising after one surprise inspection that ‘. . . the conditions in which people are serving are horrible’ (Aris, 2002; BBC News Online, 2002). Overall, therefore, there is little debate either in the Ukrainian armed forces themselves or within wider society about the degree of convergence or divergence between the armed forces and the society. Within a strongly autonomous space, the armed forces remain firmly the gatekeeper in terms of determining whether change should occur in terms of equality and diversity, moral standards and employment rights and practices. They are not challenged in this by pressure from within society (or indeed from outside it) since these are issues which are barely developed within society itself. Thus few economic and social rights exist in the public and private sector workplace for citizens in general (BBC News Online, 2002). Most employees are therefore concerned with what might be considered more fundamental issues about job security, than additional rights such as limitations on the working week. Where legal rights do exist, they tend to be ignored in practice, and better terms and conditions are often a matter of local or best practice, with no legal standing and wide variations depending on the sector of employment and employer involved. The armed forces are

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not therefore generally viewed as needing to transform their own practices so that they converge with those in civil society. On the contrary, the sense of disorientation in civilian life in terms of equality and diversity issues, standards of integrity and employment, political and legal rights has undermined any societal reference point against which practices in the armed forces can be measured and change gauged. Following a major mine disaster in August 2002 the President noted the importance of technical safety ‘. . . for everyone nationwide, including the armed forces’ (BBC News Online, 2002). Coupled with this lack of development of standards, practices and rights in society more generally, is the weak nature of civil society itself (Sherr, 2003: 220). In particular the near complete absence of civil society groups that represent social groups such as women, gays and lesbians and ethnic minorities removes any agency for the promotion of the equality and diversity agenda either in society at large or in the armed forces. Likewise, state capacity is weak and the public bureaucracy is itself fragile and poorly coordinated, with little linkage to interest and other promotional groups and few means of enforcing laws once they are enacted. As a consequence of these factors, the issue of convergence comes a distant second behind ‘. . . a prior and far from resolved debate about the relationship between society and state, as opposed to society and army’ (Sherr, 2003: 220). For this group of states the armed forces remain the dominant and unchallenged gatekeeper where change has been minimal and determined solely by functional concerns – albeit concerns of a deeply serious nature, centring on a possible collapse of the armed forces. Armed forces, however, remain in control in terms of determining the degree to which their practices and composition converge with and diverge from those in wider society. But although they are governed by distinct military codes and laws and have a clearly separate organisational identity within society, many aspects of their make-up and moral standards, employment, equality and diversity practices do in fact resemble those found in the rest of society. In Strong Gatekeeper Militaries, the legal structure and in particular the development of human, political and economic rights along with civil society and advocacy groups are simply not sufficiently advanced to impact either on the armed forces or on society itself more widely. Moreover, in the absence of these supporting conditions, service personnel have themselves been relatively powerless in promoting change, despite the theoretical possibility of using rulings of the European Convention of Human Rights to which 40 states in Europe are now signatories.

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Conclusion This chapter has highlighted how the degree to which peacetime armed forces differ from society subject to the influence of a complex set of internal and external factors. Armed forces will to a degree always have some differences from society, since they carry a distinctive duty to discharge the lethal use of force within prescribed circumstances (Dandeker, 2000b: 174). Whilst many of the pressures for increased convergence have been similar across Europe, especially within EU states, their influence and responses to them have varied, resulting in three broad categories of states: Weakened Gatekeeper Militaries where the armed forces have lost the sole right to shape the circumstances of service and where there is important convergence between the armed forces and the societies they serve; in a second group of states with a semi-autonomous space armed forces remain key arbiters. Shared Gatekeeper Militaries share some of the characteristics of the societies they serve, but on key issues remain strikingly different. In a third group of states within an autonomous professional sphere, armed forces remain a key arbiter of internal change. Far from resisting change from society, circumstances simply reflect a situation which prevails in society at large. In the first group of states, pressures are generally working to make the armed forces more like the societies they serve, while in the second grouping, reaction to pressure has caused convergence in some areas, although divergence continues in others. In the third group, the armed forces retain control of their organisational character, but have not been faced with concerted pressure for reforms to allow convergence with wider societal norms since these norms are not well advanced within society as a whole (see Table 4.3). This chapter has argued that one of the key variables between the three groups is the extent to which the armed forces have lost their prime role in determining what change is acceptable, and above all to act as sole or principal arbiter of operational effectiveness – an area on which the armed forces have historically held a clear and unquestioned monopoly. It is moreover the external legal dimension which has been perhaps the most important factor that has undermined the gate-keeping role of armed forces in Group One states in terms of arbitrating between society and their elected representatives, and adjudicating on measures necessary to maintain operational effectiveness. In this respect the impact of ECJ (and to a lesser degree ECHR) rulings are irrevocable and binding in law and through their effect on

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Table 4.3 Challenges to armed forces’ right and need to be different Group

Nature of the professional space

Challenge to professional authority

Source of pressure for change

Type of pressure

Convergence/ Divergence

Future challenges

1 Weakened Gatekeeper Militaries

Penetrated

High

– Internal – External

Legal; Normative; and functional

Diminished with pressures for convergence

–

–

–

2 Shared Gatekeeper Militaries

Semi-Autonomous

3 Strong Gatekeeper Militaries

Autonomous

Medium

Low

–

External

Very few internal and external pressures for change

Functional but little legal or normative ‘demands’ for change

Key differences with some limited convergence

–

Very limited functional

AF similar to their societies with few differences

–

–

Further internal and external challenges to the professional space; Emergence of new demands and deeper reforms (transsexual and disability rights; qualitative gender rights; duty of care); declining centrality (or effectiveness) of the operational efficiency justification Emergence of internal demands for change; Considerable external impact from EU membership leading to a shift of many states to Gp. 1 The emergence of functional need for change

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employment practices directly affect service conditions. This is driving an agenda which is undermining the distinctive nature of armed forces, arguably faster than many senior service commanders would like. Particularly for states in the first group, it has become more difficult to use the argument of operational effectiveness to justify exceptionalism. This is especially the case when this has not been based on legal authority and where there are examples of other European armed forces embracing change, without undermining operational effectiveness. The extent of the intrusion of the ECJ into the issue of combat effectiveness remains a key issue, the outcome of which will further shape armed forces. However, it is also the case that the challenge to the gatekeeper role of the armed forces comes from within the armed forces as well as from outside, as service personnel themselves are increasingly challenging the authority of decisions and existing practice. As Jay Williams perceptively notes ‘. . . de jure policies do not automatically translate into de facto opportunities, and domestic interest groups know they must use both legal and political instruments to ensure that they do’ (Williams, 2000: 270).24 The varying responses to challenges to the traditional right of the armed forces to be different from the rest of society, raise questions about the conventional wisdom in three areas. First, there are in fact very different reasons for convergence of armed forces within societies. Germany and the Netherlands both recruit gays and lesbians into their armed forces for instance, but in the case of Germany this was a recent decision imposed by the European courts, whilst in the Netherlands it was a voluntary and normative-based decision taken in the 1970s. In Group Three states armed forces resemble their societies with few differences, but in a context of very different political, legal and economic rights to states in western, central and northern Europe. Second, while it has tended to be assumed that armed forces are inherently ‘. . . conservative organisations that are resistant to social change’ (Winslow and Dunn, 2001: 15), where differences exist between the armed forces and society, it is society which is more progressive than armed forces, this is not always in fact the case. Two issues are pertinent here. First in the Czech Republic, for example, women are actively recruited into the armed forces and it is the conservative views of society that constrain the armed forces from being even more progressive in allowing women to serve in combat roles; in the third group of states the reality is that there are very few pressures from society that are leading to change within the armed forces. Second, militaries as organisations are in fact far more complex than stereotypes or binary

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conceptualisations presuppose. Despite a ‘progressive’ attitude in many areas, on transgender issues the Czech MoD has been rather ‘regressive’ in its approach; likewise, despite the citizen in uniform concept, senior military commanders in the Bundeswehr have been conservative concerning women’s representation in the military and on gay and lesbian rights of service personnel. Third, the threefold categorisation casts doubt on whether a single Postmodern military model has emerged (Moskos and Wood, 1988b; Moskos, Williams and Segal, 2000) or indeed three poles of ‘Paleomodern’, ‘Modern’ and ‘Postmodern’ military (Battistelli, 1997b: 469). However, there remain important divergences across Europe in terms of the extent to which the armed forces resemble and differ from societies. It is true that all European governments are struggling to reconcile the need to maintain armed forces operationally capable of ensuring the survival of the state and the security of its citizens, with the need for the armed forces to have sufficient societal legitimacy to sustain funding and recruitment at appropriate levels (Dandeker, 2000b: 185). Using the armed forces as a whole as the level of analysis there is no one single European model but a threefold categorisation. In terms of the future agenda concerning the differences between society and the armed forces a number of challenges exist. In weakened gatekeeper militaries, the concept of operational effectiveness has yet to be challenged in a radical sense. To date the courts have only indirectly placed universal values above operational effectiveness, which is for many armed forces the core raison d’être of their existence. Were the courts to face this issue and take a more ‘representative’ view of the role of the armed forces, such judgements could pose even more fundamental challenges of adaptation. In terms of political rights, where prohibitions still exist to the right of service personnel to be politically active this is likely to be removed; the recruitment of EU citizens to the armed forces of member states is already permitted in Luxembourg and Belgium and will become a ‘right’ of EU citizenship, likely to become more widespread. In terms of the equality and diversity agenda, given the widespread discrepancy between women’s economic mobilisation compared with levels of participation in European armed forces, there is likely to be a shift from the current tokenism of women’s participation in the military, to a more quantitative and qualitative transformation.25 More women are likely to serve in the armed forces and hold senior policy and command positions, and also experiencing work-place equality in

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practice as well as theory; in the words of Fabrizio Battistelli ‘. . . on the subjective experience and attitudes of soldiers themselves’ (Battistelli, 1997b: 468). This will lead to a more serious test of the contending ideas concerning Brian Mitchell’s feminisation of the military thesis (Mitchell, 1989) and Paul Higate’s work on the challenge to military masculinities (Segal and Segal, 1983: 165; Battistelli, 1997a, 1999; Higate, 2003). In one sense, the gender and ethnicity challenges can be considered as the first wave of a series of challenges, with a second wave comprising the rights of disabled personnel and transgender issues (Peniston-Bird, 2003).26 In terms of employment rights, the armed forces of member states in the EU are also likely to see challenges in terms of ‘duty of care responsibilities’ of the armed forces as an employer in the areas of physical or mental disability, disfigurement and addictions, both whilst personnel are in service and once retired (Higate, 2001). In the Shared Gatekeeper Militaries states that have recently joined the EU, it is likely that in a short space of time they will face similar problems to those faced by Group one states and will quickly move to from the second into the first group. In Strong Gatekeeper Militaries, the future challenges are likely to be focused on functional rather than normative issues, with the armed forces retaining a key gate-keeping role over the autonomy of the military professional field. In short, for most European armed forces, the future challenge is not whether to respond or not to pressures to change their professional organisation, but rather how to do so. In this respect the quality of military leadership will be central to managing change.27 Finally, the broader context in which public debates concerning the right or need to be different is located within a more private set of concerns, termed here the ‘means-end’ debate. For many militaries, regulatory freedom of the armed forces to determine their own culture, norms and values – that is to say how the armed forces are organised – has been an integral part of an implicit contract with elected governments, who have determined the ends or what armed forces are used for. The increasing frequency of operational periods located within the context of peacetime governance regimes is an important issue. Where this implicit consensus is being eroded, this is likely in future to challenge not only the unquestioned willingness of the armed forces to use violence, but also the myriad of additional non-military assistance tasks which armed forces undertake and which are explored in further detail in Chapter 8.

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Notes 1. For research that has challenged the Postmodern thesis at the individual level see Battistelli, 1997a, b. 2. The referent object is therefore different from that of Moskos 1973 which focussed on differences between army, air force and navy and between the branches of service highlighting greater levels of change in the air force than the army. This argument is certainly born out by quantitative gender analysis of the three services of NATO forces. Carreiras shows that in 2000 women constituted 6.3% of the army; 10.2% of the air force and 12.2 of naval forces (Carreiras, 2004: 190). 3. In one weekend in February 2003, 750,000 marched in London, 1.3 million in Spain and 1 million in Italy (BBC News Online, 2003b). 4. Formally the terms of reference were ‘. . . to urgently to conduct an investigation into the circumstances surrounding the death of Dr Kelly’, a MoD civil servant involved in the preparation of intelligence on Iraq’s WMD. The report can be found at www.the-hutton-inquiry.org.uk. Site visited 27 December 2004. 5. Bullying has also been highlighted across Europe as a key concern. In the UK specific incidents have focused on Deepcut Barracks between 1995 and 2001, in Germany on abuse in recruit training camps, and in the Austrian army revelations in December 2004 of torture during training sessions intended to prepare them for hostage situations (Walker, 2004). 6. Clearly gender integration involves much more than simply a quantitative dimension relating to the overall levels of representation of women in armed forces, presence in the rank structure and number of post open to women, and other key qualitative factors include and a wide range of important attitudinal and non-material issues. For an incisive analysis, see the excellent work of Helena Carreiras on women’s participation in the military (Carreiras, 2004: 315). 7. However, there appears to be no direct link between the percentage of women in the workforce and the high levels of women’s participation in the military (see table 4.1) and equality strategies (Carreiras, 2004: 234, 317). 8. This issue is a key a part of what Carol Cohn calls the ‘standards discourse’ in which different physical training standards for men and women are seen as an objective indicator of the special treatment of women through the lowering standards for women. See Cohn, 2000. 9. For a full table of training standards in NATO countries in 2000, see Carreiras, 2004: 372. 10. For example, the Danish Armed Forces Think Tank concerning Women in Uniform, the Committee on Women of the Hungarian Armed Forces, the Hellenic Research Centre for Gender Equality, in the Netherlands the Defence Women’s Network (1992) and the Norwegian Network for Women in the Forces (1989). 11. The UN has also played a contextual role through its UN Committee on Elimination of all forms of Discrimination in Women (CEDAW) and UN resolution 1325 on Women, Peace and Security which had an important effect in promoting a more general understanding of gender in conflict situations (NATO, 2004: 81).

Armed Forces and Societies: Differences and Similarities 135 12. However, the ECJ did accept that Article 2 of the Equal Treatment Directive was capable of justifying the exclusion of women on the grounds of combat effectiveness, but this view was not tested in UK courts because the case was settled out of court (Carreiras, 2004: 202). 13. In the UK, for example, Crown Prerogative ensured until 1989 that the armed forces were immune from prosecution by either employees or external agencies such as the Health and Safety Executive, but since this date the armed forces have been subject to the law in common with all other employers. Likewise in 1999, whilst post-traumatic stress disorder has no de jure recognition, a Military Employment Pensions Tribunal gave de facto recognition by awarding a pension to a service person on the grounds that it in effect recognised the consequences (though not the cause) of the illness. 14. In the US, Lee notes, ‘One crucial factor in bringing these things into association was the political and campaigning activities of those who took up the veterans’ cause – in particular anti-war activists, and psychiatrists and social workers who were opposed to the war’ (Lee, 2003). 15. In the US a similar trend is evident from the work of DACOWITS, NOW and the Centre for the Study of Sexual Minorities in Armed Forces. 16. In the UK, attitudes of serving personnel remain opposed to homosexuals serving in the military with 60% of the Navy not happy to serve with homosexuals and 76.5% of the Royal Marines objecting to the lifting of the ban on homosexuals serving in the armed forces, and ‘most also believe that allowing women to serve on ships is “more trouble than it is worth”. . .’ which illustrates how far individual attitudes have really changed (Daily Telegraph, 2004). 17. Carreiras also noted the importance of conscription was generally higher as regards relative numbers of women than in what she terms ‘role diversification’ – the branches open to women (Carreiras, 2004: 315). 18. The implication here is that Dandeker’s suggestion that senior commanders of the UK armed forces need to identify what practices really need to be protected for operational effectiveness misses the point in terms of the appropriate balance between the right and the need to be different. European law is blind to this argument (see end note 12) and operational effectiveness is now widely recognised as a highly contested and a very subjective matter (Dandeker, 1999b). 19. In the UK 6% of the general population are from ethnic minority backgrounds, but they make up just 1% of the Services (Dandeker and Mason, 2003). 20. The role of the parliamentary ombudsmen (the Wehrbeauftragte) with responsibility for military affairs has also aided this process. 21. For example, Kümmel notes that changes fed into a major restructuring of the armed forces the 1999 ‘Cornerstones’-Memorandum (Bundesminister der Verteidigung) (Kümmel, 2001: 146). 22. In Carreiras’ Index of Occupational Integration in 2000 between 66% and 89% of women occupied traditional posts (Carreiras, 2004: 375). 23. Other measures include a special annual report on ‘emancipation’ issues; monitoring of discrimination; in 2002 a series of ‘Equality’ seminars and in June 2003 official Guidance on equal treatment for both genders’ (NATO, 2004: 27). 24. For example, the UK MoD monitors this through its Continuous Attitudes Surveys (UK MoD, 2003).

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25. Even in the most progressive states, notably Slovenia, the Czech Republic and France, the proportion of women recruited to the armed forces has not exceeded 12.79% and amounts to tokenism (Kanter, 1977; Laws, 1975). This compares unfavourably with other public services such as the police where women routinely comprise one-third of the personnel and where women comprise between 27% and 49% of the European workforce (see Table 4.1). As a general trend, it has been suggested by Boëne and Martin that with job security, a structured environment, a military background and an interest in not having a routine job as the principal motivations, it is far more challenging to recruit women in the same numbers as other public services (Boëne and Martin, 2000). 26. For an initial analysis concerning the relationship between the discursive and the experienced body in a military context, see Peniston-Bird, 2003. 27. For one insightful suggestion on how to address the challenges of ethnicity through acceptance of the diversity of the political community, see Dandeker and Mason, 2001.

5 European Security Communities and Armed Forces

Previous chapters have explored how domestic factors within states, coupled with geostrategic position and events, create the context in which civil–military interactions take shape and develop. As has also been evident, the relationships between armed forces on the one hand and societies and governments on the other, are subject to the influence of international actors ranging from formally constituted organisations such as NATO and the EU and to more informal but important influences. Regional security organisations have received increased attention over the last decade especially in a European context (Kratochwil and Ruggie, 1986; Adler, 1992; Gamble and Payne, 1996; Wæver, 1996, 2000; Lake and Morgan, 1997; Buzan and Wæver, 2003; Krahmann, 2003; Terriff, 2004a, b). This chapter considers the impact of such international actors more fully, by focusing on how security communities impact on two key areas of civil–military relations: cooperation between states on defence issues, and the structure and reform of armed forces within states. Karl Deutsch has defined security communities as political communities within which the expectation of war is minimal (Deutsch, Burrell and Kann, 1957). They may or may not be synonymous with particular security organisations and indeed geographical regions, but the particular concern of this chapter is with those security communities which have an explicitly European rationale, even if not an exclusively European membership.1 Even on this basis, the resulting picture is multi-layered comprising several overlapping communities and organisations, each with differing objectives and impacts. The core argument of this chapter is that these actors, dominated by two key institutions – the EU and NATO – have created new patterns of behaviour between 137

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and within states. Whilst the argument of the preceding chapter was that the EU has had the greatest impact in terms of key aspects of employment policies within armed forces, it is the argument of this chapter that whilst the EU’s influence cannot be discounted, it is NATO as the most integrated security community in Europe that has had the most far-reaching impact on defence relations. This chapter analyses the character and impact of three security communities of the EU, the Alliance and Euro-Atlantic on cooperation between states on defence issues, and the structure and reform of armed forces within states. After considering how they work to facilitate cooperation on defence across Europe, the chapter turns to focus on the role of NATO, at the heart of these security communities, in shaping military structure and organisations within existing and aspiring member states. It advances two main arguments: first, NATO has had a major impact in shaping the nature of democratic transition, but especially defence reform of central and east European states. However, for longstanding members of NATO the impact on issues has been negligible, raising an asymmetry of impact, and a paradox that NATO has had a greater impact on non-members and especially aspirants. Second, in terms of the effect, this has been both positive and negative. In the period from 1997 to 2002 NATO’s international staff focused on advancing a single Expeditionary Warfare model of what modern armed forces should be. It is a consequence of quite limited impact on current member states that NATO and its leading governmental advocates have embraced both a step change in approach and in setting the agenda in order to increase the impact of membership on its member states. Since 2003 there has been a noticeable shift in position away from a single model towards a focus on effects or capabilities, in the hope that NATO can better shape the defence modernisation processes in Europe. In summary, whilst the agenda-setting power of NATO remains significant, NATO’s impact has been greatest in affecting the culture of defence policy planning far more than decisions on the role and organisation of European member states, which remain firmly routed in the national political context.

Defence cooperation in Europe For Deutsch there are two distinct types of security community. The first is an amalgamated security community which comes about through institutional fusion leading to the formal merger of previously separate units into a larger one accompanied by a shift of loyalties from the

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national to a supranational entity. The second is a pluralistic security community where the constituent parts often interact intensively, but where they retain their separate identity and where integration occurs without institutional merger, or the creation of a supreme overarching authority (Deutsch, Burrell and Kann, 1957). The three leading security communities shaping European defence cooperation fall into this latter category, and the degree of autonomy of their constituent members clearly has significant consequences for impact of membership on member states. In addition, however, there are three key determinants affecting how security communities will impact on defence cooperation between states. The first is the nature of the defence commitment which members make, and the second being levels of formal and informal political and military interaction. The third determinant is the extent to which security and defence relations are altered by membership through mutual identification and collective identity, including the degree to which ‘. . . there are principled and shared understandings of desirable and acceptable forms of social behaviour’ (Kratochwil and Ruggie, 1986: 764). In applying these three criteria to the EU, the first and most obvious point is that the 25 member states are legally committed to peaceful resolution of conflict and political solidarity. Whilst the purpose of the European integration project was always to make war an impossibility, EU states have moved from a position in 1957 of formally excluding any explicit mention of security in the Treaties of Rome, first to the coordination of political (1981) and economic (1983) aspects of security, then to an explicit link to Western European Union (WEU) and its aims and objectives (1987 and 1991), and finally to the development of a common foreign and security policy (CFSP) via the Treaty on European Union (1993) (Menon, Forster and Wallace, 1992). Amongst other things the purpose of the EU’s common foreign and security policy is to safeguard common values, to strengthen security of the Union and its member states, and to preserve peace and international security (Forster and Wallace, 2000). Building on years of debate on this issue, in 2000 most of WEU’s defence tasks were incorporated into the EU and a new commitment was made to a European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP) (Lake and Morgan, 1997; Howorth and Keeler, 2003; Howorth, 2004: 214). This culminated in the creation of an operational military force and command structure, all of which are now integrated into the EU (Terriff, 2004b: 151). In the case of Denmark it has only been possible for the remaining states to proceed through a legally

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binding Danish opt-out from the defence clauses of the European Union treaties; since joining the EU in 2004, Malta and Cyprus also stand outside the ESDP arrangements.2 Despite debate over the last 2 years leading to the Constitutional Treaty there is as yet no formal mutual defence guarantee within the treaties of the EU (Terriff, 2004b: 159). Debates surrounding security and defence have foundered on the challenge which these issues might pose to NATO, their implications for national sovereignty and the problem of how defence fits into the process of European integration (Forster, 1994b, 1997: 29). Since the creation of a common foreign and security policy, all new EU members have been asked to commit themselves to its development as a condition of membership. The governments of Austria, Finland Ireland, Sweden and, for different reasons, Denmark have conditionally accepted all the Treaty on European Union commitments to a common foreign and security policy. However, these governments remain particularly hesitant about the possibility of the militarisation of the EU through the development of a European defence policy and the creation of an EU rapid reaction force, especially the creation of EU Battle Groups and the incorporation of WEU’s binding mutual defence commitment into the treaty articles of the EU (Bergman, 2004: 172). Likewise, once set up, those EU member states that want to make progress on the creation of an avant-garde group in defence, want control over its future membership on the basis of military criteria set out in a protocol attached to the Constitutional Treaty. These concerns take their institutional and procedural form in permanent structured cooperation set out in Art. III 213 which establishes the relevant decision-making mechanisms. In terms of formal and informal interaction, the goals of the EU are supported by very high levels of institutionalisation of diplomatic and political liaison through permanent delegations (COREPER) and through bilateral engagement with national capitals. The EU governments have created a geographical zone where the level of coordination is high and is based around daily meetings and permanent committee structures, supported by an international staff and national secondees in the European Commission and Council of Ministers. A long-established Political Committee of foreign ministers (General Affairs and External Relations Council) has been supplemented by a Political and Security Committee (Comité Politique et de Securité – COPS). This is a decisionmaking body, supported by an EU Military Committee of Chiefs of Defence and their representatives and provides advice on all military

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issues (EU, 2000). There is also an EU Military Staff (EUMS) of 130 and a Police Unit, both of which since 2000 have been located in the Council of Ministers and provides expertise for ESDP. Organised into five divisions, the military staff focus on early warning, situation assessments and strategic planning and thus provide military expertise to EU policy-makers across the entire range of ESDP and CFSP responsibilities (European Defence, 2004a; Terriff, 2004b: 152). A small EU military planning staff has been established in NATO’s operational HQs at SHAPE to assist with the command and control of operational EU-led deployments using NATO assets, under the direction of the Deputy Supreme Allied Commander Europe and agreement has been reached to create EU Battle Groups (European Defence, 2004a). Collective decision-making remains subject to national veto, but there is at the same time a preference for constructive abstention in which governments do nothing to undermine a collective policy, if it is agreed by a majority of EU states. Notwithstanding this, a distinct lack of consensus surrounds the issue of the types of EU-sanctioned missions for which military force may be used. At a conceptual level this is highlighted by the ongoing debates concerning the sort of missions the EU should be capable of undertaking. In 1992 WEU member states committed themselves to the so-called ‘Petersberg tasks’ defined as ‘humanitarian and rescue tasks; peacekeeping tasks; tasks of combat forces in crisis management, including peacemaking’ (Howorth, 2000; Duke, 2001).3 In 2000, governments incorporated in the EU treaties the Petersberg commitment that EU military forces could be used for peacekeeping and peacemaking operations as well as humanitarian and rescue operations under EU, OSCE and UN auspices. However, as Chapter 7 analyses, there remains considerable unease amongst governments of Austria, Finland, Ireland and Sweden and, for different reasons, Denmark, concerning the use of military force in promoting international security (Bergman, 2004: 172). In particular there is concern over the possibility of deployment of forces at the higher end of the spectrum of conflict, especially ‘peacemaking’ tasks which implies a war-fighting role where no agreement on the need for intervention has been reached between warring parties. These governments therefore made it a condition that they could not be bound by collective decision-making to deploy armed forces, and set a high threshold for agreement before the EU can undertake such missions. In theory as well as in practice, this excludes the likelihood of EU-led military operations at the higher end of the spectrum of conflict. Likewise the debate in 2004 and the subsequent decision to create EU Battle Groups within the

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framework of ESDP could only advance on the basis of a voluntary opt-in (Quille, 2003). Finally, in terms of mutual identification and collective identity, it can indeed be argued that a set of European values distinct from a broader set of North Atlantic values is increasingly emerging among the politically informed, particularly in western Europe. Although triggered and sustained at least in part by a vein of anti-Americanism, particularly on the part of a French government-led grouping (Howorth, 1997, 2004), for some governments the EU is central as a source of legitimacy in the development and expression of this alternative non-US identity (Marcussen et al., 1999; Cornish, 2004; Everts et al., 2004). In general for EU governments there is thus a preference for multilateralism and a rule-based international order, conflict prevention rather than conflict resolution, the use of ‘soft’ rather than ‘hard’ power, a preference for diplomatic rather than economic intervention and a willingness to use force only when all other options have failed (Zielonka, 1998a, b; Kagan, 2002b; Manners, 2002; EU, 2003; Sloan, 2003: 185; Solana, 2003). For example, alongside the development of military capacity the EU is also committed to the development of non-military crisis management mechanisms to coordinate and make more effective the various civilian means and resources (EU, 1999: 28). On a number of military security issues, EU members have shown variable levels of solidarity. In Africa 17 states contributed to Operation Artémis in the Democratic Republic of Congo, and in the Balkans 13 EU states supported Operation Concordia, a peacekeeping mission in Macedonia (see Table 5.1). More recently in December 2004 the EU took over NATO peacekeeping operations in Bosnia (Operation Althea) with a force of 7000 troops from 22 EU and 11 non-EU states (BBC News Online, 2004a; European Defence, 2004b).4 However, the different responses to the second Iraq war illustrated the limits of this solidarity and highlighted profound differences concerning shared understandings of desirable and acceptable forms of international military behaviour. As Chapter 7 explores further, members of the EU had different views on the role of the UN in authorising the use of military force, the strategy employed and the extent to which governments were willing directly or indirectly to get involved in the war, both before the UN was involved and afterwards. In summary, whilst the EU has had some effect on defence identities in Europe, this is clearly limited in nature, especially concerning geographically distant security issues that involve a military response.

Table 5.1 European Union Defence Missions Mission

Location

Operation Concordia Former Republic of Macedonia (FYROM)a

Mission

Size

Duration

To oversee the political reforms in the OHRID Peace Agreement and to monitor the security situation

400

Mar.–Dec. 2003 France as the framework nation and 13 EU states

1,850 Jun.–Dec. 2003 To secure Bunia and its immediate surroundings and restore security to Bunia and the airport. This includes the right to employ deadly force to protect civilians

Operation Artémis

Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC)

Operation Althea

7,000 Dec. 2004– Bosnia-Herzegovina To create a zone of peace and stability in South East Europe through full implementation of the Dayton Peace Agreement and economic renewal to create a stable, viable, peaceful, multi-ethnic Bosnia-Herzegovina

Participants

France as the framework nation with 17 states contributing to the multinational force

22 EU states and 11 non-EU states contributing to this mission

Notes a This mission led to the deployment of an EU police force (EUPOL PROXIMA) from 2003 to 2004 and the mandate was extended for a further 12 months in Dec. 2004. Sources: EU General Affairs & External Relations Council (GAERC), http://europa.eu.int/comm/external_relations/cfsp/intro/gac.htm#cfsp140604_02; BBC Online News, http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/4060739.stm; EU Business. http://www.eubusiness.com/afp/030816172714.a25inyv2.

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In terms of the extent to which EU membership has affected the structure and reform of armed forces within states, direct influence has at best been modest. In part, this results from the relatively recent adoption of ESDP, and also the limited policy reach of the security commitments and defence clauses of the EU and limited agreement on what military force should be used for. At the Helsinki European Council in 1999, EU states committed themselves by 2003 to be able to deploy within 60 days and sustain for at least 1 year, military forces of up to 50,000–60,000 persons capable of the full range of Petersberg tasks. In 2004 this was further expanded on and incorporated into a Headline Goal 2010 (HG 2004–2010) to support the EU’s Security Strategy adopted at the European Council in June 2004 and these commitments now provide the context for specific initiatives (von Wogau, 2004). Since 1999, a number of practical steps have been taken to deliver an EU defence capability, which may in the future impact on defence reform and modernisation plans of participating EU states. Gerrard Quille argues that the 1999 Helsinki Headline Goal established ‘quantitative targets’ for military capability by 2003 with defence ministers establishing 144 capabilities targets to be achieved by 2010. In response, EU governments identified the shortfalls and voluntarily made pledges to address areas of weakness; a European Defence Agency was established to coordinate defence capabilities development, research, acquisition and armaments. Quille argues that between 1999 and 2003 ‘. . . there was no guarantee regarding what assets, troops and resources were actually available or really operational. Furthermore, most analysts agree that the defence capability generation process (specifically under the European Capabilities Action Plan – ECAP) slowed down in late 2002/2003’ and the failure of EU governments to make significant progress led to the cancellation of the November 2002 Anglo-French summit (Cook, 2003: 242; Quille, 2003).5 As part of a Franco-British attempt to refocus attention on the development of new defence capabilities within the 2010 Headline Goal, participating EU states committed themselves to create up to 11 Battle Groups each of 1500 personnel all capable of deployment by 2007, supplemented with an aircraft carrier and associated air and naval escort, an EU airlift command, a communications network including space-based systems and a planning cell in Brussels for EU military operations (European Defence, 2004a).6 Whilst for many member states the EU has certainly provided a new context and raison d’être in which defence reform is taking place, to date there is little evidence that there has been significant impact on

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defence reform or the organisation of military force of European armies that are participating in ESDP. As Terry Terriff notes, the lack of a standing military HQ, common doctrines and training are limiting the impact of the EU on the organisation of its 15 national defence forces (Terriff, 2003). A distinction first used by Peter Kazenstein is useful here, in noting that the EU provides constitutive norms which are to some degree changing member state identities, but with limited impact of regulatory norms that have ‘deep reach’ in terms of affecting standards and the way in which military force is actually organized and deployed (Kazenstein, 1996). The EU-led missions have been of short duration (Concordia and Artémis) or been based on prior NATO operational practices and chains of command (Concordia and Althea). Likewise, the principles promoted by the EU of deployability, sustainability and interoperability are the same concepts being advanced by NATO – to which this section now turns. As regards NATO, now comprising 26 member states (see Table 5.2), the Washington Treaty is by contrast more explicit than the EU treaties on the issue of mutual defence commitments. Article 5 hence provides that ‘. . . an armed attack against one or more of them [the signatories] in Europe or North America shall be considered an attack against them all’ and sets out a commitment ‘. . . to assist the Party or Parties so attacked by taking . . . such action as it deems necessary, including the use of armed force . . .’ The Treaty thus created a political obligation of solidarity through the need to consider what action if any might be appropriate both individually and through collective self-defence, but preserve the autonomy of each state’s decision on the use of military forces (Sloan, 1999: 54–69). In terms of geographic applicability, the Treaty was moreover carefully hedged, providing for the protection of the immediate territories and forces of European and North American states, but excluding colonies and dependent territories outside the European-Mediterranean region.7 Following the creation of the Alliance and its military organisation NATO in 1949, member states have showed a high level of solidarity in the face of common threats from the Soviet Union and its Warsaw Pact allies, particularly in respect of threats to Berlin in 1961, and the build-up of conventional and nuclear forces, especially the deployment of SS-20 theatre nuclear weapons in the early 1980s in central and eastern Europe. Moreover, although on three occasions in the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s military conflict between Greece and Turkey was a distinct possibility, and with the exception of the invasion of Cyprus, the governments drew back from the brink of war on each occasion following the active engagement of other NATO partners, notably the US.8

146 Table 5.2

The Euro-Atlantic Alliance and EU security communities Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE)

Albania** Andorra Armenia*** Azerbaijan*** Belarus** Bosnia-Herzegovina Croatia** Georgia** Holy See Kazakhstan*** Kyrghyz Republic*** Liechtenstein Macedonia (FYROM)** Moldova** Monaco Russian Federation** San Marino Serbia-Montenegro Tajikistan*** Turkmenistan*** Ukraine** Switzerland** Uzbekistan***

55 states are members of OSCE

North Atlantic Treaty Organisation

European

Bulgaria Canada* Iceland Norway Romania Turkey USA*

Belgium Czech Republic Denmark Estonia France Germany Greece Hungary Italy Latvia Lithuania Luxembourg Netherlands Poland Portugal Slovak Republic Slovenia Spain UK

Union

Austria** Cyprus Finland** Ireland** Malta Sweden**

Of 25 EU states 19 are NATO members

Of the 26 NATO states 19 are EU members * Non-European Members of NATO are Canada and the USA. ** European Members of NATO’s Partnership for Peace are Albania, Austria, Belarus, Croatia, Finland, Georgia, Ireland, Macedonia (FYROM), Moldova, Russian Federation, Sweden, Switzerland and Ukraine). *** Non-European members of PfP are Armenia, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Kyrghyz Republic, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan. Other Notes: Non-European members of OSCE are Armenia, Azerbaijan, Canada, Kazakhstan, Kyrghyz Republic, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, USA and Uzbekistan. Mediterranean Dialogue countries are Algeria, Egypt, Israel, Jordan, Mauritania, Morocco and Tunisia.

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Article 5 of the Treaty of Washington was formally invoked for the first time on 12 September 2001 in response to the terrorist attacks on Washington and New York, and this led to legal and financial support to disrupt terrorist networks, enhanced intelligence cooperation, overflight facilities and access for US forces to ports and airfields. It also led to the deployment of NATO’s standing naval forces to the eastern Mediterranean and of its airborne warning and control systems (AWACS) to the US (Cornish, 2004: 102). The invocation of Article 5 also formed part of the subsequent justification for a NATO presence in Afghanistan and Iraq. These reactions suggest that in the face of a direct attack, the mutual defence guarantee remains a central purpose of this security community and in the analysis of David Yost, NATO remains a collective defence community to which additional collective security functions have been added (Yost, 1998). However, there remain differences concerning appropriate responses to indirect threats to member states, especially when NATO states are the instigators of the use of force. In the spring of 2003, for instance, when the Turkish government requested NATO air defence, early warning and chemical defence assistance, this was rejected by Belgium, France and Germany, on the grounds that it would undermine attempts to resolve the Iraq issue peacefully through the UN Security Council (Cornish, 2004: 101). Nonetheless, this opposition was circumvented and Operation Display Deterrence took place from February 2003 to April 2003 (Gazzini, 2003: 240). The claim that there exists ‘. . . a sense of equal security regardless of differences in their circumstances or in the national military capabilities . . .’ (NATO, 2001: 31) rings true for most members, and the fact that 10 central and eastern European states have recently joined the Alliance suggests that the mutual defence guarantee and sense of external threat remains important (Michta, 2004: 409; Missiroli, 2004). In terms of levels of formal and informal interaction the Transatlantic Alliance has also developed structures to permit intense levels of interaction between its members. The Alliance has political and military structures with a (European) Secretary General and a (US) Supreme Allied Commander Europe ‘. . . in separate headquarters with separate staffs and networks of separate commanders and national representatives. This was enormously useful for blending foreign and national security policies, reinforcing the conception that NATO was a community not just an alliance’ (Morgan, 2003: 60). Permanent committees, and the co-location of national delegations in Brussels supported by an international civil and military staff along with military authorities ensure that policy-making takes place on a continuous basis. Joint positions are

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routinely drafted in close liaison with officials in Brussels and in other national capitals and NATO produces between 25,000 and 30,000 documents which pass through the registries of delegations each year (Kovanda, 2003). In addition, seconded civilian officials and military personnel from other NATO members work in planning staffs and defence policy departments and in each other’s military HQ , which are increasingly multinational in terms of personnel and structures. Alongside this, officials mingle freely with ex-officials, think-tank analysts, academics, journalists and influential elites in a soup of meetings, conferences and conflict studies, consulting articles and books, reports and columns, editorials and forecasts. The result is a growing sense of community over time, application of a common set of principles starting with the promise to defend all members equally, and behaviour on the basis of diffuse reciprocity which repeatedly facilitated agreements via a compromise on sensitive matters. (Morgan, 2003: 58) Whilst the US is the most influential state, all allies play a role in decision-making (Risse-Kappen, 1995; Carr and Infantes, 1996). Larger states and those that contribute the most to the Alliance are generally more important, but in a system of consensus smaller states play a not insignificant role, which ensures that there are generally high levels of commitment to policies once they are approved. Even on sensitive matters such as nuclear weapons strategy and deployment and the pursuit of détente, political actions are ‘negotiated’ rather than ‘dictated’ (Morgan, 2003: 60).9 Moreover, new procedural mechanisms have been introduced to ensure sufficient consensus for military operations beyond the North Atlantic Alliance area when governments want to use NATO assets. These mechanisms include allowing the EU access to NATO assets for military operations when NATO as a whole is not involved – the so-called ‘Berlin Plus’ arrangements, finally approved in December 2002 (Wallander, 2000; NATO, 2003; Terriff, 2003). In terms of mutual identification and collective identity in NATO, there are – notwithstanding recent differences over indirect threats – high levels of political acceptance of the obligations on mutual defence and solidarity.10 Over half a century, existence of the Transatlantic Alliance has ensured that states form an identifiable group of non-violent states within in transatlantic arena of peaceful conflict resolution. The Alliance has also created among member states an expectation of and a predisposition towards peaceful change (Chernoff, 1995). As Roger Morgan

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observes, ‘. . . the transatlantic security complex developed a broad consensus on basic matters; developed political and military transparency and developed multilateralism’ (Morgan, 2004: 54). However, whilst there is often shared agreement on the nature of many of the security challenges faced by member states outside the geographical boundaries of the Alliance, it is also true that there is less consensus on appropriate political, military and economic responses. This has created limits regarding the out-of-area character of NATO, with unease particularly surrounding US policies on pre-emption, rogue states, weapons of mass destruction and international terrorism.11 The third security community which affects defence cooperation in Europe is what might be termed the ‘Euro-Atlantic region’ and is broadly synonymous with the membership of three international organisations, the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), comprising 55 states, NATO’s Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council (EAPC), comprising the 26 NATO member states plus 20 partners belonging to the Partnership for Peace (PfP) scheme, and the NATO Mediterranean Dialogue, launched in 1995 and involving the seven states of Algeria, Egypt, Jordan, Israel, Mauritania, Morocco and Tunisia (see Table 5.2).12 This security community therefore stretches from North America across Europe to include the southern and eastern Mediterranean and central Asia. In comparison with the EU and NATO, this Euro-Atlantic grouping is characterised by much looser mutual defence commitments, levels of interaction, interests and values, and is as a consequence far less developed as a pluralistic security community. In terms of military obligations, there are no treaty commitments to collective defence under the OSCE, EAPC or the Mediterranean Dialogue, though the documents upon which these relationships are based do set out the aspirations for behaviour between states. In each case whilst the resort to force is clearly deemed an unacceptable form of behaviour, the obligation to reject it is informal rather than formal. For example, membership of the OSCE includes agreed standards of international behaviour and commitments governing peaceful relations between participating states. In particular the 1990 Paris Agreements commit member states to market economies and democratic political systems and a reduction in conventional and nuclear weapons (Mandelbaum, 1996; Leatherman, 2003). OSCE has therefore been instrumental in the governance regime concerning arms control and verification agreements (Cottey, 2001; Van Hamm, 2005). A similar informal commitment is evident in the Framework Document which NATO signs with each EAPC country, which requires consultation

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with any partner country that perceives a direct threat to its territorial integrity, political independence or security (NATO, 2002a: 14). The NATO Mediterranean Dialogue aims to promote good relations and improve mutual understanding in the Mediterranean region and the Dialogue partners commit themselves to contributing to security and stability in the region (NATO, 2002a: 14). All members therefore share a declaratory commitment to peaceful resolution of conflict with other partners, and over the last three decades there are no examples of force being used against partners. However, the use of force for internal security purposes is a feature of many states in this wider grouping, with Algeria witnessing the use of force in its civil war, Georgia as part of its struggle with secessionist groups, Morocco in the course of its border dispute with the Western Sahara, and the Russian Federation in the civil war in the breakaway region of Chechnya (Kaldor, 2000; Volpi, 2003). In terms of the character of practical interaction between states in the Euro-Atlantic region, a key point is that, outside EU and NATO member states, relationships tend to be negotiated on a case-by-case basis, and as a consequence patterns of engagement are more fragmented. Whilst the national representatives in the EU and NATO typically meet on a daily basis, EAPC partners hold monthly meetings at ambassadorial level and twice yearly meetings of foreign and defence ministers, supplemented by consultation on specific issues as they arise. Dialogue with Mediterranean governments is even less frequent, but takes place at ambassadorial level on an ad hoc basis, supplemented by multilateral meetings after each NATO ministerial and summit meeting (NATO, 2002a: 26). At the same time, however, illustrating the diversity of this grouping, some states have quite intensive levels of interaction. For example, Russia and Ukraine have distinctive relations with the EAPC and have established diplomatic missions at NATO HQs. In the case of Ukraine, a NATO–Ukraine Commission oversees activities across the whole relationship. As well as the Ukrainian mission to NATO established in 1997, a Joint Working Group on Defence Reform supports NATO defence diplomacy activities in Ukraine, and a framework for civil emergency and disaster planning has also been drawn up (NATO, 2002a: 24). Given the relatively loose nature of the security commitment and the more ad hoc levels of interaction within its constituent institutions, mutual identification and collective identity in the Euro-Atlantic security community is at most limited. This is further reflected by the lack of shared foreign and security policies or agreement on a distinctive Euro-Atlantic approach to security issues. Alberto Bin notes that the Mediterranean Dialogue, is focused on confidence-building rather than

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a true partnership (Bin, 2002), but the point also goes for the wider Euro-Atlantic community, and it cannot be said to have created high levels of solidarity beyond the core states of the EU and NATO. However, the joint declaration of the 46 EAPC governments on 12 September 2001 in support of the international fight against terrorism does suggest some convergence of policy approaches (NATO, 2002a: 16). It is also the case that at least for some states such as Ukraine ‘. . . integration into Euro-Atlantic security structures and the transformation (‘reform’) of its national security system are rightly regarded by NATO as indivisible pursuits’ (Sherr, 2004: 1). A contributing factor to the re-run of the December 2004 presidential elections in Ukraine was fierce NATO (and EU and OSCE) criticism of the election’s conduct and result and the threat of excluding a Yanukovich government from engaging with any of these organisations (BBC News Online, 2004b; Mosnews.com, 2004). The three key security communities shaping cooperation on defence between European states thus vary quite markedly in the level of mutual commitment and integration requested of members. A particularly striking feature is, however, the impact on cooperation of the increasing coalescence of a core of states at the heart of NATO and the EU. Whilst there was always a connection and overlap of membership between the Atlantic security framework and European integration, for most of the Cold War there was little formal interaction between the EU and the NATO (Wallace, 1990: 28). Until the mid-1990s the French and Spanish governments were only loosely associated with NATO political-military structures and four member states were not engaged at all.13 However, the convergence of EU and NATO structures has increased the overlap and had a mutually reinforcing effect on the two principal security communities in Europe. From 2004, 19 out of 26 members of the North Atlantic Alliance are members of the EU (with Bulgaria, Romania and Turkey being applicant states); likewise, 19 out of 25 members of the EU are members of the Alliance, with only the states of Austria, Finland, Ireland and Sweden, along with Cyprus and Malta, not being members (see Figure 5.2).14 With the exception of the last two states, however, all are active participants in NATO’s PfP, and all are members of OSCE. As Deutsch suggests, moreover, a nuclear process of integration seems to be occurring around an initial core which is attracting additional states in a widening area (Deutsch, Burrell and Kann, 1957: 18). The shared assumptions and attitudes are strongest and most explicit in the core of the Euro-Atlantic region, in the EU and the North Atlantic Alliance. In the wider Euro-Atlantic grouping comprising the states of the OSCE, EAPC and the Mediterranean Partnership, however, the rules and

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institutions of the core group of the EU and NATO are acting to pull in neighbours who, to a lesser degree, participate in areas of these institutions, take part in some of the broader policy decisions and share some of the norms and values of the core group. However, as with the EU, whilst identities may to some degree be changing there has been a limited impact in terms of the way in which military force is actually organized and deployed and it is to the specific ‘reach’ of NATO that the remainder of this chapter now turns.

Reforming armed forces: The impact of NATO Given its place at the heart of the network of European security communities, along with the advanced nature of its policies in this area, the analysis as regards the impact of security communities on military structure and reform in Europe now falls on the case of NATO. The remaining sections of this chapter therefore consider first the impact of NATO on partner and applicant states, and then its influence on those who are full (whether new or long-standing) members of the Alliance. New partner and aspiring member states In common with the EU, conditionality is a key mechanism the Alliance has used to link the promise of assistance or political opportunities, to specific changes in the domestic arena (Pridham, 2002: 956). The first and most general means by which NATO has sought to influence military organisation and the adaptation of forces is a political insistence that in return for a structured relationship [through PfP] (irrespective of whether a state wishes to join the Alliance), partners should make a commitment to maintaining democratic societies, the principles of international law and human and political rights. Above all the Alliance has been keen to promote the peaceful resolution of conflict, national independence, the right of self-determination of any state, and respect for existing territorial borders. Most states have found it relatively easy and unproblematic to clear this hurdle, and in part as a reflection of this, the impact of NATO on defence reform at this level of engagement has tended to be rather marginal (Zagorcheva, 2001: 227). Moreover, as Thomas Szayna notes, shared views about security do not guarantee membership of PfP (Szayna, 2001: 45). Bosnia-Herzegovina and Serbia-Montenegro are not yet members, in the latter case as a result of failure to apprehend war criminals (notably Ratko Mladic the former commander of the Bosnian Serb army) and in addition in SerbiaMontenegro a failure to adequately reform defence institutions. Croatia

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was not allowed to join PfP until May 2000, principally because of a concern about its democratic institutions and foreign policy orientations (Table 5.3) (Edmunds, 2003b). A next level of influence comprises the PfP programme, Planning and Review Process (PARP), and, for those states wishing to proceed to full membership, Membership Action Plans (MAPs). Paradoxically, given the subsequent impact that the PfP framework has had on defence reform, the PfP initiative was initially launched in 1994 as a means of delaying the admission of postcommunist states to NATO (Forster and Wallace, 2000).

Table 5.3

PfP members 1994–2004

Current NATO Members that joined PfP Bulgaria Czech Republic Estonia Hungary Latvia Lithuania Poland Romania Slovakia Slovenia

Date of joining PfP

Date of Entry to NATO

1994 1994 1994 1994 1994 1994 1994 1994 1994 1994

2004 1999 2004 1999 2004 2004 1999 2004 2004 2004

NATO Aspirants Albania Bosnia-Herzegovina Croatia Georgia Macedonia (FYROM) Ukraine

Date of joining PfP 1994 Rejected 2004 2000 1994 1999 1994

Date of NATO Application 2000 N/A 2000 2002 1999 2002

States with no declared intention to join NATO* Austria Belarus Finland Ireland Moldova Russian Federation Serbia-Montenegro Sweden Switzerland

Date of joining PfP 1995 1995 1994 1999 1994 1994 Not applied 1994 1996

* Excludes Andorra; Armenia: Azerbaijan; Cyprus; Holy See; Kazakhstan; Kyrghyz Republic; Liechtenstein; Malta; Monaco; San Marino; Tajikistan; Turkmenistan; Uzbekistan.

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However, it has rapidly evolved in response to consistent demands from states aspiring to membership. States sign the PfP Framework Document which covers common specific undertakings including transparency in defence planning, the development of democratic control of armed forces and the development of forces capable of operating with NATO (NATO, 2001: 69). For those PfP states wishing to join the alliance, ‘. . . the Framework Document also states that active participation in PfP will play an important role in the evolutionary process of including new members in NATO’ (NATO, 2001: 68). In addition, each PfP member develops a tailored Individual Partnership Programme, setting out practical steps to achieve the political goals of PfP, military commitments where appropriate (Switzerland has for instance made no pledges in this area), and a work plan which is reviewed every 2 years. A further optional element of the PfP scheme is the PARP, the prime focus of which, despite a number of revisions since its introduction in 1994, remains capability requirements for military forces to operate alongside NATO partners. Each PfP member participating in PARP provides information on a wide range of subjects on a biennial basis covering their defence policies, financial and economic plans and engagement with PfP. A set of Partnership Goals is developed as a yardstick to measure interoperability. On the basis of a Planning and Review Assessment and Interoperability Objectives a Consolidated Report summarises the assessments and forces to be made available by each Partner (NATO, 2001: 73). Between each of the five PARP cycles since 1994, the amount of information and number of issues addressed by the PARP has been increased, leading to a convergence between the PARP process and NATO’s own defence planning process. In particular the political guidance has been increased and the Interoperability Objectives extended and renamed to cover wider issues of defence planning (NATO, 2001: 74). This has made the practical consequences of defence planning much easier to digest once MAP states have become members of NATO. Clearly the effect of Alliance conditionality is much enhanced at the point at which an implicit or explicit declaration is made of an aspiration to NATO membership (Szayna, 2001: 44), and since 1999 the principal means by which conditionality is expressed is the MAP to which the aspirant member state must subscribe. MAPs set out plans to meet the standards required for NATO entry and through which NATO provides assistance.15 The key reason for the introduction of MAPs was the widespread criticism that despite being members of PfP and participants in PARP, when the Czech Republic, Hungary and

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Poland were invited to join NATO in 1999, they were not ready to meet the full obligations of the Alliance, with key deficiencies in equipment, training and interoperability (Karkoszka, 2002; Edmunds, 2003a: 155). MAPs are therefore a more focused policy instrument designed to move aspirant member states from a desire to join NATO to a series of specific commitments and measurable objectives, and supported by more intrusive assessment of the extent to which these commitments and objectives have been met. They therefore mark a shift from declaratory statements of intention on the part of aspirant member states, to practical implementation. MAPs are characterised by four key features. First, aspirant governments submit annual programmes on preparation for membership covering political, economic, defence resource, security and legal issues. These include the development of Partnership Goals setting out contributions to collective defence and NATO’s new missions (NATO, 2001: 67). Second, aspirant member states have to establish planning targets which they agree with North Atlantic Council (NAC) members (NATO, 2001: 65). Third, there is a mechanism for political and technical feedback on progress. This involves meetings with the NAC, and annual review meetings and progress reports are presented to NATO foreign and defence ministers. Finally, there is a clearing house to coordinate assistance to aspirant member states. MAPs are based on what NATO terms ‘self-differentiation’, under which governments aspiring to membership choose elements best suited to them, and overall, as Jan Trapans comments, ‘. . . fulfilling the conditions does not guarantee membership, but failing to deliver objectives provides a legitimate reason to delay membership’ (Trapans, 2002: 91). The basis on which a final decision on membership is made has been set out in various Alliance documents, notably the January 1994 Brussels Summit communiqué, the 1995 Study on Enlargement (the basis for the invitation to the first three states to join NATO) and the 2002 Prague Summit invitation to a further seven states to open accession talks. The NATO Study on Enlargement notes the need to resolve external territorial disputes and ethnic disputes in accordance with OSCE principles, before states can become members (NATO, 2001: 62). It also highlights the interest of countries in contributing to collective defence and to peacekeeping and new missions ‘. . . which will be a factor in deciding whether to invite them to join’ (NATO, 2001: 62). The Study concludes by noting that accession decisions will be based on judgements at the time of the application as to whether the membership of a specific country will contribute to security and stability in the

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North Atlantic area. The key document in this regard is a Defence Planning Questionnaire completed by applicant governments. At the level of engagement represented by PfP, PARP, and particularly MAPs, the overall impact of NATO has been quite pronounced, not least through providing a road map for sustained reforms (Zagorcheva, 2001: 228; Wallander, 2002). This is illustrated above all by the effect of NATO in stabilising the rapid fall in national defence expenditure experienced in the immediate post-Cold War period, especially in those states indicating a clear desire to join the Alliance. In 1998 when the decision was made to admit the first three accession states, defence expenditure as a proportion of GDP was 2.1% in the Czech Republic, 1.3% in Hungary and 2.1% in Poland (SIPRI, 2000). Under MAPs, moreover, a commitment of 2% of GDP expenditure to defence has been introduced as a benchmark for the 7 new NATO members. For this second wave of accession states (Bulgaria; Estonia; Latvia; Lithuania; Romania; the Slovak Republic; and Slovenia) defence expenditure steadied or increased in all states except Bulgaria.16 The average proportion of GDP on defence expenditure amongst new NATO members was 1.94% of GDP (2002 figures), with quite a narrow range from Bulgaria with highest expenditure at a ration of GDP at 2.5% and Slovenia the lowest with 1.5%, with the mean Latvia and Lithuania at 1.8% of GDP (IISS, 2003: 247–55). Having noted this increase, there remains concern about the defence expenditure per troop, which provides a measure of the technological sophistication of a country’s armed forces.17 In the seven new NATO member states this is still quite low, ranging from $2531 in Lithuania to $13,744 in Romania, with only Romania and Bulgaria spending per troop at the levels of the Turkish armed forces in 1999 (Table 5.4).18 In part, increasing spend per troop by reducing the size of armed their armed forces is a key reason that Latvia (2005), Romania (2007) and Slovakia (2006) will end conscription by 2007 (see Table 1.1). In the remaining states that have expressed an interest in joining NATO – Albania, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Croatia, Georgia, Macedonia (FYROM) and Ukraine, defence expenditure as a percentage of GDP averages 2.55% (IISS Military Balance, 2004: 247–255). As with recent entrants to NATO, there is less variation in levels of defence expenditure as a percentage of GDP, with Bosnia-Herzegovina the highest at 3.8% and Georgia the lowest at 1.7% and the mean Albania 2.5% and Croatia (2.4%) all well above the 1.9% NATO Europe average of GDP expenditure (IISS, 2004: 353). In other states where there is no interest in joining NATO, notably Austria, Finland, Ireland, Sweden, Switzerland, Belarus, Moldova, the Russian Federation and Serbia-Montenegro, however,

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Table 5.4 Technological sophistication (spend per troop for 7 new members of NATO) State Bulgaria Estonia Latvia Lithuania Romania Slovakia Slovenia

Defence expenditurea

Active troopsb

Spend per troop ($)

518m 172m 194m 342m 1.3bn 624m 377m

51,000 4,980 4,880 13,510 97,200 20,195 6,550

10,256 3,453 3,974 2,531 13,744 3,094 5,755

a

Military Balance 2004–2005 defence expenditure in US dollars for 2003 (latest year of complete data) (IISS, 2004: 275–279). b Military Balance 2004–2005 active troop levels (IISS, 2004: 43–76).

defence expenditure is generally at lower levels. Here there and there is a much wider range between the state with the lowest defence expenditure as a ratio of GDP (double that of NATO aspirants), with Austria spending 0.8% of GDP and Serbia-Montenegro spending 5.2%, with the mean Moldova 1.7% of GDP, and the average percentage of GDP spent on defence being 1.98%.19 Excluding the postcommunist states, in Austria, Finland, Ireland, Sweden and Switzerland the average GDP on defence is even lower at 1.1% of GDP.20 As Chapter 6 analysing military cooperation in Europe argues, NATO has advanced a rather fixed power projection model of what defence forces should look like, and this has had a number of consequences particularly in aspirant member states (Forster, Edmunds and Cottey, 2003: 249). In particular it has led to pressure to move from relatively large armed forces structured to fight land wars in Europe, to smaller overall levels of armed forces recruited on a volunteer rather than a conscription basis and following NATO military doctrine (Szayna, 2002: 4). In Romania for instance a National Security Concept and a Military Doctrine were introduced in 1994 and were reviewed in the form of the Kievenaar Study as a result of Romania’s interest in joining NATO. These reforms create ‘. . . a two-tier forces structure with the first tier of operational forces clearly aspiring to offer the Romanian government some capability of working with NATO-led forces’ (Zulean, 2002: 121). Even those states that have created armed forces from scratch, notably the three Baltic states, have all embarked on defence reviews or produced new defence white papers, with Estonia and Latvia doing so in 2001 and Lithuania in 2002. All have focused on compatibility with NATO

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forces and the development of at least some rapid reaction forces, often at great expense (Edmunds, 2003a: 156). One further means of disseminating NATO values has been joint military activities which as Edmunds notes ‘. . . have been a central element in helping transmit NATO norms of professionalism and military organisation’ (Edmunds, 2003a: 156). Ukraine has, for example, been an important contributor of troops for a number of missions (NATO, 2002a: 24), and as James Sherr notes, a key reason for this was the government’s perception of the role this played in ‘. . . supporting defence reform in the country’ (Sherr, 2002: 223). Peace support operations have promoted shared technical standards for equipment, the development of interoperability and the use of English. They have also exposed senior officers and civilians to NATO’s operational chain of command, with a ‘trickle down’ effect as forces rotate in and out of these missions (Forster, Edmunds and Cottey, 2002: 242). However, it should also be noted that the impact of NATO on defence reform in those PfP states which have not indicated a desire to join NATO has been more variable. While the influence of NATO is not entirely absent in Austria, Finland, Ireland, Sweden, Switzerland, and the postcommunist states of Belarus, Moldova and Russia, they have been less wholeheartedly embraced and adopted by political and military elites (Forster, Edmunds and Cottey, 2002: 248). For example, all states with conscription have retained it. In addition, 4 states have conscription of 12 months or more: Belarus (12 months), Moldova (12 months); Russia (24 months) and Sweden (15 months). Likewise, in Switzerland political factors limited the Partnership Goals as they relate to defence planning ‘. . . which are not very relevant for force development’ (Borchert and Eggenberger, 2003: 19). In Ireland in part it is precisely because of the optional nature of PfP and the limited impact on Irish armed forces that PfP membership is not seen to contradict Ireland’s military neutrality (Irish Department of Foreign Affairs, 1999). Thus in these states whilst there is cooperation and growing interoperability of at least some parts of their armed forces, the engagement with the planning process lies outside the Membership Action Plan process, and is not subject to tacit agreement of NATO authorities. In addition, the impact of NATO in shaping military organisation and reform efforts in partner and especially accession states has not been uniformly positive in effect. First, NATO has advocated a power projection model which is often not relevant to some states. In particular

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the development of power projection forces, especially in MAP states, often takes place alongside the development or maintenance of forces whose primary mission is territorial defence (Forster, Edmunds and Cottey, 2002: 237–245). The ten recent central and eastern European members of NATO and most of the current aspirant member states have focused in particular on contributions to peacekeeping forces as a means of demonstrating interoperability and a willingness to shoulder NATO burdens, but this has had a distorting effect.21 Given the limited amount of defence expenditure available and the relatively large size of the armed forces, the result has tended to be the creation of a showcase elite and a cash-starved remainder, making defence reform uneven and unbalanced. In the case of Slovakia, political and military elites have viewed this as a price worth paying in return for the long-term goal of NATO membership (Ulrich, 2002: 415–416), but one result of this pattern of distorted reform has been that the overall effect of reform efforts has been at best modest in terms of the contribution to European security. Whilst the 10 new members of NATO add 25% (10.4 million) to the existing European NATO population of 422 million, they only contribute 7% (4294) of forces to NATO-led or UN-mandated missions in Europe, compared with 63,293 from ‘old’ NATO (Cottey, Edmunds and Forster, 2002a: 31; Szayna, 2002: 54). An additional problem is that partner and accession governments responding to NATO influence, have not effectively promoted reform beyond the institutions and political elites which directly deal with NATO. Whilst an informal requirement of a successful NATO membership application has been the need for aspirant governments to consistently demonstrate that more than 50% of the electorate support membership in the first and second wave of accession states, the general public (as distinct from governments) has not offered tremendous support for NATO operations especially in Kosovo, Afghanistan and Iraq. Moreover, since decisions on defence spending and transformation only have an impact over a continuous period of time they ‘. . . must be politically sustainable in the long term’, a situation which requires ‘a broad social and political consensus’ (Karkoszka, 2002). The issue of resources is thus directly linked to societal support. As Karkoszka further notes, ‘. . . even in Poland, where the armed forces are held in high popular regard and public support for NATO membership has been unshakeable throughout the past decade, this has not translated into comparable support for an increase in defence spending’ (Karkoszka, 2002). Indeed since Poland’s entry into NATO in 1999 defence expenditure has not increased above 2.1% of GDP and in 2004 was 2.0% of GDP (IISS, 2004: 353).

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In addition, there has been suspicion among partner and prospective member states concerning the motivations of Alliance governments in offering defence reform assistance. The shadow of arms sales and economic benefit is hard to disentangle from donor motivations, although it is most evident when states only offer defence assistance in the areas where high cost procurement decisions need to be made, especially aircraft, shipping and communications.22 At the same time, defence reform assistance is a two-way street and there has also been a temptation especially amongst postcommunist states to use procurement decisions as a means of creating Alliance champions for their own membership applications. This has led on occasion to decisions which governments could ill afford, and in 1999 for instance the Romanian government cancelled an initial decision to buy US Cobra helicopters because this could not be justified within the existing defence budgetary constraints. Likewise in 2002 the government of the Czech Republic cancelled the purchase of between 24 and 34 Gripen fighters when the new Prime Minister took the decision that the country could not afford them. In summary, NATO has clearly played an important role in helping governments prioritise areas for defence reform in the wake of the end of the Cold War. However, the impact of NATO has been greatest on those states aspiring to membership, in large measure due to the conditionality contained within PARP and especially MAPs. NATO’s influence on defence reform is greatest in a first group of states comprising Bulgaria, Czech Republic, Estonia, Hungary, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, Romania, the Slovak Republic, Slovenia and the NATO aspirants of Albania, Bosnia-Herzegovina (despite PfP rejection in 2004), Croatia, Georgia, Macedonia (FYROM) and Ukraine. The impact has been less evident in a second group of states comprising the postcommunist states of Belarus, Moldova, the Russian Federation and Serbia and Montenegro and the European states of Austria, Finland, Ireland, Sweden and Switzerland. In the postcommunist group of states the focus has been on interoperability of a very small group of forces (for example, in June 2003 the Russian government announced it would create permanent peacekeeping battalions), transparency in defence policy planning and interoperability. In the neutral group on the other hand the effect has been more general and less intense and based on more autonomous national approaches to defence reform. NATO’s impact on its member states As regards the impact of NATO on military organisation and reform in existing member states – whether new or long-standing – the Alliance

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has exerted influence in two key areas: first, it has shaped the norms and values of defence planning; second, it has promoted military reform in terms of a dominant NATO model of how modern military forces should be structured and organised. NATO has a well established defence planning process which is meant to ensure transparency of defence decisions between member states. This requires consultation between Allies on national defence decisions; it is a means to assess whether NATO commitments freely entered into have been delivered; and it is a forum for monitoring the effectiveness of defence expenditure (NATO, 2001: 157). Over the years, despite the formal commitments made by member governments in terms of defence planning notably Standardization, Agreements, NATO has not been especially successful in ensuring appropriate levels of defence expenditure. The 1970s and 1980s are littered with failed attempts to encourage member states to commit more to national defence. Likewise, throughout the 1990s there was a rapid decline in defence expenditure and an almost universal rush for a peace dividend amongst the 16 NATO members. The hope of NATO staff was that Alliance commitments might be used to prevent the re-nationalisation of defence and a breakdown of multilateral defence cooperation. However, between 1989 and 1999 few European governments paid much attention to the letter or indeed the spirit of their Alliance commitments, which officially required consultation following defence planning procedures for determining the forces needed for Alliance policies and the coordination of national policies (NATO, 2001: 157). For example, the British government – one of the most committed supporters of NATO – cut its armed forces by 30% between 1985 and 2004. Likewise, British forces deployed in Germany were withdrawn with the barest minimum of consultation with partners at NATO (Forster, 1994a). To counter a sustained decline in defence expenditure and military forces, NATO’s Defence Capabilities Initiative (DCI) was launched in April 1999 to encourage allies to hold fast to their commitment to interoperability and to update their military capabilities for Alliance obligations (Sloan, 2000). The hope was that new structures coupled with NATO’s new missions might stabilise defence expenditure through collective agreements on what post-Cold War military forces were for, and how they should be organised at the international level (Yost, 1998). However, as James Appathurai noted, whilst steps to try and bridge a capabilities gap were necessary they were not sufficient, since success depended on increased levels of funding (House of Lords, 2000a, b, 2001, 2002a, b; Appathurai, 2002). DCI was thus largely a failure, with

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few governments willing to increase defence expenditure and only lip-service paid to spending existing funds more efficiently.23 In 2002, under pressure from the US administration, the Alliance again embarked on fresh moves to improve capabilities. The central feature of this new effort was the delineation of specific improvements in the hope that ‘. . . confidence in the delivery of commitments will be greater than under the DCI because each head of state or government will have given a specific assurance that each commitment will be delivered, within a fixed timeframe. This new approach will also allow for an element of peer pressure’ (Buckley, 2002). However, the reality was that between 1989 and 2003 European countries cut defence budgets by more than 16%, to an average below 2% of GDP. Prior to 11 September 2001, defence expenditure increased in Germany, Greece and the Netherlands by only 0.1 percentage points. Spending was static in Spain, and in the remaining countries a decrease was recorded. In the last 3 years, only France, Greece, Portugal, Turkey and the UK have consistently spent above the NATO target level of 2% of GDP on defence (IISS, 2004: 353). It is true that as Michael Clarke has commented, there is some evidence that without NATO the defence cuts might have been even greater, so that at best NATO commitments may at least have worked to stabilise the decline, but overall the impact of NATO in this area has been limited (Clarke, 2000: 16–28). A similar pattern was evident for the Czech Republic, Hungary and Poland once they became full members. The record of defence evidence bears out the argument of Thomas Szayna that for most new member governments the incentives to comply with NATO goals disappear after accession (Szayna, 2002: 8). As Karkoszka notes in spite of a parliamentary declaration urging the government to raise military spending to three per cent of GDP [since membership], Poland has failed to increase resources allocated to defence. Hungary too has failed to live up to its promise given during the enlargement negotiations, to raise military spending by 0.1 per cent a year. (Karkoszka, 2002)24 In short even on such a key indicator as defence expenditure, NATO’s impact has been rather weak. Aside from issues of direct expenditure, NATO has also been at the forefront of promoting difficult decisions to end conscription, increase equipment budgets, enhance technical capabilities and improve deployability. To this end the US and UK governments and the NATO international staff have been at the forefront of advocating the need for all volunteer forces and deployability of what modern armed forces fit

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for the 21st century should look like. This Expeditionary Warfare model (set out in Chapter 2) implies the need to end conscription, increase the equipment budget and the technical capabilities of armed forces and improve deployability. As the preceding section notes, this has been done through formal and informal pressure, channelled through the defence planning process, public statements from the Secretary General, and NATO-sponsored publications and analysis. Whilst the direct leverage NATO can exert on existing member states remains limited, as with other European institutions, the cumulative effect of this pressure in setting the European defence agenda is an important context in which defence reform takes place (Pollack, 1997; Tsebelis and Kreppel, 1998). As Chapter 2 analyses, exactly how these impacts on member states varies widely, depending on the security aspirations of national governments, the amount of resources available to fund expensive transformation processes, the existing state of the armed forces and the direction in which the senior military commanders want to go. It is not therefore possible to assume that where the Expeditionary Warfare model has been adopted, NATO influence has been the greatest. As Chapter 2 discusses in more detail, in the case of the UK, the British government and the senior leadership of the armed forces promoted an Expeditionary Warfare model from as early as 1989 and in advance of NATO’s interest in this type of armed force. The semi-detached nature of France which is not fully integrated into the military structures has diminished the impact of NATO, and the transformation towards an Expeditionary model is a matter of national choice of the French security community, rather than a consequence of the direct influence of NATO (McKenna, 1997). Perhaps ironically, it is in the remaining European states with different defence models that the impact of NATO is most observable. Here it has led to an often uncomfortable juxtaposition between a small first tier expeditionary warfare-capable group of forces and a second tier of less capable and less well equipped and interoperable forces within Territorial Defence and Late Modern forces. In the 22 European states that have taken a different route, 7 states have only partially adopted elements of power projection, through the development of a Late Modern form of military and, to an even lesser degree, 13 states have done so within the context of a Territorial Defence model (see Table 2.3). Likewise, concerning a NATO preference for all volunteer forces, despite a conventional view that conscription has had its day, it is interesting to note the rather limited effect NATO has had in terms of promoting the end of conscription. Of the 14 ‘old’ European members of the Alliance that have all-volunteer forces, 6 have ended conscription since 1989 (Belgium, France, Italy, Netherlands, Portugal and Spain) with

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5 members (Denmark, Germany, Greece, Norway and Turkey) maintaining a strong preference to some form of conscription (see Table 1.1).25 However, proportionately more of the new member states of NATO have ended or taken a decision to end conscription reflecting the greater impact of NATO on aspirant than existing members. With Latvia, Romania and the Slovak Republic committed to ending conscription by 2007, of the 10 ‘new’ central and east European members that joined NATO since 1999, only 4 states (Bulgaria, Estonia, Lithuania and Poland) will retain conscription. Interviews with NATO officials and national delegations suggest that it is the failure of existing approaches to defence reform and the very limited effect that NATO has had on member states that has led to a shift away from advancing a single ‘NATO’ model of defence reform and a focus on inputs – notably defence expenditure and types of recruitment (Nelson, 1998; Donnelly, 2000; Simon, 2000; Nelson, 2002). This new NATO approach has highlighted the need for specific niche capabilities, leaving the issue of how they should be achieved to national governments.26 Within the context of a reorganised and more operational command structure and new missions launched at the November 2002 Prague Summit, two areas have been important: increasing the overall number of forces available for international operations, and role specialisation (NATO, 2003). More recently NATO has focused on outputs or an ‘effects’-based approach to modernisation as the latest attempt to promote the Alliance’s military capabilities. The issue of the use of armed forces committed to UN and international peacekeeping missions is examined in further detail in Chapter 7, with the focus here on the impact of NATO on the armed forces of member states. At the suggestion of the US Secretary of Defence in September 2002 at the Prague Summit, NATO members committed themselves to create a NATO Response Force which is ‘. . . effective, technologically advanced . . . designed to be flexible, rapidly deployable, interoperable and sustainable (NATO, 2003: 10). The explicit hope is to be able to improve not only the force capabilities of member states for the highest levels of conflict, but also the availability of national units to this standing force and for NRF to act as a ‘. . . a catalyst for focusing and promoting improvements in the Alliance’s military capabilities’ (NATO, 2003: 72). Having set this agenda, current NATO discourse is focused on delivery of commitments, typified by the Secretary General’s preface to the Prague Summit that ‘In the wake of the Prague Summit, the task now facing the Alliance is to deliver on decisions taken and the commitments made’ (NATO, 2003: 3).

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An analysis of the scale of deployments over the last 4 years indicates why this has become so pressing. In 1999, 52,178 were deployed on international missions whilst in 2003 this figure was around 42,134 (see Table 5.5). In terms of specific member state contributions to international operations in 2003, Italy had 194,000 active personnel

Table 5.5 Deployment of EU and European NATO forces on UN and international peacekeeping missions 2000–2003 Country

1999a

2000

2001

2002

2003

Austria Belgium Bulgaria Czech Republic Denmark Estonia Finland France Germany Greece Hungary Ireland Italy Latvia Lithuania Luxembourg Netherlands Norway Poland Portugal Romania Slovakia Slovenia Spain Sweden Turkey United Kingdom

887 1659 4 574 1512 47 527 7577 7154 811 475 700 6217 40 41 23 1888 818 2205 640 205 37 15 2800 545 1811 16014

1156 1460 1 741 1358 47 1938 8770 7693 690 806 885 8203 50 71 23 2983 1391 2058 1442 215 97 31 2500 1353 2263 8282

989 1471 7 684 1287 47 959 7948 7229 1961 816 779 7171 107 32 23 2649 1133 1812 1596 90 610 89 2505 841 2153 8861

939 1475 8 425 1036 3 999 8481 8368 1989 665 451 7599 20 131 23 3095 1166 1741 1425 401 737 85 2856 872 3554 7204

933 683 8 576 994 3 917 6229 6810 1989 660 443 7362 20 131 60 1772 1161 1469 1318 401 737 85 2858 779 3546 4647

NATO totalb

52178

50663

49299

51102

42134

EU totalc

48954

48736

46269

46812

37794

a

Military Balance 1999–2000; 2000–2001; 2001–2002 and 2002–2003; Excludes Canada, Iceland and the US; c Excludes Cyprus and Malta. Source: IISS Military Balance. b

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with 7362 deployed on international security missions; Germany had 284,500 active personnel in the armed forces with only 7500 readily deployable forces and 6810 committed to peace support operations; France had 259,050 personnel with 10,000 readily deployable and 6229 committed to PSOs; the UK had 212,660 active personnel with 12,500 deployable and 4647 deployed on PSOs. There is no doubt that NATO’s (and the EU’s) commitment to have more operationally deployable forces is undoubtedly a reference point for many of the latest defence reforms; as yet it is unclear whether this remains more of a re-branding of NATO’s purpose and repositioning vis-à-vis the EU, than an initiative that will have deep reach into the reform processes of its member states. In part this is so because of the high costs implied by such a defence transformation, the very different national systems of defence, and widely different views concerning the circumstances under which international operations should take place (Finnemore, 2003; Elliott and Cheeseman, 2004). From the vantage point of 2005 it looks as though in some states it is leading to the formalisation of two-tier forces, whilst in others to role specialisation to permit an appropriate contribution to the NRF. With respect to role specialisation the picture is mixed. NATO’s post-2002 reform process has led some NATO governments to adopt some role specialisation notably amongst the ten new central and eastern European member states. However, in general sovereign national governments remain reluctant to consider the full introduction of specialization as an appropriate means of squaring the circle of insufficient defence expenditure coupled with armed forces that are too large, leading to relatively low levels of per troop expenditure. Where there has been some success is in the creation of more multinational units with examples from ‘old’ and ‘new’ NATO members and some cross-over ‘old-new’ units such as the Danish-Polish-German corps. Overall, therefore, for long-standing and for new members of NATO, the direct impact of the Alliance is considerably less than that felt by aspiring member states. Nevertheless, NATO exerts powerful indirect influences on its existing members through the network of regular meetings and the socialisation of policy-making elites considered in the first part of this chapter. Moreover, notwithstanding the negative implications of its influence for aspiring member states, it is also appropriate to indicate the generally positive effects NATO has had in developing shared understandings of the concept of civilian

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control of armed forces and of the appropriate relationship of the armed forces to society. NATO’s role in promoting the peaceful resolution of disputes has also been important, while extension of PfP participation to European neutrals has widened the NATO ‘family’, lessened the distinction between allies and neutral states, and strengthened NATO’s position as the primary security organisation for the European region.

Conclusions There is no doubt that European security communities have impacted significantly on defence relations between and within European states. In terms of defence cooperation and the structure and reform of armed forces, this chapter has suggested that European states are shaped by three overlapping security communities, the Euro-Atlantic Community, the EU and NATO, with NATO the most integrated lying at the core of these overlapping communities. They have promoted new patterns of behaviour in armed forces–society relations between and within states. They have also provided an important context within which defence relations between states take place, typified by Alliance summits and permanent routine diplomacy on foreign and security policy issues. Whilst the most integrated security community is NATO, an analysis of the impact on European armed forces suggests a complex pattern of influence. The ten new central and eastern European members and aspirant states have been subjected to far more intrusive conditions for membership and thus the impact of NATO has been more direct than for long-standing member states. In many ways the recent change to an ‘effects’-based approach to shaping defence reform recognises the limited influence on current members, and is merely the latest initiative in a constant search for effective mechanisms to promote and focus on improvements in military capabilities of NATO’s member states. Where NATO has been most influential is in transmitting norms of professionalism, developing a common corpus of military doctrine, promoting interoperability and over a considerable period of time minimising the fear of shared multinational command structures. In and of themselves, these are important contributions to European civil–military relations, but by comparison with the more far-reaching political, economic and societal transformation that the EU has had on its member states, its impact is of a quite different nature.

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Notes 1. For example, NATO and OSCE include Canada and the USA as members. Likewise, non-European members of NATO’s PfP are Armenia, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Kyrghyz Republic, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan. 2. For the sensitivities of neutral states, for example, the debate in Ireland concerning the creation of EU Battle Groups, see G. Quille, 2003. For the Danish position, see Bergman, 2004: 172. 3. These were set out in the WEU Ministerial Council in Petersberg (Bonn), Atlantic Documents, Brussels, no. 1787, 23 June 1992. 4. The mission includes EU states and Albania, Argentina, Bulgaria, Canada, Chile, Morocco, New Zealand, Norway, Romania, Switzerland and Turkey. The EurFor Commander is answerable to the Deputy Supreme Allied Commander Europe who is the Operational Commander and leads an Operation Headquarters set up in SHAPE and staffed by EU and NATO personnel (European Defence, 2004a, b). 5. In addition Gerrard Quille notes that it did not prevent considerable waste of resources on inefficient generation of military capacity throughout Europe amounting to 160 million euro (Quille, 2003). 6. Single nation Battle Groups are expected to be supplied by France, Italy, Spain and the UK with nine multi-national Battle Groups as follows: France, Germany, Belgium, Luxembourg and Spain (Euro Corps); France and Belgium; Germany, Finland and the Netherlands; Germany, Austria and Czech Republic; Italy, Hungary and Slovenia (probably the Multinational Land Force); Italy, Spain, Greece and Portugal; Poland, Germany, Slovakia, Latvia and Lithuania; Sweden, Finland and Norway (non-EU member); and the UK and the Netherlands (probably the UK/Netherlands Amphibious Force). In addition the French government may provide a deployable HQs, Greece a Sealift Co-ordination Centre; and Cyprus a medical unit (von Wogau, 2004). 7. Article 6 has been amended on two occasions, first in 1952 on the accession of Greece and Turkey and again in 1963 when the Council noted that from July 1962 the relevant clauses had become inapplicable concerning the Algerian Departments of France in North Africa (NATO, 2001: 528). 8. Outside the North Atlantic/NATO region there has been conflict in Cyprus between Greece and Turkey, but no direct clash between their militaries. 9. For example, US refusal to participate in monitoring operations of vessels going to BiH in November 1994 did not prevent NATO/WEU continuing the enforcement missions (Gazzini, 2003: 234). 10. William Wallace argues that it is also true that the concept of an Atlantic community of shared values served to legitimise US leadership of its European allies (Wallace, 1990: 31) 11. See http://www.worldview.org. 12. There are also two other Mediterranean initiatives launched by the European Union’s Barcelona Process the Euro-Mediterranean Partnership and the OSCE Mediterranean Initiative. 13. France withdrew from the integrated military command of NATO in 1966 at the same time it expelled NATO from its Fontainebleau HQ which moved to Brussels. Spain joined the integrated military structures in 1998.

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14. Bulgaria, Canada, Iceland, Norway, Romania, Turkey and the USA are the other members of the North Atlantic Alliance. 15. For the press release NAC-S (99)66 see http://www.nato.int/docu/pr/1999/ p99-066e.htm. Interestingly NATO made clear that successful participation in MAP is not a guarantee of future membership, nor is it a checklist of actions to be completed with decisions on membership applications taken on a case by case basis (NATO, 2001: 65). 16. The Bulgarian government increased its defence expenditure from $400 million in 2002 to $527 million in 2003 once invited to join NATO (IISS Military Balance, 2004: 246). 17. This figure is calculated by dividing defence expenditure by the active troop strength. 18. The data for the Czech Republic, Hungary and Poland in 1999 was $18,230, $13,352 and $12,686 respectively, with Turkey the lowest ‘old’ NATO member with $12,394. See Szayna, 2001: 60. 19. If Serbia-Montenegro is excluded which has the highest levels of defence expenditure as a proportion of GDP at 5.2%, the figure is 1.6%. This category excludes Andorra, Armenia, Azerbaijan, Cyprus, Holy See, Kazakhstan, Kyrghyz Republic, Liechtenstein, Malta, Monaco, San Marino, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan. 20. However, reflecting the generally smaller armed forces and greater wealth, average defence expenditure per troop was $76,200, lower than the NATO median, but significantly higher than the 1999 NATO accession states (Szyna, 2001: 58). 21. The exceptions are Bosnia-Herzegovina and Macedonia. 22. A view regularly expressed in interviews with officials from new member states was that to a large extent the US plays a predominant role in deciding who joins NATO, which adds leverage to the advice given by US training teams and the additional value in buying equipment from the US. Interviews with officials in London and Brussels. 23. In 2001 a report from NATO’s Deputy Secretary General noted that European members would only meet 50% of the force goals on the basis of their spending plans. 24. In the last 3 years Poland committed 2.0%, 1.9% and 2.0% whilst Hungary committed 1.8%, 1.8% and 1.9% (ISSS, 2004: 353). 25. Iceland has never had conscription and the UK and Luxembourg ended conscription in 1962 and 1967 respectively. Interestingly, Denmark, Norway and Sweden have used a post-9/11 reason to justify continuing with conscription. 26. This change in approach mirrors the European Commission’s shift in the mid-1980s away from directives to regulations as the preferred regulatory instrument to create the Single European Market. Directives are directly applicable to states whilst regulations are binding in terms of the result to be achieved. See Schulz and Koenig, 2000.

6 Military Cooperation and Assistance in Europe*

In the last decade and a half, drawing on Kantian ideas of an ethos of responsibility and international solidarity, scholars from a range of different traditions have advanced arguments that armed forces have been and should in future be used for what has been termed ‘cosmopolitan’ roles and purposes, to protect and defend values rather than economic or territorial interests (Wheeler, 1997; Kaldor, 2000; Shaw, 2001). Based on assumptions about universal values of a connected moral community that transcend national boundaries, cosmopolitanism suggests that roles of armed forces are increasingly being shaped by missions ‘. . . intended to save lives rather than vanquish the enemy or destroy infrastructure’ (Elliott, 2004: 25). Taking this idea as the point of departure, this and the subsequent chapter, examines in greater depth two issues: the first is peacetime military-to-military cooperation; and the second is international security missions in the form of peacekeeping and peacemaking for humanitarian purposes. The former issue has almost been completely overlooked, whilst it is the latter issue that has been the principal focus of using militaries as a ‘force for good’ or what Nicholas Wheeler terms ‘saving strangers’ (Wheeler, 1997). Themes common to both Chapters 6 and 7 are: the extent to which there has indeed been a change in the discourse, organisation and use of European armed forces that has created what Lorraine Elliott and Graeme Cheeseman term ‘cosmopolitan militaries’ (Elliott and Cheeseman, 2004: 2); the nature and characteristics of military-to-military cooperation and international security missions; and the extent to which new roles challenge a Weberian coercive conceptualisation of the armed forces – as existing to defend territory of the nation state through the controlled use of violence and as an instrument to promote the national interest – rather than universal values and broader solidarist principles (Kaldor, 2001: 130; 170

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2000: 185). More broadly it also analyses the extent to which these roles are leading to what Charles Moskos, Jay Williams and David Segal term a Postmodern military. For them, these missions ‘. . . reflect a fundamental shift in the emphasis and purpose of armed forces from defence of the homeland . . .’ (Moskos, Williams and Segal, 2000: 1). In considering military-to-military cooperation, at the outset three points of clarification need to be made. First, as Carl von Clausewitz has argued, armed forces should not be considered as merely an autonomous and politically neutral instrument of policy, but have always served the political objectives or goals of governments in time of both war and peace (von Clausewitz, 1976: 88–89; Koonings and Kruijt, 2002). Military-to-military cooperation and activities have always been inherently and intimately linked to the political objectives of governments and such activities have a long pedigree. For example, the deployment of military advisors has history dating back 300 years and the practice of appointing Defence Attachés (DAs) was part of 19th century rather than more recent European diplomacy (Williams, 2000: 20–21). The second point of clarification relates to what is meant by military cooperation. This chapter defines this as the use of armed forces and other defence resources to support peacetime security and foreign policy objectives. For the UK government the objectives of this type of cooperation – termed ‘Defence Diplomacy’ – are ‘To provide forces to meet the varied activities undertaken by the Ministry of Defence to dispel hostility, build and maintain trust and assist in the development of democratically accountable armed forces, thereby making a significant contribution to conflict prevention and resolution’ (UK Ministry of Defence, 2000: 2). The combination of activities used to achieve these goals varies widely between states, but conceptually the range of tasks are set out in Table 6.1 (Cottey and Forster, 2004: 1). The third point of clarification is that this chapter focuses on peacetime interaction of the state’s conventional armed forces. It thus excludes from the focus here, the role of private security services, whilst recognising the close and often problematic relationship many PSCs have with governments in the provision of peacetime military services (Shearer, 1998; Krahmann, 2005). This chapter first explores the various types of military cooperation that have occurred over the last 16 years and the extent to which the balance between various activities has changed; the second section analyses national discourses addressing the purpose of military cooperation and explores the extent to which there really are differences between European states in what military activities occur and why; and the conclusion reflects on the broader issues including the extent to

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Table 6.1

Military cooperation activities

Military cooperation roles Bilateral and multilateral contacts between senior military and civilian defence officials Appointment of Defence Attachés (DA) to foreign countries Bilateral defence cooperation agreements Training of foreign military and civilian defence personnel Provision of expertise and advice on the democratic control of armed forces, defence management and military technical areas Contacts and exchanges between military personnel and units, and ship visits Placement of military or civilian personnel in partner countries’ defence ministries or armed forces Deployment of training teams Provision of military equipment and other material aid Bilateral or multilateral military exercises for training purposes Strategic engagement as a means of reducing the likelihood of conflict between former or potential enemies Promoting democratic civil–military relations Supporting other states in developing peacekeeping capabilities

Old tasks

New tasks

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

which cosmopolitanism is anything more than a regulative idea which has informed specific organisational doctrinal and policy responses, and whether there is anything that is Postmodern about armed forces in Europe (Elliott and Cheeseman, 2004: 3). The arguments of this chapter are fourfold. First, in terms of the type of military-to-military activities, this chapter suggests that a range of ‘new’ activities have been added to ‘old’ or long-standing activities. Old military cooperation activities have focused on strengthening allies against common threats and enemies and included training, technical support and arms sales. However, since 1989 new activities have been added to those traditionally undertaken by armed forces. In particular, militaries are routinely being used as a tool of peacetime engagement in reducing conflict with potential enemies; promoting democratic civil–military relations (Forster, 2000); reforming the security sector (Hendrickson, 1999; Bryden and Fluri, 2003); developing peacekeeping

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capabilities of other states; and more broadly using the military as tool in conflict prevention (Cottey and Forster, 2004: 2). Second, in terms of general motivations, this chapter argues that between 1989 and 2001 across most (but not all) European states, there was a shift in the public discourse from promoting old to promoting new military-to-military cooperation activities. This reflects a shift in which being ‘. . . a force for good in the world’ and internationalism have been more prominent justifications in terms of the stated purpose of armed forces, than strengthening allies (Dorman, 2004a: 239). Many military cooperation activities in this period have therefore involved a much broader range of governmental partners than in the past, including potential adversaries and engagement with states where neo-realist considerations of political, economic, military and strategic interest are low. These new functions are clearly linked to the idea of using militaries as a ‘force for good’ because rather than promoting the controlled use of violence between allies against the ‘other’, their purpose has been to promote cooperation and internationalist values and might reasonably be considered within the remit of actions to ‘defend the moral community of humankind’ (Elliott and Cheeseman, 2004: 1). However, this chapter goes on to suggest that for most states, the new additional roles for armed forces were always ‘supplementary’ rather than ‘alternative’ tasks (Cottey and Forster, 2004: 77). New roles have had limited reach in terms of widespread transformation of doctrine, culture and organisation of the armed forces, in part because of the asymmetry between public rhetoric and the relatively limited number of military personnel involved in these tasks, but for other reasons too. This has especially been the case for armed forces where the predominant culture has been one of war-fighting, but even in more communitarian states, few governments have been willing to give up their principal role of national defence. The argument here is that the cosmopolitan ‘regulative ideal’ has often been strong in informing the discourse of public policy statements, but weak in terms of its institutional impact. Even in European states and armed forces where the cosmopolitan regulative ideal is more closely connected with a dominant military culture, this has fallen well short of leading to a new military model and in most instances is based on humanitarian realism – an expansive interpretation of national interests (Waltz, 2000: 11). Finally and linked to the first two arguments, this chapter goes on to argue that the changes identified above may have been rather temporary in nature. Since September 2001, for many European governments there has been a reordering both of rationales and roles in terms of military-to-military cooperation in two ways: first

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new roles have become more informed by considerations of real politik rather than cosmopolitanism; and second there has been a greater focus on old military cooperation activities of strengthening strategic allies and promoting technical assistance to allies in the war against terror.

New roles for military cooperation and assistance Historically armed forces exercise the coercive use of violence. The purpose of this has been organised around the need to defend national territory through self-defence deterrence, compliance or intervention (Carter and Perry, 1999; Cottey and Forster, 2004: 4). The bilateral use of armed forces personnel to strengthen allies through the deployment of training teams and military advisors has a long tradition. Multinational military cooperation of European states has been a common part of intraalliance behaviour in the modern European state system. The European imperial powers developed close military relations with their colonies. The UK established the Imperial Defence College in 1922 to train senior military officers and to develop a common military doctrine in defence of the British Empire (Gray, 1977). In France, the Ecole Supérieur de Guerre served a similar function. As decolonisation proceeded after the Second World War, many former colonies chose to maintain extensive military links to their former colonial powers, especially with France and the UK but also with the Netherlands, Portugal and Spain. For example, in francophone Africa military cooperation agreements with eight former colonies have allowed the stationing of French mission de présence forces in these countries (Gregory, 2000; Agboluaje, 2005). Likewise both NATO and the Warsaw Pact developed central staff and training facilities such as the NATO Defence College, and the Soviet Union and US governments provided extensive bilateral training facilities for alliance partners and allies to promote shared military doctrine and common values throughout the Cold War. For many west European states, the strategic priority given to countering the Soviet Union and communism also resulted in military cooperation with authoritarian regimes in many parts of the world. Historically, military cooperation and assistance has largely been part of international real politik, balance-of-power politics and the pursuit of rather narrowly defined national interests. Governments engaged in defence cooperation with, and provided military assistance to, other governments in order to counterbalance or deter enemies, maintain spheres of influence, support friendly regimes in suppressing domestic opponents and to promote commercial interests (such as arms sales or more general trade relations).

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Since 1989, new dimensions have emerged in the nature and purposes of international military cooperation. In particular there has been a dual trend amongst European democracies involving first the use of defence ministries and armed forces in a range of new peacetime tasks that include promoting military reform and liberal democratic values; and second armed forces have been used as a tool to develop cooperative relations with former enemies where antagonisms remain and with whom future conflict is a distinct possibility. European militaries are thus tasked not only with the coercive use of violence but, alongside this, new roles of peacetime cooperative engagement both with allies and other states (Cottey and Forster, 2004: 5). The first new type of military cooperation which European governments have embraced since 1989 is to help build cooperative relationships with former or potential enemies, with the aim of preventing future conflicts. This process is referred to as strategic engagement and involves a range of different aspects (see Table 6.2). Motivations for promoting strategic engagement are based on optimism concerning the role of confidencebuilding measures in promoting peaceful international relations, in Table 6.2

Aspects of strategic engagement

Symbolic functions: A political role as a symbol of willingness to pursue broader cooperation, mutual trust and commitment to work to overcome or manage differences. Transparency: Introducing transparency into defence relations, in particular with regard to states’ intentions and capabilities. High-level discussions of defence policy and military doctrine can be used to show that a state does not have offensive intentions and that its armed forces are primarily defensive in character, thereby offering reassurance to, and building confidence with, the partner state. Developing common interests: Building or reinforcing perceptions of common interests that states share common interests which should be addressed through international partnership. Socialisation: Changing the mind-sets of partner states’ militaries to alter the perception within states that armed forces are a threat. For example, this can be done by explaining intentions and capabilities, emphasising common interests and highlighting the shared challenges facing military professionals. Specific goals: Military cooperation may be used to support specific defence reforms in the partner state. For example, re-housing and retraining demobilised soldiers. Incentives: Incentives to encourage partner states to cooperate in other areas. At a strategic level, defence-related assistance may be made conditional on or linked to partner states’ behaviour on other issues.

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particular the value placed on encouraging states to build armed forces that are transparent and non-threatening towards neighbours and the benefits of changing long-held but outdated perceptions of threat shaped by decades of Cold War experience. Over the last decade and half, the most prominent examples of strategic engagement in Europe have been efforts in Europe to bridge the Cold War divide through a range of interconnected initiatives. The most prominent multinational military initiatives are those promoted by the 55 members of the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), which as an organisation has developed European governance regimes concerning arms control and verification agreements (Cottey, 2001; Van Hamm, 2005). Strategic engagement is also observable through the bilateral activities of states, for example Bulgaria and Romania have been active in engaging the successor states of SFRY as part of their efforts to avoid conflict, and between Poland and its neighbours notably Belarus, Ukraine and Russia. Further a field has been the development of military cooperation with China and Libya as a key part of wider efforts to build cooperative relations and prevent conflict. The second new type of military cooperation that has emerged since the end of the Cold War is the promotion of liberal democratic values of democratic civil–military relations. The type and range of activities within the purview of promoting liberal democratic civil–military relations is set out at Table 6.3. The reasons underpinning this second group of cooperation tasks are threefold. First, the so-called ‘third wave’ of democratisation has seen transitions from authoritarianism to democracy in Southern Europe, South America, East Asia, central and eastern Europe, the former Soviet Union and Africa since the 1970s, dramatically increasing the number of democratic or democratising states in the world (Huntington, 1995). These states have often faced significant challenges in establishing democratic civilian control of their militaries which European governments have been keen to support. Second, since the 1980s democracy has been an important element of many postconflict peace processes. Within this context, the reintegration and democratisation of armed forces has become a significant component of international peace-building strategies. Third, the end of the Cold War altered the strategic environment, shaping Western governments’ policies, making them less willing to support authoritarian allies and pushing support for democracy up the policy agenda. As a consequence of the spread of democracy, there was also growing support for the hypothesis that democracies do not go to war with one another (Russett, 1993). Of course the motive of the need to defend liberal democracy

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Aspects of promoting democratic civil–military relations

Civilian political control over the military: Key activities include reducing the partisan nature of the military; altering the constitution to entrench the principle of democratic civilian control; establishing a chain of command that unambiguously reflects this principle; and reforming or establishing controlling institutions (a national security council, a ministry of defence). Democratic civilian control over defence policy: Key activities include reforming and civilianising the institutions for the management of defence policy (in particular the Ministry of Defence); developing systems for the management and control of the defence budget and procurement; and training a new cadre of civilian officials. Legislative/parliamentary oversight: Key activities in this area include defining the powers of the legislature/parliament in relation to the armed forces and defence policy; establishing parliamentary foreign affairs, security and/or defence committees; ensuring the role of parliament in approving relevant legislation, appointments, the defence budget, and the overseas and domestic use of the military; enabling the legislature/parliament or its committees to have access to information, hold hearings and interview personnel; and the publication of parliamentary reports. Rule of law, human rights and justice: Key activities include ensuring the submission of the armed forces and the executive to the rule of law; reforming the relevant legal and judicial systems; developing a culture of respect for human rights within the armed forces; and the problematic issue of justice in relation to past crimes or abuses committed by the military. Civil society engagement: Key activities include transparency and freedom of information in relation to the armed forces and the defence budget; the development of independent research institutes, think-tanks and advocacy and campaigning groups; and a free and independent media with expertise in defence and security, models of good practice, advice and material support in relation to technical aspects of reforms, providing training for military and civilian personnel, and promoting a broader socialisation in democratic norms.

can be traced back to 1949 and the preamble to the North Atlantic Treaty which gives prominence to this in referring to the need to ‘. . . safeguard the freedom, common heritage and civilisation of their peoples, founded on the principles of democracy, individual liberty and the rule of law.’ What is new is the shift from ‘defending’ to actively ‘promoting’ liberal democracy as a means of ensuring international peace and security, typified by President George W. Bush’s 2005 inaugural commitment to ‘...the expansion of freedom in all the world’ (Bush, 2005). As Chapter 5 analyses in more detail, the archetypal example of this new type of military cooperation is NATO’s PfP. PfP was established in 1994 to facilitate political and military cooperation between NATO and

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the countries of central and eastern Europe. It is based on bilateral agreements between NATO and each individual partner, allowing cooperation to be tailored to the needs and interests of the state concerned, although many activities are multilateral. PfP is widely viewed as a success story. It has helped to overcome the Cold War division of Europe; paved the way to full NATO membership for 10 states while maintaining cooperation with a further 13 European and 7 non-European states (see Table 5.2) encouraged cooperation amongst eastern European states; supported states in establishing democratic control of and reforming their militaries; facilitated the development of inter-operability with NATO; and contributed to the success of NATO’s peacekeeping operations in the Balkans. The third type of new military cooperation and assistance are activities to support states in developing the national and regional capacity to contribute to international peacekeeping and peace-enforcement operations (see Table 6.4). Since the mid-1980s, there has been a major increase in demand for peacekeeping operations, with the UN, regional organisations and ad hoc coalitions undertaking a large number of new operations. As Chapter 7 notes, there has also been a shift away from traditional UN peacekeeping – which essentially monitored ceasefires – and towards a Table 6.4

Aspects of enhancing regional peacekeeping capabilities

Training teams and advisors: Key activities include military and financial support for regional PSO training in a multinational context e.g. the development of training schools such as the Kofi Annan International Peacekeeping Training Centre and Peace Support Training Centre for East Africa and the development of crisis management capabilities. Human rights training: Key activities include training modules on the rules of engagement and the laws of war at staff colleges, regional training centres and prior to deployment. PSO doctrine: Key activities include the development of common peacekeeping concepts and operational doctrines. Training military and civilian personnel prior to peacekeeping deployments: Key activities in this area include tactical training of army units; integrated joint training especially of land and air force units; staff training to develop joint operational capabilities and the development of shared standard operating procedures. Development of military units: Key activities include support for peacekeeping units, for example the French support for the Peacekeeping Battalion in Dakar. Joint exercises and missions: In the region to improve regional stability. For example, 4200 French troops undertook a peacekeeping operation with 1200 ECOWAS forces in Cote D’Ivoire.

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variety of more demanding enforcement operations, where force has been used to impose peace, and post-conflict operations involving a wide range of peace-building tasks (such as monitoring elections and human rights, disarming and demobilising combatants and supporting social and economic reconstruction) (Wheeler, 1997). As a result, many of the operations initiated over the last two and a half decades have been significantly larger than before, and have placed much greater demands on participating armed forces (Bellamy, Williams and Griffin, 2003: 75). Many have also resulted in long-term, indeed often open-ended, commitments of significant numbers of soldiers as appears to be the case in Kosovo, Afghanistan and Iraq. At the same time governments, especially the western states with the most capacity to act, have chosen to be more selective in the commitment of the their troops to risky humanitarian interventions, where immediate national interests are not involved – as illustrated most starkly by the failure of the international community to intervene in the Rwandan genocide in 1994. All of these factors have resulted in growing pressure for non-Western states and regional organisations to contribute more to international peacekeeping. During the 1990s, regional and sub-regional organisations such as NATO, the EU, the African Union and the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) embraced peacekeeping as within their remit, and took steps to develop the capacity to undertake peacekeeping operations. Western governments, in particular the US, the UK and France, also initiated programmes to support regional initiatives. European governments have not only encouraged this, but have used military-to-military cooperation as a means to help governments develop specific military capabilities. Helping partner states to improve their military capabilities has long been a goal of old military cooperation activities. However, in the past, this was generally directed against a specific common external or internal enemy rather than in support of international security missions endorsed by the UNSC and undertaken through regional security organizations, or through the invitation of parties to a conflict (Gordon, 2001a: 19; Gazzini, 2003: 254). It rarely had wider goals of contributing to international peace and security and paid little or no regard to human rights concerns. In contrast, efforts to enhance regional peacekeeping capabilities since the 1990s have not been directed against specific external enemies, but rather towards the general problem of peacekeeping; have been part of the wider goal of promoting regional cooperation and confidence building; and take place in the context of more general efforts to promote democracy, good governance and human rights.

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To what extent then has there been a cosmopolitan turn that has affected military cooperation and activities? First, whilst the range and purpose of military-to-military activities did change between 1989 and 2001, with a layering of new-type on top of old-type of activities, engagement motivated by the goal of strengthening allies against common threats and enemies never completely disappeared and old activities co-exist alongside the new in several different ways (Cottey and Forster, 2004: 8). The next section turns to the patterns of engagement.

Patterns of engagement Liberal democratic partners Cosmopolitanism and new patterns of military cooperation appear to be at their strongest with states that have liberal democratic systems, both the long-established states within Europe, Australia, India, Japan, New Zealand and South Korea, and the younger liberal democracies in central and eastern Europe which share common values. In addition, engagement has been at its most extensive and concentrated in proximate regions to western Europe, most notably in central and eastern Europe. These states share common values, threat perceptions and with some variation can be considered advanced industrial democracies. In Europe, the various goals of west European military cooperation and assistance were compatible and mutually reinforcing. Most postcommunist states wanted to strengthen and deepen their democracies and NATO and the EU provided a strong political and institutional framework through which to promote activities. All central and eastern European states were willing partners and the prospect of NATO and EU membership provided a particularly powerful incentive for governments to embrace cooperation and the values which underpinned it. The relatively smooth democratic transitions of the central and eastern European states, therefore provided a receptive context for west European military assistance in reforming civil–military relations. Indeed, 10 of these states are now part of the two core European security communities, and patterns of cooperation with these states have already become similar to patterns evident between long-standing NATO and EU partners. In central and eastern European states, military cooperation activities have supported efforts to establish new national security policies and reform armed forces and security sectors, in particular by helping states to establish effective democratically based security forces and developing their capacity to contribute to peacekeeping missions.

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In contrast to states that have shared threat perceptions and common values, in another group of states the reorientation from old to new patterns of military cooperation has been less far-reaching, the strategic context has been less amenable and the tensions between new and old purposes of military cooperation more evident. Three subgroups are evident: ‘allies of convenience’, ‘regional partners’ and ‘great powers’.

Allies of convenience Developments such as the nuclearisation of India and Pakistan in 1998 and 1999, followed by that of North Korea, highlighted the need for the reinforcement of coalition partners in strategically important regions of the world such as the Gulf and East and Southeast Asia. The attacks of September 2001 have, moreover, led to a new emphasis on technical cooperation in intelligence-gathering and counter-terrorist activities. In the first group of states that are ‘allies of convenience’ this includes both long-standing military cooperation relationships, such as those between Western states and Saudi Arabia, Egypt and Pakistan, and newer relationships in the context of the US-led ‘war on terrorism’, such as those with the Central Asian countries. While the end of the Cold War removed one key rationale for such military cooperation, others – regional threats such as Iran and Iraq, maintaining access to oil resources and counterterrorism – remain. Here patterns of military cooperation continue to be shaped almost entirely by old motivations of strengthening allies. The basis of cooperation in these relationships is based on specific shared strategic interests, such as containing particular states and countering terrorism, but not on broader common cosmopolitan values. In these states military activities are more circumscribed: it is much narrower in terms of the range of activities involved and focused on the development of specific but limited technical military capabilities, whether training in support of arms sales or technical military assistance programmes (CDS, 2001). In this group of states, European governments choose to ignore the authoritarian nature and human rights abuses of partner regimes or to highlight the long-term nature of any expectation of change. From the perspective of the European democracies, while military cooperation with allies of convenience may help in addressing some key security challenges, it is also deeply problematic. To the extent that it contradicts the idea that the promotion of democratic values and international solidarist principles provides the best basis for long-term stability

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and security both within and between states, military cooperation with authoritarian regimes undermines the longer-term prospects for the emergence of a more secure world. Since September 2001, the centrality of considerations of real politik has been further emphasized in this group of states. Over the last 4 years the French and UK governments have significantly strengthened military ties with authoritarian regimes notably in the central Asian states (of Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Kyrghyz Republic, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan), the Gulf states and governments in North Africa, Pakistan and Russia, in the ‘war on terrorism’, despite their poor records on democracy, human rights and poor civil–military relations. In many of these states the focus is on the technical and functional rather than the normative aspects of cooperation. The double-standard implicit in European military cooperation – support for the democratisation of civil–military relations in some cases and close military cooperation with authoritarian regimes – suggests that the war on terror has led to a reorientation back towards both old activities and old purposes of using military cooperation to strengthen allies and to overlook (or subordinate) any broader cosmopolitan purposes.

Regional Partners In a second group of states, notably Ghana, Kenya, Nigeria, Niger, Senegal, Tunisia and South Africa, there has also been a reorientation from old to new patterns of military cooperation. This group of states shares some similarities with the first and the second group. On the one hand whilst the range of military activities and cosmopolitan purposes are not as far-reaching as the states that are ‘democratic partners’, nonetheless there is a wide range of interactions that are cosmopolitan in nature. The development of peacekeeping capabilities, strengthening democratic civilian control of armed forces, security sector reform and the promotion of broader values are features of states in this group. In general the functional goal of generating military capacity for international security missions is more evident in the nature of military cooperation than normative cosmopolitan values. However but this varies depending on the rootedness of democracy in these states and willingness of specific governments to accept intrusive levels of external intervention. In Nigeria, for example, democracy rests on weak foundations, with little substantive European activity in developing democratic civil–military relations and broader democratic values. Despite this, a concerted European effort remains to support the Nigerian government largely as

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a consequence of it being the major contributor of peacekeepers in Africa with some 3403 engaged in peacekeeping missions in 2004.1 Since 1999 in Sierra Leone the (re-)introduction of democracy, the willingness of the government to completely overhaul all aspects of the security sector, and the level of UK assistance estimated at 21 million pounds between 2000 and 2002 has been of a scale and character more similar (and in some areas in excess of) to assistance provided by west European states in central and eastern Europe (BBC News Online, 2000; Bryden, N’Diaye and Olonisakin, 2005: 218).

Great powers In a third group of states, the reorientation from old to new patterns of military cooperation has been less far-reaching with regard to ‘great powers’ comprising China and Russia. Here primacy has been assigned to securing support (or acquiescence) for European and national policies, rather than the promotion of liberal democratic values. Both states participate in the major international non-proliferation regimes, including the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty, the Missile Technology Control Regime, the Chemical Weapons Convention, the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty and the Zangger Committee, which controls the export of nuclear weapons-related technologies. As a consequence new patterns of cooperation have focused on strategic engagement. Within this the focus has been on transparency, and to a limited degree socialisation and specific technical assistance programmes such as the UK government’s support for re-housing and retraining of demobilised military personnel. Here the implicit aim is to alter the perception within these countries’ armed forces of Europe (and the US) as a threat. This has been done for example by explaining Western intentions and capabilities, emphasising common interests and highlighting the shared challenges facing military professionals, with questionable success (Trenin, 2000: 21; Betz, 2002). In the case of Russia there has also been modest effort aimed at enhancing peacekeeping capabilities and interoperability between Russian and other European forces, especially in support of the type of missions undertaken by KFOR and SFOR. At the multilateral level, NATO-Russia military cooperation was established in 1993–1994, Russia joined NATO’s PfP in 1994–1995 and the NATO-Russia Founding Act on Mutual Relations, Cooperation and Security was signed in May 1997. This led to the subsequent establishment of the NATO-Russia Council, but even on technical matters, progress has been problematic (Clarke, 1995: 27). However, the more explicitly cosmopolitan function of the promotion

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of democratic civil–military relations has been almost entirely absent from military cooperation activities between other European states and Russia and China (Cottey and Forster, 2004: 19–24). Reflecting the nature of this relationship, since the September 2001 terrorist attacks on the US, this has resulted in a significant strengthening of relations between Russia and the West and military cooperation in terms of practical cooperation in the global war on terror. In taking stock of the extent to which there has been a cosmopolitan turn in military cooperation and activities, until autumn 2001 there was generally some substance to the case that normative goals of peacetime military-to-military contact, such as promoting democratic reform of the armed forces in partner states was as important as functional and strategic goals, developing professional standards and interoperability, and strengthening allies and partners. This was most clearly the case as regards policy in central and eastern Europe, although west European governments were in large measure pushing at an open door, given the pre-existent eagerness of the majority of their partners to subscribe to liberal democratic values and accept the conditions required of them to achieve NATO and EU membership. However, even prior to 2001, there were a number of partners where the normative aspect was either subordinated to the objectives of strengthening allies, especially in unstable regions of the world such as the Middle East, or regional partners where the balance of motivations and activities were more complex, or part of confidence-building measures with states like Russia and China, where the cosmopolitan message was never a prominent part of the motivation for engagement. Since 2001, though deterring and preventing conflict and promoting a more stable international environment remain general objectives, the primacy of ensuring the safety of citizens and the territorial integrity of the state, have led to yet another re-ordering of military cooperation activities and priorities. Where promoting democratic control of armed forces was a key element of engagement, principally as regards central and eastern Europe, this has remained. However, for states such as the UK and France where the commitment to the normative aspects of defence diplomacy was either of more recent origin or was never a central feature, their role has been toned down and in practice subordinated to the strengthening of allies and strategic partners in a new alliance against terrorism. This is particularly the case in the Trans-Caucasus region and central and south Asia, including Georgia, Kazakhstan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan, and here peacetime cooperation is being developed around counter-terrorist special forces and intelligence cooperation with

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governments that have very questionable human rights records (Jones Luong and Weinthal, 2002).

National approaches to military cooperation Having identified both the range of military activities and the patterns of interaction, this chapter now turns to specific national approaches to military cooperation and assistance. It briefly examines three types of state: those where normative considerations have not featured in public discourse as a principal justification in the development of peacetime military activities; second a group of states where cosmopolitan issues share prominence alongside traditional justifications for military engagement; and third, states where arguments that armed forces should be used to protect, defend and promote universal values have been pre-eminent. The exemplars of each category are France, the UK and Sweden. In a first group of states typified by France, the government has not developed a concept to underpin its wide range of military cooperation activities, in part because the role of French military cooperation has principally been informed by issues of real politik. Military cooperation has therefore been structured around strengthening allies and the development of specific functional outcomes and capabilities in the service of French national interests. In terms of the various motivations that underpin French military cooperation activities, armed forces support for arms sales plays a leading role. France is the world’s fourth major arms manufacturer, delivering equipment of $1200 million in 2003 (IISS, 2004: 359). Reflecting a close relationship between arms manufacturers (in many of which the French state have a major share-holding) and the government, the military operate in support of French arms sales, through the provision of training and maintenance teams; other elements of military cooperation often occur in states where there is a long history of arms sales. The strong link between defence sales and French military cooperation is both a cause and consequence of the organisational structures in Paris that exist to promote military cooperation. These link a variety of external relations agencies, French armed forces and arms manufacturers, with military cooperation. The primacy of commercial aspects of defence assistance rather than cosmopolitan values is typified by the fact that military cooperation and assistance comes under the supervisory control of the Directorate for Military Cooperation and Defence in the French Foreign Ministry, with a senior military office answering directly to the Political Director, with direct inputs for the Directorate General

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of Armaments and Department of Strategic Affairs (Centre for Defence Studies, 2001). The French government also engages in military cooperation in former colonies, especially in francophone Africa (Gregory, 2000). As noted above, cooperation agreements with eight states permits the stationing of French mission de présence forces in these countries and have developed extensive military (and political) relationships including the provision of military advisors, training teams and exchange officers (Agboluaje, 2005: 229). In addition the French government has been very active in developing peacekeeping capabilities in west Africa. Through its RECAMP programme (Renforcement des Capacités Africaines Maintenant de la Paix) the French government commits €273 million per annum to a range of peacekeeping activities. Likewise the French government supports a peacekeeping battalion in Dakar and has undertaken joint exercises and missions in the region to improve regional stability. For example, 4200 French troops undertook a peacekeeping operation with 1200 ECOWAS forces in Cote D’Ivoire (Agboluaje, 2005: 238). The French government also provides around a million euro to the African Union (AU) in support of various conflict prevention initiatives. One shift that has taken place since 1989 is greater military-tomilitary contact with states in central and eastern Europe. Whilst the promotion of democratic civilian control is more evident here than in Africa, so are political and commercial considerations as evidenced by where engagement takes place. First, assistance has been targeted towards states with which the French have established historical links, such as Romania. Second, French effort has been directed towards governments that have embraced a particular French model of armed forces, for example gendarmerie, or where there are parallels to be drawn between the Foreign Legion operating as a small elite unit for high intensity operations and forces with a similar purpose, and where the French government believe it can offer a distinctive contribution. Finally, the French military have been active in states where their experience and approach particularly in terms of a political stand independent to that of the US and of full membership of NATO seems particularly attractive. In a second group of states, governments have embraced and promoted public discourse based on cosmopolitanism, albeit in a problematic and contested way. It is the UK government which has most fully developed the use of armed forces for peaceful international military cooperation and as a ‘force for good’.2 What particularly marks

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out the UK government’s approach has been the conscious adoption of the concept of Defence Diplomacy to give a higher profile and greater coherence to the use of armed forces for diplomatic purposes, and its incorporation in the 1998 Strategic Defence Review as one of eight core missions of British armed forces (UK MoD, 1998). The stated purpose of defence diplomacy is ‘. . . to provide forces to meet the varied activities undertaken by the Ministry of Defence to dispel hostility, build and maintain trust and assist in the development of democratically accountable armed forces, thereby making a significant contribution to conflict prevention and resolution’ (UK MoD, 2000: 2). According to the official UK conceptualisation, there are three component parts to the defence diplomacy mission: first, arms control, non-proliferation, and confidence and security building measures; second, bilateral assistance and cooperation to promote security and stability in central and eastern Europe and countries in the Trans-Caucasus and central Asia; and third, training and education programmes for overseas military forces (UK MoD, 2000). Through the creation of the concept the government hoped to ensure military cooperation was better focused, better managed and more effectively linked to British foreign and security policy objectives (UK MoD, 2000). As indicated by its inclusion in the 1999 Defence White Paper in a chapter entitled ‘Building a Better World’, this has been intimately linked to a broad-based drive to promote an ethical foreign policy, launched by the new Labour government in 1998 and set out the following year in Tony Blair’s ‘Doctrine of the International Community’ (Blair, 1999). This has been further developed in Human Rights Annual Reports and Defence White Papers and in various cross-governmental initiatives (UK Foreign and Commonwealth Office, 2002). At the normative level, the philosophy underpinning British defence diplomacy is a cosmopolitan liberal vision of the promotion of western principles and values, through intensive and sustained military engagement, in the belief that shared knowledge and mutual trust will over a period of time enhance peace and stability. In terms of specific activities, the furtherance of democratic civilian control of armed forces (and in particular the accountability of armed forces to elected politicians), civilianising defence ministries, strengthening control and oversight over defence budgets, the development within militaries of high professional standards and involvement in joint training, have all been seen as key policy objectives (Cottey and Forster, 2004: 32). In the area of arms control, the role of British armed forces personnel in central and eastern Europe includes the withdrawal, storage and

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destruction of warheads, and the development of effective command and inventory controls over military and civilian nuclear, chemical and biological (NBC) weapons, agents and technologies. This involves direct in-country assistance to states with nuclear weapons, notably Belarus, Kazakhstan and Ukraine, to dismantle weapons, delivery systems and nuclear infrastructure. In addition, UK personnel are part of an EU, US, Norway and Japan funded Science and Technology Centre in Ukraine to provide civilian career opportunities to former weapons scientists and engineers to prevent them selling their expertise to governments or terrorist groups seeking to develop NBC capabilities. UK defence civilians also provide assistance to international agencies, notably the International Atomic Energy Agency and its weapons inspections programme in support of the Non-Proliferation Treaty, the 1972 Biological Weapons Convention and the 1993 Chemical Weapons Convention. In terms of bilateral assistance and cooperation initiatives, the UK has used individual personnel exchange programmes involving civilian and military secondees, exchange officers/advisors and Loan Service personnel to promote democratic civil–military relations and technical support (Centre for Defence Studies, 2001). Indeed, one of the most distinctive elements of the British approach to Defence Diplomacy is the use of Defence Advisors, several hundred of whom are deployed across the world. These MoD officials and military officers are often seconded to governments for 2 to 3 years at a time and have a variety of roles within the defence and foreign ministries of overseas governments. In addition to Defence Advisors, the UK government continues to use Defence Attachés, 116 of whom serve in 73 missions abroad. Traditionally the role of the DA was based around three tasks: first, promoting British arms exports, including developing contacts in companies in the host country for visiting British ministers and British firms, gathering information about equipment requirements and identifying key decision-makers; second, analysing open sources of information useful to departments in London; and finally maintaining a high profile for Britain in the host country, for instance, through attending official functions in uniform. Since 1999, however, Defence Attachés have been given a new mission as ‘ambassadors for peace and security worldwide’, placing them at the heart of the Defence Diplomacy strategy, and their function now includes coordinating military education and training requests and providing advice to host armed forces on democratically accountable and cost-effective armed forces. The roles of personnel exchanges and DAs are to some extent based on cosmopolitan values, yet in both instances a mix of motives is evident

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since new roles have supplemented rather than replaced long-standing functions. In terms of military education, over one quarter of students attending the major staff course at the UK Joint Services Command and Staff College are international students, many funded by scholarships from a variety of UK government departments. In addition the Defence Assistance Fund (DAF) provides support for a range of military education activities either within the UK or ‘in country.’3 In-country programmes include language and other training, for example the Joint Baltic Peacekeeping Battalion. The British government also provides partners with short-term and permanent assistance for defence reform, through a variety of different types of training team.4 British Peace Support Teams (BPST) have as their aim ‘. . . to develop and improve African peacekeeping capacity for African and international peacekeeping and peace support operations; establish and maintain excellence in military training and standards of military practice for the host country’ (FCO, 2002: 91). British Military Advisory and Training Teams (BMATT) have been deployed in Zimbabwe (1980); Namibia (1990) and South Africa (1995). The role of the last team evolved into support to develop South Africa’s PSO capability, through the training of personnel prior to PSO deployments (for example, the African Union mission in Burundi), and staff training and support to develop South Africa’s Joint Operational capability (Tapfumaneyi, 1999; Taylor and Williams, 2002: 555; FCO, 2005). A more recent development has been a regional as opposed to a bilateral role for UK training teams. In 1999, for instance, the MoD took over a Czech military installation at Vyskow in the Czech Republic and created a permanent British Military and Training Team for central and eastern Europe, focused on infantry training. In terms of peacekeeping, African states contribute relatively little to international peacekeeping forces and even states which have been active contributors, such as Ghana, Guinea, Kenya, Morocco, Nigeria, Senegal, Tunisia and Zambia, have not significantly increased their participation since the early 1990s. To address this, the UK government has, for example, developed its bilateral training activities in Kenya into a Peace Support Training Centre for east Africa.5 This is a particularly important training centre for Kenya forces, since international peacekeeping operations form a key part of the Kenyan army’s function, with Kenya deploying nearly 10,000 peacekeepers in 17 UN missions over the last quarter century, making it a very active African contributor to UN operations (Cottey and Forster, 2004: 61). However, a wide range of east African troops

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have also received training at the centre and by 2010, 17,000 African troops will have been trained either directly or through organisations supported by the UK Government (UK Foreign and Commonwealth Office, 2005).6 In addition, British armed forces undertake joint training exercises with partners, including crisis management, command post and field training exercises. For example in Borneo, Oman and Kenya, forces train and undertake live firing in both arid and jungle locations unavailable elsewhere to UK forces, while the armed forces of the host countries gain experience of British procedures and practices and standards of professionalism. Over 3000 British troops are deployed for training (Exercise Grand Prix) in Kenya each year, for example, while Exercise Saif Sereea II in Oman in 2001 involving 20,000 deployed forces, was the largest overseas military exercise conducted by British forces since 1998, with Omani forces providing infrastructure and much of the logistical support as well as sharing exercise experience. It should also be noted that in 2001 British forces deployed to Sierra Leone were dispatched directly from Kenya (with troops deployed to Afghanistan in 2001 similarly deploying directly from Oman). In a similar vein, ship visits and visits by military units as well as other military and civilian visits, for example by senior defence officials and ministers, are also used for closely related purposes, and are often combined with training. Between May and October 2000, for example, a Naval Task Group 2000 visited 30 countries, many of which were of strategic importance to the UK and important allies, and these visits were often back-to-backed with training opportunities. For many decades, the UK government has also had a highly developed and successful arms export programme run by what is now the Defence Sales Exports Organisation (DESO) in the Ministry of Defence, making the UK the second largest exporter of arms in the world ($4700 million) behind the US. Moreover, sales of military equipment not only bring immediate financial benefit, but often also entail ongoing maintenance and training arrangements. One of the longest running examples is the 1988 Al-Yamamah arms deal with the government of Saudi Arabia worth 20 billion pounds which involves ongoing support to the Royal Saudi Air Force and the Royal Saudi Navy and is supervised by the MoD Saudi Arabia Projects office (CDS, 2001). In the UK, one can clearly see a range of tensions and contradictions. In particular the language of cosmopolitanism has been used to promote new roles but without relinquishing the old. Thus motivations of strengthening allies run alongside cosmopolitan purposes such as promoting

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democratic civil–military relations and developing peacekeeping capabilities of other states. The old tasks and purposes exist alongside the new, and there are tensions between them. In a third group of states the motivation for military cooperation that armed forces should be used to protect, defend and promote universal values has been pre-eminent. For example, the 2003 Swedish Defence Commission report identifies strengthening of international peace and security as one of the three objectives of national security, and conflict prevention activities are seen as accompanying development cooperation (Swedish Defence Commission, 2000/01: 2; 2001; 2003). It is therefore no surprise that in Sweden military cooperation activities have been actively promoted under the normative auspices of general policies directed at peace, international solidarity and global justice (Swedish Ministry for Dandeker, 1999a; 2000/01: 2; Foreign Affairs, 2001). In Sweden it is peacekeeping training has a pre-eminent place in terms of military cooperation which reflects a Cold War and post-Cold War history of major contributions to UN peacekeeping missions. For example, in 1997 the Swedish Minister of Foreign Affairs identified peacekeeping and conflict prevention as ‘moral imperatives’ (Bergman, 2004: 173). In terms of specific activities, particular emphasis is placed in four areas: first the provision of logistical support and training in infantry tactics for forces assigned to the Baltic Battalion (BALTBAT) which has an important peacekeeping role; second Sweden contributes to other multinational initiatives such as a joint naval mine clearance programme (BALTRON); the Baltic Air Surveillance Network (BALTNET); and the Baltic Sea forum (BALTSEA) which discusses shared security concerns and develops joint initiatives (Sapronas, 2002; Trapans, 2002: 91–92; Urbelis and Urbonas, 2002). Third, the Swedish government makes a leading contribution in terms of military education notably to the Baltic Defence College (BALTDEFCOL) project involving ten nations. Finally Sweden has provided military advisors to the Latvian and Lithuanian HQs, the highest at 3-star (OF-8) level (Vitas, 1996; Sapronas, 1999: 1–7). In taking stock of the motivations and types of military cooperation activities Annika Bergman refers to Sweden’s approach as ‘adjacent internationalism’ focused on the states of the Baltic Sea region, notably Latvia and Lithuania, reflecting Sweden’s own historical links with these states, and its own strategic interests in developing economic and political stability in the area (Bergman, 2004: 176). Whilst many have emphasised that this range of initiatives is directly informed by the demands of preparing for NATO membership she argues that ‘It is important, however, not to overshadow the ethical underpinnings of

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Baltic peacekeeping activities by linking it too strongly with Baltic NATO membership’ (Bergman, 2004: 177). Whilst this is a brief and limited survey of national approaches to military cooperation, it is evident that there is a wide range of motivations for military cooperation activities without any uniform cosmopolitan turn. However, even where states claim their militaries are a force for good, and cosmopolitanism forms part of the government’s discourse (UK and Sweden), national self-interest is always present – what varies is whether this is defined in a narrow way around direct political economic and military gains, or more broadly where governments expect to gain from promoting international peace and security. In addition no states have given up the primary function of the military to provide national defence, suggesting that cosmopolitanism is a ‘supplement’ rather than ‘alternative’ task (Cottey and Forster, 2004: 77). In France there was no cosmopolitan turn in the justification used to underpin and reorientate military cooperation and a number of dilemmas faced by other states were avoided. The contradictions of using the military as a force for good are perhaps most evident in the UK, where old and new roles run alongside each other. Thus strengthening allies and supporting strategic partners occurs at the same time as the UK armed forces are being used for strategic engagement, promoting democratic civil–military relations, and developing peacekeeping capabilities (as well as participating in international security missions that at a minimum pose questions about their use as a force for good). This also reflects an inescapable cosmopolitan dilemma of the logic of engagement, which suggests that cooperation should be pursued in order to encourage reform even if partners’ records on democracy and human rights may be poor, and the logic of conditionality, which suggests that cooperation should be conditional on reform. The long-term nature of any engagement further complicates this calculation. For governments like that of the UK, the balance between using armed forces as a force for good and protecting and defending universal values rather than economic or territorial interests, depends on political judgements concerning a number of interconnected factors. Where values are shared and threat perceptions are low, and states are geographically proximate, cosmopolitanism fits more comfortably together. Here governments are more likely to promote these new roles for armed forces. However, where interlocutors simply don’t share similar values and especially where states are strategically important enough to refuse to cooperate on the basis of normative conditionality, the commitment of

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British governments to cosmopolitanism appears to be diminished and subordinated to functional goals. Likewise the strategic climate matters and where governments feel their interests are threatened – as many have since September 2001 – the general commitment to cosmopolitanism at least with regard to how it informs military cooperation appears to further diminish. In Sweden there is a much clearer sense of consistency in the government’s commitment to using the military as a force for good and this has informed the nature of Swedish military cooperation and activities. In particular there appears to be a stronger link between normative claims that Swedish armed forces should promote peace, international solidarity and global justice, and the specific tasks they have to undertake. However, even here the commitment to national defence as the primary function of the Swedish armed forces, suggests that what is at play is an expansive interpretation of Swedish national interest to which the Swedish armed forces contribute in an instrumental way, rather than the emergence of a new type of fully cosmopolitan military, where missions involving saving lives has replaced vanquishing a potential enemy. Even in the most progressive European states, no military has yet escaped its state-based circumstances and is unlikely to do so without a transformation of the nature of the state itself.

Conclusions In analysing the use of armed forces as defence resources to support peacetime security and foreign policy objectives, for many states the cosmopolitan idea of using militaries as a force for good has become more prominent as a rationale for armed forces since 1989. However, this came about in the particular circumstances of the end of the Cold War, reduced levels of threat in Europe, and the transition of many neighbours from communist states to liberal democracies, sharing west European values and aspiring to join west European political and security institutions. It remains to be seen whether raised threat perceptions from the ‘war on terror’, the perceived need to develop expeditionary war-fighting capabilities and perhaps ironically, the doctrine of the international community analysed further in Chapter 7 will show the period from 1989 to 2001 to be a cosmopolitan aberration. Even if it does not, the motivations underpinning where and why peacetime military cooperation occurs, is contingent depending on the state in question, the presence or absence of share values and perceptions of threat and individual governmental calculations about the relative importance of specific partners.

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Some critics argue that the focus on cooperation and ‘soft’ dimensions of military activity make it naive and unrealistic. In the worst case, they argue this undermines the ability of armed forces to perform core war-fighting functions and transfers vital technical know-how and capabilities to future enemies. However, to date in no European state has the regulative ideal of using the armed forces as a force for good led to a significant reorganisation of armed forces; and in no state has it led to a revision of the role of armed forces to defend state interests, whether it be territory, values or economic well being (Elliott and Cheeseman, 2004: 3). In this respect, if any cosmopolitan turn has occurred, it has been too short-lived or lacked sufficient intensity to challenge any previously dominant military cultures. As a consequence in terms of peacetime military cooperation activities, any change has fallen well short of leading to a new military model – though it has placed new demands on at least a small part of the armed forces, in adding and promoting new tasks and with it new responsibilities (Waltz, 2000: 11). The extent to which operational international security missions premised on the maintenance of international peace and security have affected European militaries, is the subject of the next chapter.

Notes * This chapter, especially the first section and the arguments, draws extensively on Andrew Cottey and Anthony Forster, ‘Reshaping Defence Diplomacy: New Roles for Military Cooperation and Assistance’, Adelphi Paper 365. However, the focus here is not on the dilemmas posed for defence diplomacy of reconciling old and new roles, but on the implications of new patterns and motivations of military cooperation for armed forces. 1. The significance of Nigeria’s military capabilities are illustrated by its withdrawal of the majority of its 12,000 forces from the ECOMOG force in Liberia and Sierra Leone, which contributed to the near-collapse of the UNAMSIL mission in 2000 and which led Nigeria to send forces back into Liberia in 2003 (Cottey and Forster, 2004: 63). 2. The idea of using the armed forces as a phrase ‘force for good’ was used by George Robertson, Secretary State for Defence at the 1997 Labour party conference (Dorman, 2004a: 239). 3. Since 1999 Cranfield University has also run two courses (an MSc. and a diploma) which introduce overseas officers and officials to the principles of defence diplomacy, and help them develop the skills needed to lead and run modern democratically accountable armed forces. 4. The three major types are British Military Advisory and Training Teams (BMATTs), British Military Missions (BMMs) and British Peace Support Teams (BPST). 5. Likewise a major UK initiative based in Ghana is focused on developing west African PSO capabilities. At the Ghanaian Staff College training is offered in

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peace support operations with half the students from other ECOWAS states. UK forces also contribute to the Kofi Annan International Peacekeeping Training Centre (KAIPTC). In line with the UK government’s philosophy of ‘African solution for African problems’ this is promoted as a regional centre of excellence, ‘. . . owned by the Ghanaians and providing a full range of both military and civilian PSO training at the operational level’ (Morris and McCoubrey, 1999; UK Foreign and Commonwealth Office, 2005). At its peak the centre is expected to train 2500 personnel per year. The UK is the major financial contributor providing £2.5 million of support this financial year. Other international donors include Germany, Canada, the Netherlands, France, and Italy (UK Foreign and Commonwealth Office, 2005). 6. The BPST is also supporting a Mine Action Centre for ‘humanitarian’ de-mining.

7 International Peacekeeping and European Armed Forces

In addition to the development of new non-operational roles for the armed forces in the area of military cooperation, the end of the Cold War has increasingly placed a spotlight on the involvement of the armed forces in military interventions premised at least officially on the maintenance of international peace and security, and only indirectly linked to traditional concepts of self-defence. The number of these tasks has grown dramatically over the last 15 years. Between 1988 and 1993 there were more such interventions than in the whole period from 1945 to 1987 (Bellamy, Williams and Griffin, 2003: 75). Since 1999 there have been 10 UN military missions (see Table 7.1), with the UN deploying 49,000 troops and civilians under its authority in mid-2004, ‘. . . a figure only briefly exceeded in the early 1990s’ (IISS, 2004: 13). Within this broader context, since the end of the Cold War, European states have doubled the numbers of troops deployed abroad and by 2004 EU states deployed 41,475 troops on international missions outside NATO countries (see Table 5.4) (Giegerich and Wallace, 2004: 179). In part these forces have contributed to not only UN missions, but also EU and NATO-led missions. Within the EU, the development first of a common foreign and security policy and since 1999 a European security and defence policy, and a commitment to peacekeeping and peacemaking tasks (the Petersberg tasks), has provided ‘framing and reframing of the policy space’ for legitimising military operations in Macedonia (2003), DRC (2003) and Bosnia-Herzegovina (BiH) (2004) (see Table 5.1) (Smith, 2003: 557). Likewise, the development of NATO’s new outof-area roles principally established through the 1991 new Alliance Strategic Concept and the 1999 Strategic Doctrine have led to NATO missions in BiH (1995), Kosovo (1999), Macedonia (1999), Albania 196

International Peacekeeping and European Armed Forces 197 Table 7.1 Selected UN, EU and NATO ‘Mandated’ Military Operations since 1999 Organisation and mission

Date/Duration

United Nations UNMIK UNAMSIL MONUC UNTAET UNMEE UNAMET (INTERFET) UNMIL UNOCI MINUSTAH ONUB

Jun. 1999 Oct. 1999 Nov. 1999 Oct. 1999 Jul. 2000 Jun. 1999 Sept. 2003 Apr. 2004 Jun. 2004 Jun. 2004

European Union Macedonia (FYROM) Operation Concordia Democratic Republic of Congo Operation Artémis, BiH Operation Althea,

Mar. 2003* Jun. 2003 Dec. 2004*

NATO BiH

Dec. 1995

Kosovo Operation Eagle Eye KFOR, Operation Allied Force, Kosovo

Nov. 1998 Jun. 1999–Dec. 2004*

Macedonia (FYROM) Operation Determined Guarantor Operation Essential harvest Operation Amber Fox Operation Allied Harmony

Dec.1999 Aug.–Sept. 2001. Sept. 2001–Dec. 2002 Dec. 2002–Mar. 2003*

Albania Operation Allied Harbour, Albania

Apr. 1999

Afghanistan ISAF (International Security Assistance Force)

Aug. 2003

Iraq

Jul. 2004

* EU forces took over from NATO forces.

(1999), Afghanistan (2003) and Iraq (2004) (EU, 2003; Gazzini, 2003: 249; Robertson, 2003; Missiroli, 2004). In parallel with their increased quantity, however, the nature of these operations has also developed a wide degree of variation since the end of the Cold War, with environments now ranging for instance from the politically and militarily stable to circumstances of ongoing conflict,

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and tasks extending from the monitoring of agreements already reached between parties, to the imposition of settlements determined from the outside. Alongside this, moreover, there has been a growing trend towards the use of the language of humanitarian intervention, which Mark Duffield points out has been accompanied by a merging of military and humanitarian policy instruments, complicating or, in the phrase of Alice Hills, ‘dissolving’ the boundaries between military and humanitarian intervention (Duffield, 2001: 126–128; Hills, 2003: 48).1 Analysis of this complex situation is itself highly complicated and often disputed. In part this relates to arguments as to whether military intervention of this type is, in the words of John Vincent, ‘. . . a discrete event, having a beginning and an end . . . aimed at the authority structure of the target state’ (Vincent, 1974: 3), or whether it is a longer-term and less discrete reflection of the structural power of western political economy and its institutions (not all interventions are military in nature) (Fetherston, 1994; Williams, 2001; Bellamy, 2003b: 329). However, nomenclature and its implications for conceptualisation are also hotly debated. On the one hand, as Richard Connaughton notes, ‘. . . there remains strong interest in describing all military activity short of general war as peacekeeping which is inaccurate and confusing’ (Connaughton, 2000: 46). At the same time, where analysts have adopted different categorisations to describe missions, these often reflect normative positions about what constitutes legitimate military intervention. Within this context, this chapter considers international peacekeeping as covering operational military deployments whether they are combat operations using deadly force, humanitarian in nature, or part of post-conflict reconstruction processes. Mindful of these complexities, this chapter focuses on the military aspects of intervention by European armed forces.2 Drawing on the work of Alex Bellamy, Paul Williams and Stuart Griffin, this chapter argues that four types of intervention may usefully be distinguished: first, traditional peacekeeping; second, managing transition (both of which fall under Chapter VI of the UN Charter); third, peace support (sometimes known as Chapter VI and a half missions); and fourth, peace enforcement operations (often referred to as Chapter VII missions) (Bellamy, Williams and Griffin, 2003).3 The chapter examines both the normative and the practical aspects of these tasks, looking in particular at three key civil–military relations issues: first the issue of how international missions are legitimised in European states and the part played within this by the UN and by regional European organisations; second this chapter goes on to consider the impact of these types of mission – the training, standards of behaviour and morale of armed forces personnel, arguing that they pose serious

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and growing challenges on which European armed forces differ considerably in addressing; and third the chapter reflects on the implications for the future of armed forces and society relations. This chapter argues that a new set of tasks have been assigned to armed forces over the last decade and a half. However, they fall well short of reflecting ‘. . . a fundamental shift from defense of the homeland to multinational peacekeeping and humanitarian missions’ as Charles Moskos argues (Moskos, 2000: 17). In addition, the context within which these missions take place is highly contested, raising doubts about a one-model-fits-all approach to understanding how and why these missions occur at all. As Chapter 5 has analysed, whilst Europe has the most complex network of security institutions in the world, these do not provide an obvious homogenising effect, with three distinct groups of states that approach the issue of international security missions in different ways. Finally, whatever the reasons underpinning international deployments, these missions pose significant challenges to armed forces and service personnel, which armed forces themselves are only just starting to grapple with.

Varieties of peacekeeping Traditional peacekeeping is conceptualised around three elements termed as: the ‘holy trinity’ based on consent of parties to the conflict; ‘impartiality’ (defined as a politically neutral role); and the ‘minimum use of force’, defined as the use of force only in self-defence (UN, 1992, 1996; White, 2001: 127). Peacekeeping missions of this nature typically involve consent-based operations such as monitoring ceasefire agreements between states and observer missions such as the UN force sent as part of a ceasefire between Eritrea and Ethiopia in 2001 (Barnett, 1995). Forces engaged on such tasks are usually lightly armed, report directly to the UN Secretary General’s representative and have four features in common: they investigate violations of agreements; undertake stabilising measures, for example, regarding disputed boundaries; defuse incidents; and communicate between parties (Laurence, 1999: 12). Tim Laurence argues, moreover, that traditional peacekeeping forces have ‘. . .little direct involvement with humanitarian organisations’ and are generally deployed to a ceasefire zone separate from their activities (Laurence, 1999: 13). A closely related form of mission is what Alex Bellamy, Paul Williams and Stuart Griffin term ‘managing transition’ operations (Bellamy, Williams and Griffin, 2003: 111). This principally takes place within states with the purpose of supporting a transition from war to peace (UK MoD, 2004c: 1–2).

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Sometimes referred to as peace reinforcement or multidimensional operations, the overt use of force is again minimal and these missions typically involve civil aspects of transition, for example election monitoring, or military aspects such as acting as a neutral barrier between parties to a conflict, and demilitarisation activities and military observers. These missions are usually based on the consent of the parties to the conflict (though this can be variable), and take place in the period after the cessation of hostilities and the signature of some form of political agreement, but before any final implementation and normalisation of political life. They are therefore based around external support for the implementation of an agreement already reached. The UN has undertaken a number of these missions in Angola, Cambodia, El Salvador Guatemala, Liberia, Namibia, Nicaragua and Sierra Leone. Along with traditional peacekeeping, managing transition, with some limited exceptions, comprises the majority of UN international security missions prior to the end of the Cold War, and authority for both falls under Chapter VI of the UN Charter. Although traditional peacekeeping missions – and indeed managing transition – have rarely been as ‘simple and straightforward’ as James Gow and Christopher Dandeker assert (Gow and Dandeker, 2001: 181), they are often initiated in more benign circumstances than most other types of military interventions. Managing transition tasks usually takes place through the direct authorisation of the UN Security Council (UNSC), for example in Bosnia-Herzegovina (until August 1995). Where they have taken place without UN authorisation they have been based on consent between warring parties, for example in Albania and Macedonia (Gazzini, 2003: 237; Di Blase, 1978).4 They usually involve peacekeepers using the minimum use of force in selfdefence. Indeed, only from 1956 did peacekeepers carry weapons and only from 1964 were they permitted to use force against those seeking to prevent them carrying out their functions (Laurence, 1999: 18, 33). Since the end of the Cold War, however, intervention missions have become considerably more complex, covering the whole spectrum of conflict, from peacekeeping tasks with the minimum use of force, through to peace enforcement operations that require high levels of violence, often including the imposition of a settlement from outside (Finnemore, 2003: vii; UK MoD, 2004c). Military operations in the latter category comprise peace enforcement missions which fall under Chapter VII of the UN Charter, and are characterised by the conspicuous absence of consent, impartiality and the minimum use of force. Where the presence of this ‘holy trinity’ is more ambiguous, however, there is what Connaughton terms a ‘grey zone’ of tasks lying between Chapter VI

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(traditional peacekeeping and managing transition) tasks and Chapter VII (peace enforcement) operations (Connaughton, 2000: 50). Within this grey zone are types of international security mission often described as ‘Chapter VI and a half operations’ (also termed ‘six and three quarters peacekeeping’; ‘wider peacekeeping’, ‘aggravated peacekeeping operations’ and ‘implementation or stabilisation operations’) (Clemons, 1993; Bothe, 1994; Abi-Saaab, 1995).5 Peace Support Operations/Chapter VI and a half missions occur within states rather than between states, often without the consent of the warring parties. The purpose of these missions is to try to maintain peace and stability in circumstances where attempts to broker ceasefires and peace agreements continue, but against a backdrop of ongoing violence. Often these missions are characterised by consent being granted and then removed, which often occurs at different levels within a zone of conflict (Bellamy, Williams and Griffin, 2003: 170; UK MoD, 2004c). Moreover, these missions frequently involve a wider purpose than traditional peacekeeping, although they bear some affinities with managing transition roles. Tasks include conflict prevention, demobilisation of belligerents and military assistance to civilian agencies. Although such missions are often undertaken with the explicit authority of the UN Security Council this is not always the case, for example the deployment of French forces in the Ivory Coast, UK forces in Sierra Leone and military action in Kosovo (Clemons, 1993; Bothe, 1994). Under peace enforcement/Chapter VII missions, external forces are deployed in circumstances of ongoing conflict, in order to impose an external settlement from outside and so maintain or restore international peace and security. The use of force and coercion is thus integral to such intervention missions, and the controlled use of force therefore extends well beyond self-defence to its active use in promoting particular outcomes. These are UN endorsed and between 1946 and 1999 there have been 190 occasions when this has occurred, with 166 (87%) taking place between 1990 and 1999 (Bellamy, Williams and Griffin, 2003: 147). An example since 1989 is the US-led but UN mandated Operation Desert Storm to remove Iraqi forces from Kuwait and restore its government (Gazzini, 2003: 257).6 Unsurprisingly, there are a number of inherent problems with international security missions that are neither traditional peacekeeping nor managing transition operations (Gazzini, 2003). Tim Laurence argues that one such challenge is that in practice the difference between Chapter VI and Chapter VII peace enforcement operations is often not clear-cut and actually coercion may be integral to both, while Tarcisio Gazzini illustrates this by arguing that in Kosovo consent was secured through

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military coercion which led to agreement from the FRY government to Operation Determine Guarantor and Operation Eagle Eye (Laurence, 1999: 67; Iribarnegaray, 2002: 14; Gazzini, 2003: 237). Closely connected with this are problems surrounding securing an appropriate mandate for missions and how interpretations of a mandate should operate, which further blurs any tidy distinctions (Österdahl, 2001). This is often problematic because of the rapidly changing circumstances in which forces are deployed, and increasing pressure for a change in mandate as consent breaks down and violence breaks out. In Rwanda in 1994 pressure to amend the mandate was resisted by members of the UNSC, and UNAMIR forces deployed under a Chapter VI mandate were eventually withdrawn (Gourevitch, 1998; Connaughton, 2001: 207). However, there have been circumstances where the UNSC has been willing to support ‘mixed mandate’ missions and to change the mandate from peacekeeping to peace enforcement. For example, between 1991 and 1994 the Security Council passed 83 resolutions on the Croatian and Bosnian wars with the UN mission moving from traditional peacekeeping to a Chapter VI and a half operation and ultimately to Chapter VII peace enforcement actions, with the imposition of a settlement on the belligerents (Bellamy, Williams and Griffin, 2003: 130). Changing mandates certainly complicate how participating states interpret and implement a mandate. For example, in Bosnia-Herzegovina, SFOR broadened its mandate to include protection to returning refugees, but Russian and Italian peacekeepers did not provide this protection for fear of reprisals (Bellamy, Williams and Griffin, 2003: 175). Likewise the German government refused to allow their naval forces to participate in the November 1992 Security Council-endorsed measures that involved the use of force in enforcing the sea blockage of Bosnia-Herzegovina (Operation Sharp Guard), and when the mandate was extended to SFRY territorial waters, the Greek government withdrew its forces (Gazzini, 2003: 234). In addition the exact circumstances in which force can be used are specified in ‘rules of engagement’. However, often in response to a changing mandate, rules of engagement need to be toughened and widened especially where the mission moves away from traditional peacekeeping. Service personnel may thus need to change from the passive use of force in self-protection to the active use of force in a wider range of tasks. In Bosnia-Herzegovina for instance, in contrast to SFOR, the subsequently created IFOR (1996–2004) deployed with ‘robust’ rules of engagement and heavy armour (Durward, 2001: 50). Indeed, as Edward Luttwak argues, the rules of engagement have become a central issue in defining how national governments view a conflict. In this respect

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some European armed forces, notably the French and UK armed forces, are cited as having a tradition of a more aggressive approach in using force in fulfilling their mandate, than others such as the Swedish armed forces (Laurence, 1999: 67; Gow and Dandeker, 2001: 190). Where forces have operated alongside each other without a common set of rules of engagement, this has created real difficulties of consistently implementing the mandate. For example, the Italian government refused to allow its aircraft to be used in non-defensive operations or above the 44th parallel in the Bosnian conflict (Gazzini, 2003: 244). Chapter VI and a half along with Chapter VII missions also raise a number of difficulties as regards the issue of impartiality. It is often very difficult to maintain impartiality if one party to the conflict is harder to influence than another, but perhaps above all where one side is persistently in breach of a mandate.7 Associated developments may also affect perceptions, as in the case of the EU’s September 1991 decision to recognise seceding Yugoslav republics, which brought the impartiality of UNPROFOR into question in Serb communities (Gordon, 2001b: 227). In addition, the fact that such missions often result in the creation of political and security institutions inevitably draws the armed forces into negotiating with political leaders. For example, British armed forces in Sierra Leone were criticised for links with Major Johnny Paul Koroma, who overthrew the Kabbah government in 1997. Koroma’s political party and fighters in the Armed Forces Revolutionary Council were brought into the political process because Koroma renounced violence, though he was subsequently indicted for war crimes (BBC News Online, 2003c). In Bosnia-Herzegovina, tasks of the armed forces have included apprehending war crimes indictees and managing refugee returns, as well as providing training assistance to local police and military forces (Edmunds, 2004). A further complicating factor is the way definitions of impartiality have evolved. Traditionally, impartiality was seen as political neutrality and abstention. However, Hugo Slim argues that a more robust interpretation has developed, ‘. . . Impartiality in this harder form rejects the idea of abstention in the face of human-rights abuses and might therefore be summed up as impartiality to persons but partiality to actions’ (Slim, 2001: 135). The effect is often to place armed forces in a more overtly partisan political role.

Legitimising intervention The changing nature of peacekeeping operations since the end of the Cold War poses significant challenges in terms of how such missions

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are legitimised by European governments and their parliaments and societies, particularly given the move away from a consent-based approach to intervention, to one that does not necessarily require the approval of the parties to a conflict (Finnemore, 2003; Gazzini, 2003; Thym, 2004). In no European state does the constitution expressly prohibit or allow operations outside national boundaries (Stein, 2002: 34). Belgium, Denmark, Finland, Germany, Hungary, Ireland and Sweden all require parliamentary assent for participation in peacekeeping and peace enforcement missions, whilst most other European states to varying degrees locate this responsibility with the political executive, with the UK government having some of the strongest powers vested in the government, which can declare war and deploy forces under crown prerogative powers which legally do not require parliamentary approval (Stein, 2002: 37; Barder, 2004; Thym, 2004: 14). However, a key variable which has emerged in legitimating the use of force in international security missions is the degree to which the UN Security Council is viewed as the authority in determining where and under what circumstances military intervention should take place. On this issue, European governments fall into three groups: those governments that will under no circumstances participate in peacekeeping operations of all forms without UN authorisation; those that are willing to act unilaterally in this area; and those that would prefer to operate with UN approval, but which will in exceptional circumstances operate without its authorisation.8 For a first group of ‘Westphalian’ states, no military intervention beyond state boundaries is legitimate without the explicit authority of UN and the agreement of the parties concerned.9 This statist view of intervention is based on the centrality of state security, the inviolate nature of a state’s authority and borders and the authority of the state (Paris, 2003: 444), and in practice for these states intervention should be limited to traditional peacekeeping and managing transition tasks based on consent. Specifically, the arguments of this group are that without the UN as the arbiter of the circumstances in which military intervention should take place, decisions are less likely to be made on the basis of universal rights and obligations, though specific concerns vary quite widely (Roberts, 2003: 42). Some fear intervention will rest on leaders’ views about responsibility to their citizens and the geopolitical costs and benefits of taking action (Ramsbotham and Woodhouse, 1996; Bellamy, 2003b: 338). In the words of Connaughton ‘. . . every future aggressor [will become] a judge in his own cause’ (Connaughton, 2000: 74). Others fear that a humanitarian justification will be used to validate the use of violence to pursue the interests of the rich against weaker states, what

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Noam Chomsky terms ‘new military humanism’ (Booth, 1994; Chomsky, 1999; Ignatieff, 2001). A ‘Westphalian’ viewpoint has been particularly promoted by the Russian government (except concerning its own actions in the Commonwealth of Independent States) SFRY and the four EU postneutral states (Austria, Finland, Ireland and Sweden) and Switzerland which have opposed intervention without UN authority (Gazzini, 2003: 238, 250; Bergman, 2004: 176).10 This position has most comprehensively been articulated in the Swiss Report on Neutrality in Practice (RNP) published in 2000, in which it referred to NATO’s intervention in Kosovo without the explicit authorisation of the UN, and led to a Swiss refusal to allow NATO access to its airspace. It stated that ‘as a neutral country, Switzerland will only support future military measures by the international community if these measures are in compliance with the valid provisions of generally recognised international law . . .’ (Swiss Federal Department of Foreign Affairs, 2000). For a second group of ‘post-Westphalians’ states, of which the most prominent are the United Kingdom and France, but which also includes Denmark and Poland, the inviolability of state borders and centrality of consent should be put aside if circumstances require action from outside (Bellamy, 2003: 334; Wheeler, 2000).11 In June 1998 the UN Secretary General advanced the idea that state frontiers ‘. . . should no longer be seen as watertight protection for war criminals or mass murderers. The fact that a conflict is “internal” does not give the parties any right to disregard the most basic rules of human conduct’ (Connaughton, 2000: 74). In 1999 in his Doctrine of the International Community the British Prime Minister further developed these points by arguing there is an obligation on the international community to prevent genocide and ethnic cleansing and set out five ‘tests’ to determine when and whether to intervene where ‘values’ rather than territorial ambitions were involved (Blair, 1999; Daalder and O’Hanlon, 1999).12 The Danish government’s position set out by the Minister of Foreign Affairs in 2000 is ‘. . . that there are strong moral arguments in favour of the legitimacy of humanitarian intervention without a Security Council mandate, namely in cases where the most serious crimes against individuals take place and the Security Council is blocked’ (Helveg Petersen, 2000: 2). This group of ‘post-Westphalians’ states have therefore been willing to deploy military force without explicit UN approval and have done so on quite a frequent basis over the last decade. Examples of recent such international security missions include the British deployment of forces in a peace enforcement role outside UN control in Sierra Leone,

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Operation Allied Force in Kosovo in 1999, Operation Veritas in Afghanistan in 2002 and Operation Telic in Iraq in 2003–2004, alongside Danish (naval) and Polish forces. Within this group the French and UK governments have the further advantage that they can either veto resolutions or indicate they will use their veto to prevent Security Council sanction. However, given the willingness of these governments to operate without UNSC approval in general they would rather avoid seeking a UNSC mandate than to run the risk of attempting to secure a mandate and failing.13 However, in most instances where failure to secure a resolution is likely, governments prefer to claim that action is authorised under previous resolutions and though they claim humanitarian interventions are exceptional, their willingness to undertake these types of missions is well established (Gazzini, 2003: 238). In a third grouping of solidarist states, European governments generally accept the ‘post-Westphalian’ argument concerning the need to intervene in situations within as well as between states and have generally embraced and promoted the need for intervention on humanitarian grounds (Wheeler, 1997; Bergman, 2004: 176). However, this group of states has a strong preference to see the UNSC as the final arbiter of when and where intervention is legitimate and to seek UN authority whenever possible. Almost all European states refused to participate in the US-led invasion of Iraq because this action was not seen as a legitimate action explicitly sanctioned and authorised by the UNSC. This group have also generally been reluctant to allow NATO and the EU to be used for non-UN authorised missions and where this has occurred many governments have disassociated themselves from decisions and exempted themselves from missions.14 Likewise these states have often only engaged in military deployments as part of post-conflict reconstruction, once missions have been taken under the umbrella of the UN and associated with it. This was the case in ISAF in Afghanistan in 2003 (Gazzini, 2003: 261), the EU’s mission in the DRC in 2003 and after some delay in Iraq in 2004 (Bellamy, Williams and Griffin, 2003: 223; Roberts, 2003: 53). However, NATO’s intervention in Kosovo in 1999 which took place without an explicit UNSC authorisation requires some comment, since a number of states in this solidarist group participated in this mission. Here the Belgian, German, Italian and Greek governments were very hesitant about endorsing and participating in Operation Allied Force, for fear of the precedent this would set in terms of justifying any intervention on humanitarian grounds and thus sidestepping UN Security Council authority (Caplan, 2001). As Nicholas Wheeler comments, for these states, Kosovo should genuinely be viewed as an exceptional

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humanitarian case, which does not set a precedent for future action outside the authority of the Security Council (Wheeler, 2001: 118). Much of the conceptual difference between the second and the third groups revolves around two issues. First the nature and frequency of exceptionalism and second whether missions have been explicitly or implicitly endorsed by the UN, the latter of which is inevitably a matter of interpretation. In terms of the mandate issue, states in the ‘postWestphalian’ group seem generally less concerned by the absence of a UN Security Council resolution and more willing to claim a greater authority for preserving international security as the justification for intervention. These states have also been more willing to claim that action is authorised under previous resolutions – what Adam Roberts calls ‘continuing authority’ and Christine Gray calls ‘implied consent’ (Gray, 2000: 191; Roberts, 2003: 51).15 By contrast European governments in the solidarist group hold to the notion that where there is no UNSC resolution there should be no intervention. However, this presents some practical policy challenges for solidarist states that want to participate in operations which have not received formal authorisation. Rather than discard its commitment to the authority of the UN, the Belgian government (which provided troops and led one of the five NATO task forces) preferred to claim the legal base for intervention in Kosovo in 1999 as the 1998 Security Council Resolution 1203 which was sufficient to legitimate action (Gazzini, 2003: 238; Weller, 1996); likewise, some solidarist states argued that NATO’s Operation Deliberate Force in Bosnia-Herzegovina in 1995 was mandated under an existing Resolution 836 rather than accept that it was an unauthorised action (Weller, 1996: 161).16 To what extent this becomes a frequent rather than an exceptional occurrence will determine whether specific governments move from solidarist to the ‘post-Westphalian’ group as has Denmark.17 Notwithstanding these variations in position on the role of the UN Security Council as a source of legitimacy for military interventions, however, a major practical challenge faced by the UN has been its lack of any military units capable of immediate deployment and answerable to the UN Secretary General. The UN has responded to this in two ways: first by the development of a peacekeeping capability and second by the ‘authorisation practice’ which limits Security Council control of the operations to the initial authorisation of the use of force. To remedy the absence of forces readily available to the UNSC, an initiative was launched in 1996 by Canada, Austria, Denmark, Netherlands, Norway, Poland and Sweden to provide the UN with a standing force.18 In January 2000, the UN declared operational a Stand-by High Readiness Brigade (SHIRBRIG)

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comprising a dedicated military unit capable of being deployed within 30 days under the auspices of the UN for up to 6 months. Of the 21 states that are members of or associated with this initiative 16 are European, giving this force a strongly European character.19 Deployments were initially envisioned under Chapter VI of the Charter (traditional peacekeeping), and it was SHIRBRIG which was deployed in the United Nations Mission in Ethiopia and Eritrea (UNMEE). However, in December 2002 it was agreed in principle that Chapter VII (peace enforcement) missions could also be undertaken by SHIRBRIG, though no operations of this type have yet taken place and as Alan Ryan notes ‘. . . this agreement remains a long way from constituting a positive commitment to such missions’ (Ryan, 2004: 75).20 The UN has not historically had the resources or the military command structures to conduct peacekeeping operations in their various forms. However, SHIRBRIG now provides an HQ (located at Høvelte Barracks) in Denmark, with a planning permanent multinational military staff composed of some 15 officers from full member countries. The staff form the nucleus of the brigade HQ which is augmented by non-permanent staff from nations participating in specific missions. It is developing shared standing operating procedures, carrying out operational preparations for deployment, and conducts training of the SHIRBRIG staff and unit commanders. As Giegerich and Wallace argue, this might enhance the role of the UN and lead to circumstances when the French and UK forces are not the first in and the first out, in part because other European states need a longer lead-in time (Cheeseman and Elliott, 2004: 280; Giegerich and Wallace, 2004: 176). In terms of the second issue of the ‘authorisation practice’ through which the UNSC provides initial authorisation of the use of force but not the control of it, the future is even more uncertain. Through Article 53, the UN Charter permits regional security organisations to undertake measures on behalf of the UNSC and under the authorisation principle, and many take place as UN-authorised rather than UN-run missions, based either on pivotal states or through specific and general sub-contracting tasks to regional organisations (Gordon, 2001a: 19; Gazzini, 2003: 254). The use of regional organisations has for instance involved the Commonwealth of Independent States in Georgia and Tajikistan, OAS in Chad from 1981 to 1982, and ECOWAS in Liberia from 1990 (Wessel, 2003: 280). The UN has also shared authority between itself and regional organisations. Perhaps the best-known example of a shared operation relates to UNPROFOR and the so-called ‘dual key’ arrangement which operated up to 1995 in Bosnia-Herzegovina. NATO forces provided air support

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authorised by the UN Secretary General but with political and operational authority exercised by the NAC (Gazzini, 2003: 235). However, the differences in approach between European states concerning the role of military forces and the nature of legitimacy play out in regional organisations and it is to this issue which the next section now turns.

The role of European regional organisations In the Washington Treaty establishing the Transatlantic Alliance, reference is made to the UN Charter, but it is only since the end of the Cold War and a growth in the willingness of NATO to operate beyond the boundaries of its member states, that the issue of whether UN approval is required for its operations without host nation consent has come to the fore. There is considerable legal debate concerning the extent to which NATO is a regional organisation and de jure can undertake delegated missions on behalf of the UN, though even without a formal article or declaration within the Washington Treaty Gazzini argues it has de facto acted as a regional organisation, both in the autonomous performance of enforcement activities and through its utilisation by the UNSC (Gazzini, 2003: 247–251). There is also a widespread view in NATO that traditional peacekeeping and managing transition tasks do not require UN approval, since this can take place under Chapter VIII of the UN Charter, which endorses the peaceful settlement of disputes at a regional level (Durward, 2001: 52). This means that the most contested issue is the extent to which Chapter VI and a half missions/peace support operations require UN authority where host nation consent is absent. NATO’s 1993 Athens Report stated ‘. . . the basis for any mission is a clear and precise mandate of the UN or the CSCE [sic], developed through consultations with contributing States and organisations and/ or interested parties . . . In all types of operations, the extent to which force can be used needs to be clearly identified either in the mandate or in terms of the reference’ (Durward, 2001: 51). However, consecutive US administrations have been keen to loosen the Athens Report constraints. The Clinton administration, for example, argued that there was a need to distinguish between Chapter VI and a half operations where the purpose is humanitarian objectives and would not require authorisation, and Chapter VII peace enforcement missions, where the purpose was enforcement of outcomes which would require authorisation. For Rosemary Durward the purpose of this position is to widen US discretion and to weaken reliance on the UNSC (Durward, 2001: 51).

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Nevertheless, it is certainly the case that NATO governments prefer to operate with the express authority of the UN Security Council before a deployment, and did so prior to launching the ISAF mission in Afghanistan in 2003. In addition, where this has not been forthcoming, NATO has generally tried to operate in the spirit of the UN Charter, by seeking post hoc UN approval for or association with its actions. For example, when NATO states wanted to deploy a military force (Operation Allied Force) in Kosovo in 1998–9 on the grounds of preventing Serb ethnic cleansing, they sought a Security Council resolution authorising the use of force. The Russian and Chinese governments supported three Chapter VII Resolutions – 1160, 1199 and 1203 – which variously defined Yugoslav actions in Kosovo as a threat to peace and named Serb human rights abuses against Kosovar Albanians, although in the event the Security Council did not explicitly authorise the use of force. Despite this, NATO did deploy a force in March 1999 on the grounds of impending human catastrophe and at the end of the war sought post hoc legitimation through Resolution 1244 (Bellamy, Williams and Griffin, 2003: 221).21 At the same time, even the existence of a UN resolution is not always sufficient to persuade NATO to act as an organisation, and in such circumstances where there has been insufficient support for using NATO structures, governments have been forced to use ‘coalitions of the willing’ on a caseby-case basis. For example, with support from the Turkish government the US, Britain and France from 1991 imposed no-fly zones on Iraq as authorised in Security Council Resolution 688. Likewise in 2003 US, Australian, British and Polish forces (with Danish participation) launched Operation Enduring Freedom/Telic to remove Saddam from power in Iraq (Missiroli, 2004: 29). Whilst NATO support for this mission was vigorously debated, the absence of an explicit UN mandate sanctioning the use of force meant that the Belgian, German and French governments prevented NATO structures from being used in the combat phase prior to a UN resolution (Roberts, 2003: 49).22 As Gazzini notes, international security missions beyond the territory of its member states requires a decision by all its member states, or as a minimum not opposed by them and each remains free to participate as they see fit (Gazzini, 2003: 262). As regards the EU, its Global Crisis Management Strategy identifies an international order based on effective multilateralism as one of its three key priorities. In particular a key mission is ‘strengthening the United Nations, equipping it to fulfil its responsibilities and to act effectively’ (EU, 2003: 14). From the outset the centrality of UN Security Council approval has therefore been built into the rules governing EU military

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action, although in practice the EU has only very recently developed a military capability and has only undertaken three military missions since 2003 (see Table 5.1 and 7.2). First, on the basis of UN Resolution 1371 and by letter of invitation from President Trajkovski, the EU deployed 350 troops in Macedonia from March to December 2003 in

Table 7.2 Use of Military Forces by European Regional Organisations and UN approval UN Security Council Approval

Formal Post hoc UN Approval1

Informal Post hoc Approval2

European Union Missions Peacekeeping Macedonia (FYROM) 2003 Dem. Republic of Congo, 2003 BiH, 2004

Yes (1345) Yes (1484) Yes

NA NA NA

NA NA NA

Post conflict stability Croatia, 1996–. BiH, 1996–. Kosovo, 1999–. BiH, 2004–

No Yes (1144/1088)3 No Yes

Yes (1145) NA Yes (1244)4 NA

NA NA NA NA

Yes (1031)

NA

NA

Post conflict stability BiH, 1995–. Kosovo, 1999–. Macedonia, 1999–2003. Afghanistan, 2003–. Iraq 2004–.

Yes (1031) Yes (1244) No Yes (1510) No

NA NA Yes (1371) NA Yes3

NA NA NA NA NA

Peace enforcement Kosovo, 1999.

No

Yes (1371)

NA

Missions

Peace enforcement No operations as of 1 Jan. 2005 NATO Missions Peacekeeping BiH (no fly zone; implementation of parts of Dayton Agreement air protection UNPROFOR).

1. Through reference to UN Security Council resolutions and attempts to operate under UN umbrella. 2. No UN Security Council veto of actions or UN follow-on association with a mission. 3. EU not named, but members called to act so can be considered informal approval. 4. Since July 2004.

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Operation Concordia. Second, in Operation Artémis the EU deployed 1850 troops to the Congo at the request of the UN (Resolution 1484) and operated alongside the UN-led MONUC mission (Borchert and Eggenburger, 2003: 1). This involved contributions from 13 EU states and was led by a French contingent. Third, in December 2004 the EU took over the mission in Bosnia-Herzegovina (Operation Althea) with 7000 troops under operational command from 22 EU states and 11 non-EU contributing to this mission. In terms of the types of military mission, prior to December 2003, the evidence suggested that there was a strong caucus of EU governments unwilling to permit the EU to run a Chapter VI and a half or Chapter VII operation without UN authority. However, as Fernanda Faria argues, out of the experience of Operation Artémis ‘. . . it is now more likely that the EU will engage in peacekeeping operations, and perhaps also in peace enforcement, particularly in situations where humanitarian needs are pressing and/or the risks of an outbreak of conflict or escalation are very high, with potentially even higher costs to European nations’ (Faria, 2004: 49). To some extent the EU has created legitimacy as a regional security organisation for these type of missions, though Alex Bellamy argues recent events in Darfur suggest otherwise (Kohler-Koch, 1997, 2000; Mörth, 2000; Smith, 2003: 571). In terms of the OSCE position, whilst the OSCE does not have a treaty base on which to mandate action, its size – encompassing as it does almost all European states – and the fact that it is a designated regional organisation within the UN Charter, have created some legitimacy for intervention missions (Cottey, 2001; Durward, 2001: 54). The 1999 OSCE Charter on European Security states that in the event of a threat to sovereignty, territorial integrity or political independence of any state, and in the case of an internal breakdown of law and order, member states shall ensure that the presence of foreign troops on the territory of a participating state is in conformity with international law, the freely expressed consent of the host State, or a relevant decision of the UN Security Council (OSCE, 1999). Although in 1999 the OSCE committed itself to the possibility of peacekeeping operations where member states approved, this has not yet happened, and in the interim the OSCE has focused on post-conflict rehabilitation, democratisation, and human rights and election monitoring, thus sidestepping some of the difficult issues faced by the EU and NATO. Nonetheless, for some like Vladimir Socor the OSCE, ‘. . . shrinking in scope and haunted by irrelevance, aims to survive as an international institution by finding new work. Authorization to issue peacekeeping mandates and oversee peacekeeping or post-conflict stabilization operations could be a godsend to this organization’ (Socor,

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2004).23 The challenge, as Socor points out concerning debates on whether OSCE should endorse a peacekeeping force in Moldova, is that the Russian government has been willing to accept this change on its own terms and has therefore been keen to avoid OSCE being used for what Putin sees as western strategic interests (IISS, 2004: 126; Socor, 2004). As Chapter 5 argues, NATO’s PfP and development of a NATO Response Force, along with the EU’s development of a European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP) and creation of battle groups, are encouraging European states to contribute to power projection and thus to peacekeeping missions in their various forms by these organisations. However differing attitudes to how such missions are legitimised continue to shape the part played by these organisations. Within Europe it is clear that a dilemma, as Adam Roberts notes, is that ‘.. . there is an urgent need to for governments (including within NATO) to make a serious effort to reach a necessary minimum understanding on key developments and principles regarding the legitimacy of the use of force’ (Roberts, 2003: 51). For some governments the use of regional organisations is a means of avoiding criticism for the unilateral pursuit of national interests and of ensuring that international partners are implicated either directly as participants or indirectly through endorsement of an operation such as a NATO, EU or OSCE mission. This is especially valuable for missions such as Operation Artémis where, given the criticism attracted by the previous French intervention in Rwanda in 1994, the French government preferred to operate alongside partners under an EU rather than French banner (Gourevitch, 1998; Faria, 2004: 41). For other post-neutral states such as Austria, Ireland and Sweden, participation in regional international security missions has provided a new opportunity for more activist foreign and security policy. It has also provided a new context if not a new raison d’être for armed forces.24 Similarly a number of non-EU states have participated in EU missions, notably Bulgaria, Hungary, Iceland, Lithuania, Norway, Poland, Romania, Slovenia and Turkey participated in Operation Concordia and have seen participation as a keen means of promoting their claims to membership of NATO and the EU (see Table 5.1). However, in addition to the generic problems identified in relation to the issue of UN authorisation, regional international security missions also pose a number of specific challenges for decision-making and the conduct of operations. First, in European regional organisations some states have more influence than others, for example the US in NATO, Russia in OSCE, and France, Germany and Britain in the EU. These states have the resources to undertake missions that are predominantly

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national in nature, by taking a pivotal role or shaping the framework for action, whilst securing the endorsement of specific missions in the name of a multilateral organisation. For example, France, Germany and the UK provide 38,000 troops, some 57% of the pledged EU forces, and are the only European states with permanent joint force HQ capable of running a major military operation; despite the contribution of 17 European states, Operation Artémis, the EU mission to Congo, was predominantly a French mission (Faria, 2004: 49); while the NATO mission Operation Allied Force from March to June 1999 in Kosovo was led and dominated by the Americans in terms of political-military strategy. There is therefore an awareness amongst states still capable of autonomy of both the unilateral and the multilateral capacity for action. Jacques Norlain cites one French general who has argued that ‘The implementation of exclusively French actions must not be discarded . . . the targeted objectives can be missed because of dependence on a third-party country whose concerns are different from France’s’ (Norlain, 2003: 96). Likewise, some anxiety exists amongst smaller European states that only those European governments with framework state potential (France, Germany, Italy, Russia, Spain and the UK) will be able to act as pivotal states, around which others will have to adapt and which in part explains the motivations of smaller states to participate in SHIRBRIG.25 Nevertheless, whilst smaller states cannot undertake major operational missions on their own without support from major powers, all governments whatever their size and influence can at least in theory exercise a veto on the organisation being used for missions for which they do not approve, with the defiance of a number of NATO members including Belgium, France and Germany over Iraq in the spring of 2003 leading to intervention only by a coalition of the willing (Gazzini, 2003: 262). When they act together this places the solidarist states in NATO in a pivotal position, in shaping whether it is used for international security missions, but without any clear agreement on the political and legal aspects of this.26 In practice, states that have been in a minority of one have abstained rather than exercised a veto. For example, the Greek government preferred to abstain from NAC decisions on Sarajevo and Goradze in 1994 and to disassociate Greece from the decisions rather than veto an NAC decision (Cannizzaro, 1995: 61). Likewise, concerning air strikes in SFRY Greece disassociated itself from, but did not oppose NAC decisions (Gazzini, 2003: 235). Second, decision-making is often far slower in multilateral institutions than in coalitions of the willing formed into a ‘framework state’ which provides the HQ, core of forces, and operational logistics around

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which troops from other states are added (Greco, 1998; W. Clark, 2001). Experience suggests that it is often quicker for states that have the ability to launch operations to secure a direct mandate from the Security Council for a UN-endorsed force and then to seek other contributing nations, than to operate through regional organisations alone. The French military argued for instance with respect to the deployment of forces to Bunia in the Democratic Republic of Congo under Operation Artémis that ‘. . . the decision-making process within the EU would drag out the effective launching of the operation, which needed to be rapid and for which they were already prepared’ (Faria, 2004: 41). Likewise the Italian government made a serious attempt – albeit one which failed – to take the lead in running a mission in Albania under the auspices of the WEU and in the end undertook this initially outside the WEU. There is therefore often a ‘cost’ to multilateralism in terms of consultation. Third, there has been concern in regional organisations especially over ‘grey area’ Chapter VI and a half and peace enforcement Chapter VII operations, on the issue of developing common rules of engagement. This was solved in Operation Artémis by creating a multinational HQ which was much more representative of EU states than the troops on the ground, of which 85% were French, using a single set of rules of engagement (Faria, 2004: 42–43). In Sierra Leone the British government preferred its military forces to operate outside regional organisational (and UN) frameworks but within the spirit of the UN mandate. This allowed them to maximise freedom of manoeuvre in terms of specific missions and rules of engagement which extended well beyond Chapter VI ‘self-defence’ and Chapter VII ‘use of force when necessary’, to authorise offensive operations to seek and destroy the enemy (Stevenson, 2003: 153). However, there are examples of where the dual deployment of UN and non-UN forces can undermine international peace. For instance, in Afghanistan, the German government contributed 900 troops to the ISAF mission, but insisted they should have no contact with the US forces undertaking Operation Enduring Freedom, a separate mission to track down members of the Taliban and al-Qaeda, thus complicating the objectives of the international mission and command and control issues for the military forces ‘in country’.27 In Cote D’Ivoire France’s Operation Li Corne troops operated independently of the 6240 UNOCI forces with UN authorisation under UNSCR 1527. A related issue is that of operational control. One key point here is the difference between a UN force where the UN has direct operational control, and a UN authorised force where control is exercised by a

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member state or regional organisation that reports to the Security Council (Sarooshi, 1999). In benign contexts such as traditional peacekeeping and managing transition tasks, operational control may not present a problem, but where lives of service personnel are at risk many commanders prefer to take their orders from their own governments rather than the UN commander, the Special Representative of the Secretary General, or the Secretary General himself. This was particularly the case in Bosnia, for example, when the Russian commander refused the orders of the UN commander General Briquement to move forces in eastern Slavonia to Sarajevo without approval from Moscow (Connaughton, 2001: 206; Gow and Dandeker, 2001: 193).

The impact on armed forces Clearly international security missions pose a number of questions for militaries across Europe at an institutional level, particularly in terms of legitimacy for operations, the place of impartiality, and procedures for cooperation in regional organisations. They also carry important implications for force structures as well as planning assumptions and future deployments, with an impact in the areas of training, behaviour and morale (Kaldor, 2000: 130; Elliott and Cheeseman, 2004: 3; Giegerich and Wallace, 2004: 165). Responses to these challenges vary. As regards the training of armed forces for international security missions, it is clearly increasingly difficult to prepare armed forces for the range of tasks they now face across the full range of the spectrum of conflict. In particular, however, Chapter VI and a half and Chapter VII missions typically place great emphasis on the quality of military forces as well as the mandate, and in this regard General Hagglünd argues that where consent does not exist ‘. . . it requires different forces and a completely different concept. An intention to deter and enforce requires forces that are as frightening as possible’ (Connaughton, 2001: 208). In the absence of consent, the military culture and ethos of military forces is thus especially important. Whether this makes conscript forces unusable is fiercely debated. In Srebrenica where Dutch forces were conscriptbased, Martin Bell considered them ‘. . . ill prepared for the hardships of Srebrenica . . . but there was also surely a loss of nerve which would not have, or should not have, occurred in a professional battalion disciplined in the tradition of soldiering in adversity’ (cited in Connaughton, 2001: 208).28 In tackling these issues there are those governments and armed forces which believe that a war-fighting capability is essential for good

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peacekeeping. The most vocal advocate of this position is the UK military, where the view is that, in the words of the former Chief of Defence Staff Charles Guthrie, ‘. . . capabilities based on war-fighting will give us the ability to contribute to other types of operation – the reverse is not true’ (Guthrie, 2001). Interestingly, a large part of the motivation behind this position is negative, based on a fear that, as Guthrie also put it, ‘. . . we must ensure that peace support does not lead to . . . an inability to execute operations toward the high intensity war fighting end of the spectrum when called upon to do so . . .’ (Guthrie, 2001). For military commanders in the UK armed forces, this purpose ‘. . . is predicated on the continuing utilisation of physical force’ and offensive action which remain the cornerstone of the Expeditionary Warfare model of armed forces, and which has informed the UK’s drafting of new NATO doctrine in this area (Hills, 2003: 56).29 In some militaries, notably in Denmark, international peacekeeping is now conceptualised to include high intensity war-fighting and renders the zero sum nature of the UK debate less relevant (Viggo Jakobsen, 2005). However, in few states, perhaps with exception of Denmark and Germany, there is a national debate concerning the type of personnel and the balance of training required for international security missions. For other states, notably Finland, Ireland and Sweden, peace enforcement is part of the EU Petersberg tasks, but is not planned for, and the discourse surrounding ‘kindly soldiers’ has no resonance in shaping military training where the focus is on negotiating and interpersonal skills. Eva Johansson and Gerry Larsson (and Betts Fetherston before them) argue that peacekeepers should not only be trained for combat situations ‘. . . but civilian skills such as conflict resolution and negotiations, cross-cultural relations, and restraint in application of the use of forces, should be emphasised – a position expressed by many Swedish soldiers serving in BiH’ (Fetherston, 1998; Johansson and Larsson, 2001: 73). In this respect, conscript forces may be more likely to have this skill-set than ‘. . . professional forces who are mainly trained for combat’ (Johansson and Larsson, 2001: 73). Closely connected with the issue of training is the impact of international security missions on the behaviour and morale of individual members of the armed forces. Here, a number of factors are becoming increasingly important as both the frequency, range of operations and their duration increase. In particular, as events in Iraq have demonstrated deployment of military forces inevitably raises ethical and moral questions for individual service personnel, especially in transition periods between combat and peace (Dallaire, 2004: 515). Ted van

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Baarda argues that these centre around six concerns: the value system of the international community and whom the peacekeeper is meant to represent; the role and difficulty in practice of maintaining neutrality and impartiality; the link between humanitarian and military mandates, which often overlap posing profound problems; conflicts which stem from contradictions within the moral codes of the military, typically between force protection and execution of the mission; the mismatch between the mission as it unfolds on the ground and the mandate; and finally the possibility that combat and fatigue can cause peacekeepers to lose their moral direction and commit serious crimes (van Baarda, 2004). A Belgian Petty officer in the UNOSOM mission in Somalia for instance ‘. . . collected a fourteen-year-old Somali girl from the street and “gave” her as a birthday present to a colleague at the base, where she was raped. In these cases the fog of war has impaired the ability of peacekeepers to make proper moral judgments’ (van Baarda, 2004). Quite apart from this, many international security missions take place in circumstances of human rights violations and genocide and yet individual service personnel are limited in what actions they may take both by their mandate and by their rules of engagement (Basham, 2004; Hills, 2005). In the Netherlands the commanding officer of Dutch troops sent to protect Srebrenica, Colonel Karremans, has been vilified by the Dutch public for the failure of Dutch UN troops to protect the Moslem population against deportation and mass murder by the Bosnian Serbs (van Baarda, 2004). In Iraq it was reported by the Human Rights Watch ‘. . . that a Christian woman begged British soldiers for protection after religious militia threatened to kill her: “Tell her it’s not our jurisdiction,” they said’ (The Economist, 2003 cited in Hills, 2005: 191). In many international security missions, as Alice Hills argues, the nature of what constitutes the mission and how to conduct it is more problematic as well as the moral and ethical issues involved (Hills, 2005: 191). A linked question is that of the psychological implications of international peacekeeping missions, where there is evidence to suggest that the impact on service personnel is significant (Johansson and Larsson, 2001: 64; Kümmel, 2003: 155; Beaumont, 2004).30 As noted in Chapter 4, for example, in the UK service personnel have claimed poor preparation for the trauma of operations (Lee, 2003). In particular Clare Dyer and Sarah Boseley comment on a failure to pick up and treat signs of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and a macho culture in the armed forces where ‘psychological problems were seen as a sign of weakness and personnel were reluctant to report them for fear of damaging their

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careers’ (cited in Dyer and Boseley, 2003; Goldenberg, 2004). Alongside this many criticise the absence of strategies ‘. . . to ease the path of those affected back into civilian life’ (Dyer and Boseley, 2003). Indeed one analyst has argued that ‘. . . the soldiers are hung out to dry, where instead they should be offered help when they come back from a horrific war distressed and unwell’ (Hamilton, 2003). Johansson and Larsson’s research suggests that confidence in commanders and unit cohesion may reduce stress reactions (Johansson and Larsson, 2001: 73). The seriousness of this issue has led the UK MoD to introduce measures to address this, but there remain serious questions about the long-term psychological impact of an increasing number of combat deployments on service personnel and their families. For example, Geoffrey Salvetti argues that ‘. .. the increased overseas peacekeeping activity has been dangerous and traumatic. There are a lot of people coming home who have had difficulty settling down with their families’ (Robins, 2004a). In addition, within a context of increasing complexity and ambiguity of operations it should be noted that the legal basis of missions is becoming increasingly central to the conduct of individual service personnel and military commanders. In the past, conduct of service personnel in military operations was solely governed by national military law and the laws of war. However, more recently legal cases have been brought by people injured by peacekeeping troops that are profoundly affecting the concept of ‘combat immunity’. On the basis of civil suits for negligence based on national law or the European Convention of Human Rights, plaintiffs have challenged service personnel who have been cleared of any military misconduct. For example, in the UK the Royal Military Police cleared three soldiers of wrongdoing in the injury to two Kosovans during the NATO-led peacekeeping operation, but a civil case was brought in the UK against the MoD for ‘negligence and trespass to the person’ by two Kosovans. The ruling went against the MoD, and was based on the fact that ‘. . . the soldiers were not covered by ‘combat immunity’ and were not acting in self-defence’ (Dyer and Norton-Taylor, 2004; Evans, 2004). In the past, the concept of combat immunity ‘. . . extended to all active operations against the enemy in which personnel were exposed to attack or a threat of attack [including] . . . planning and preparation as well as peacekeeping operations’. (Robins, 2004a). However, the judge argued that if the soldiers were on peacekeeping duties, and not acting in self-defence, then the defence of ‘combat immunity’ did not stand. It has already been established in law that if injuries are a result of ‘blue on blue’ incidents ‘combat immunity’ does not apply (Robins, 2004b). In France the government took

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responsibility ‘. . . for unlawful acts committed by IFOR/SFOR in Bosnia Herzegovina and KFOR outside their official duties’ (Guillaume, 1997: 243; Stein, 2002: 181; Gazzini, 2003: 242). In addition a further legal case is under preparation to establish whether the European Convention on Human Rights applies to armed forces in peacekeeping and occupation missions such as those in Iraq (Robins, 2004a). The implications are potentially far-reaching in terms of additional accountability, and especially where responsibility is located for actions in conflicts that fall short of total war. Similarly the families of Belgian peacekeepers brought a case against a Belgian colonel for involuntary manslaughter for ordering 10 Belgian peacekeepers to occupy the house of the Rwandan Prime Minister to protect her, but who were then murdered (van Baarda, 2004). Whilst it is unlikely, as John MacKenzie argues, that further rulings ‘. . . could be a major nail in the coffin of peacekeeping operations altogether’ it is likely to lead to more attention to the legal basis of any military intervention and greater caution in the way in which international security operations are carried out (Robins, 2004a). Finally, there is also an impact on retention and recruitment when international security missions are unpopular and are of a long duration, with relatively poor terms and conditions of service. Hans Greimel argues that peacekeeping operations are hampering recruitment due to military work no longer being a guaranteed soft option, whilst Alice Hills has argued that some military personnel have been insulted by being sent to the Balkans, which offended their ‘honour’ as soldiers (Dempsey, 1998; Greimel, 2003; Hills, 2005). Whilst it is true that many recruits joined the armed forces to undertake these missions, it is also true that they are the cause of being away from home too long and create overstretch and poor retention rates as families grow weary of prolonged and repeated deployments (M. Segal, 1988). For example, in the autumn of 2003 the French government had 13,417 personnel deployed on 20 missions whilst the UK had 6.3% of its forces deployed outside the UK on operations and 35% actively involved in carrying out military tasks (at the height of Operation Telic this increased to 57%). In some European states this issue is to some extent addressed by ensuring that only volunteers serve on peacekeeping operations and by limiting the duration of tours of duty (see Table 1.1). This is a key difference between European states where mainly but not exclusively conscript personnel have to apply to serve in peacekeeping missions, whereas in other forces deployments are obligatory (Johansson and Larsson, 2001: 65). In terms of the rotation of forces there is also a considerable difference. For example,

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in the UK, units are deployed for up to a year whilst in Sweden and Spain a tour of duty is usually 4–6 months, in Austria strict rotation every 6 months involve 50% of total strength of units, which has gone some way towards addressing this issue. However, the inherent nature of international security missions inevitably places a strain on the military and its service personnel, in particular operational logistics, and supporting arms units. One phenomenon which has emerged over the last decade is the increase in the use of private security services in conflicts, especially in the Balkans and Iraq. Deborah Avant notes that the ratio of private contractors to active-duty personnel was 1 in 50 during the first Gulf war and 1 in 10 in the second Gulf war (Butler, 2000; Traynor, 2003; Avant, 2004: 155; Krahmann, 2005). A number of issues arise from this, which have affected accountability and the use of military force with both positive and negative effects. David Shearer has argued that PSCs could actually help the UN and other international organisations operate more effectively where an ‘enforcement gap’ is a common feature of international security missions (Shearer, 1998). This also poses problems concerning who holds the private contractors to account, and their greater autonomy and lower levels of accountability may be an attractive characteristic to some governments, constrained as they are by growing legal intrusions into the deadly use of force. One of these problems is that many special forces personnel are leaving national armed forces to become employees of PSCs and to undertake similar types of mission for salaries often three times higher than they were receiving (Alderson, 2003). For example, in Iraq in 2003 the number of employees in private security companies was 10,000, outstripping the British armed forces contribution of 9000 troops (Traynor, 2003). Likewise, of the two British special forces units, the Special Air Service regiment and the Special Boat Squadron it is estimated that between May 2003 and December 2003, 100 men sought premature voluntary release with many joining PSCs and leaving their own units under-staffed (Jennings, 2004).

Conclusion Since the end of the Cold War, the number of peacekeeping missions undertaken by European armed forces has thus increased, but they have also evolved in nature to cover an increasingly wide spectrum of activities. In particular, the presence and role within such operations of the ‘holy trinity’ of consent, impartiality and minimal use of force has become

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not just ambiguous, but often entirely lacking once missions start, and this has presented European states with serious normative and practical challenges. A key variable is the extent to which UN authorisation is viewed as the touchstone of legitimacy, but the situation is further complicated by the often fluid nature of peacekeeping missions, the parameters of which frequently proved extremely difficult to define and maintain. The regional security institutions in Europe may appear to offer an attractive alternative multilateral framework within which to undertake these types of missions, but this chapter has suggested these organisations both share many of the problems exhibited by the UN and have a number of other distinctive challenges. Perhaps most significant are the implications of running missions under the aegis of particular framework states, and the questions this raises about the role of national interest as a motivation for such operations, often under the banner of humanitarianism. In addition, however, peacekeeping activities in their various forms are having a growing impact on the conduct and morale of individual service personnel, which European armed forces have displayed as something of a mixed record in tackling. Alongside the emotional and psychological effects of deployment to situations in which humanitarian crises are likely, an issue of increasing importance here is the uncertain and changing legal frameworks – domestic and international – surrounding peacekeeping operations. Clearly militaries will pay greater attention to the legal basis (and legality) of any deployment on international security missions. This was reported to be the case in the UK in March 2003, when the Chief of Defence Staff requested confirmation by the government of the legality of any military action in Iraq ‘. . . for fear of exposing themselves and their servicemen and women to the charge of committing war crimes’ (Barder, 2004).31 It will also have an ever greater effect on rules of engagement, liability in peacekeeping missions and the culture of how these military operations are conducted. For example some analysts have argued for a European Charter on Military Law, based on the OSCE Code on political-military aspects of security (Borchert and Eggenberger, 2003). International security operations are some of the most problematic missions armed forces are asked to undertake both organisationally and in terms of their impact on identities of peacekeepers themselves (Britt and Adler, 2003). As the previous chapter explored, it is not surprising that European defence diplomacy is often orientated at developing the peacekeeping capabilities of other states, especially African states, so that the burden of international security missions in all of its manifestations is shared if not actually passed on.

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Notes 1. As much as there has been a securitisation of humanitarianism, there has also been an equally problematic but often overlooked process of the humanitarianisation of security. For an assessment of the dissolving boundaries between development and security, see the incisive article by Alice Hills (Hills, 2003). 2. This chapter does not focus on naval international security operations such as the evacuation of civilian nationals which in themselves raise important issues, see Gazzini, 2003: 262. Other issues not considered here are the relationship between armed forces and humanitarian agencies (Duffield, 2001) and the militarisation of humanitarian intervention, termed ‘new military humanism’ by Noam Chomsky (Chomsky, 1999). 3. In work Bellamy, Williams and Griffin identify 5 types: traditional peacekeeping; managing transition wider peacekeeping; Westphalian enforcement and Post-Westphalian enforcement (Bellamy, Williams and Griffin, 2003). 4. Other examples include UNOGIL – June 1958, Lebanon: Observer mission – strictly no use of force permitted in mandate; UNIIMOG – August 1988, Iran/ Iraq: both parties agree to the Secretary-General’s proposal; UNOMIG – August 1993, Georgia: as part of agreement between the Government of Georgia and the Abkhaz authorities in Gudauta, which re-established a ceasefire as of 28 July; UNAMIR – Rwanda – part of the Arusha Accords – November 1993; UNOMSIL – July 1999, Sierra Leone: all parties to Lome agreements support UNOMSIL’s ongoing role; MINURSO – Government of Morocco and the Frente POLISARIO agree to ceasefire monitoring and staging of referendum; UNMEE – 18 June 2000, Ethiopia and Eritrea: both sign ceasefire agreements, part of which was a request for a UN peacekeeping force to be deployed. 5. For some the term Chapter VI and half operations is problematic because a UN Operation is either Chapter VI or VII. An operation can fall into this category if: (a) it is mandated under Chapter VI but leads to actions under Chapter VII; or (b) it is authorised under Chapter VII but the mission lacks the means to fulfil its mandate. I am grateful to Alex Bellamy for this point. 6. This involved nine European states: Belgium, Czechoslovakia, France, Germany, Hungary, Italy, Poland, Romanian and the UK http://www.desert-storm.com/ War/nations.html [Accessed 14 April 2004]. 7. Nicholas Kerton-Johnson argues the most serious example is that of UNAMIR in Rwanda. Originally established to help implement the 1993 Arusha Peace Agreement, UN troops witnessed but did not act to prevent massive slaughter of opposition supporters. There unwillingness to operate beyond the monitoring mandate included the refusal to fight by 10 Belgian peacekeepers at their commander’s orders – an order which resulted in their torture, death and mutilation. 8. This work draws on and adapts the distinction of Westphaliand and PostWestphalian states set out in Bellamy, Williams and Griffin, 2003. It may be possible to argue that in fact a fourth category may emerge of states willing to use regional organisations to justify intervention. 9. Missions undertaken with the host nation consent fall within the Charter framework even if they are not expressly authorised by the UN since nothing prohibits a state from inviting external intervention.

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10. More broadly this position has also been supported by the Rio Group of Latin American states and the Movement of Non-Aligned countries. For example, it was on these grounds that Brazil, China, Costa Rica, Russia and Namibia opposed Operation Determined Guarantor, the deployment of a NATO rescue force Macedonia and Operation Eagle Eye, the NATO air surveillance in Kosovo (Gazzini, 2003: 237–238). 11. Whilst the French government has argued with regard to NATO that any non-Article 5 missions have to be placed under the authority of the Security Council, it has systematically intervened in third countries without an UN mandate and the French government has not been as keen on constraining the EU in this way, which suggests the French government can be included in this category notwithstanding its position regarding NATO. 12. These are (1) are we sure of our case; (2) have we exhausted all diplomatic options; (3) are there military operations we can sensibly and prudently undertake; (4) are we prepared for the long term; and (5) do we have national interests involved. Interestingly there was only one passing reference to the UN as part of a list of international institutions created after the Second World War (Blair, 1999). 13. Having said this, this group of states have a soft preference for using the authority of the UN to endorse actions and avoid sanction of a particular course of action. Adam Roberts argues it was precisely the fear of a Security Council veto that prevented the US from tabling a resolution before the UN on Kosovo, to which one could also add Iraq in 2002 (Roberts, 2003: 52). 14. The declaration by Kofi Annan that the war was illegal supports this view. 15. Adam Roberts argues this applies when two key questions are answered in the affirmative: (a) ‘Was the decision to use force based on a thorough and conscientious appraisal and presentation of the evidence available at the time regarding Iraqi weapons of mass destruction?; and (b) was the use of force exercised responsibly, and in particular was there serious planning and organization of the occupation phase?’ See Roberts, 2003 and for contrary view on its validity Gray, 2000. 16. As of 10 May 1999, forces were provided by Albania, Austria, Belgium, Canada, Czech Republic, Denmark, France, Germany, Greece, Italy, Hungary, Luxemburg, Lithuania, Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Slovakia, Slovenia, Spain, Turkey, United Arab Emirates, United Kingdom and United States. 17. In this respect there does appear to be a link between desiring authorisation and the proximity of a conflict area to a state’s sphere of influence/national interests. I am grateful to Nicholas Kerton-Johnson for this point. 18. In 1998 the UK Defence Secretary also committed a brigade to the UN. See George Robertson, House of Commons Parliamentary Debates, written answer 25 June 1999, col. 475w, session 1998–1999. 19. The 16 signatory nations that have signed one or more SHIRBRIG documents are Argentina, Austria, Canada, Denmark, Finland, Italy, Ireland, Lithuania, the Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Slovenia, Spain and Sweden. Chile, Czech Republic, Hungary, Jordan and Senegal participate as observers. http://www.shirbrig.dk/shirbrig/html/sb_intro.htm Accessed 14 April 2004. 20. SHIRBRIG established an HQ but worked together with a wider UN force – only the Netherlands and Canada provided infantry. In March 2003

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21.

22.

23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

28.

29. 30.

31.

SHIRBRIG provided a planning team to assist ECOWAS and in September 2003, SHIRBRIG deployed 20 members to assist the UN, to form the core of the Interim UN HQs in Liberia (UNMIL). For many the reliance on air power as the only acceptable strategy that could secure NATO support which in essence was a coalition of the willing. However for many it was precisely this strategy which undermined the humanitarian purpose of the mission. See Schnabel and Thakur, 2000. For an excellent discussion of this, see Judy Dempsey, Robert Graham, James Harding. NATO is plunged into crisis over blockade on Turkish defence, The Financial Times, 11 February 2003: 1. As Chapter 3 explores further, this has also been a motivation for NATO and many European states. For a similar argument concerning EU foreign policy, see Allen, 1996: 290. Interviews, NATO HQ, Brussels, October 2004. This is also leading to a more central role for experts in international law. In time this was relaxed and German Kommando Specialkräfte (KSK) covert forces did take part in Operation Enduring freedom (Giegerich and Wallace, 2004: 173). Many other states, notably Denmark and Germany that retain conscription have introduced measures to allow conscripts to serve on international security missions and see no contradiction in the quality of troops or their level of training. See also the article ‘Kindly soldiers losing their killer instinct’, Times 11 August 2001. One could add the long-term health consequence of these troops of deployments also as a concern, where peacekeepers have a higher prevalence of contracting HIV/Aids than civilian counterparts. For example, Stefan Elbe notes that Finnish forces returned from Namibia with high infection rates, as did peacekeepers in Bosnia (Elbe, 2003: 41). Set out at http://www.parliament.the-stationery-office.co.uk/cgi-bin/ukparl_ hl?DB=ukparl&STEMMER=en&WORDS=J0goldsmith+iraq+&COLOUR=Red &STYLE=s&URL=/pa/ld199697/ldhansrd/pdvn/lds03/text/30317w01.htm# 30317w01_wqn4 [Accessed 11 February 2005].

8 The Domestic Roles of Armed Forces

The domestic roles of armed forces is one of the important issues that has been overlooked within the Postmodern military thesis. However, as Dominique Norois comments ‘. . . the armed forces have always been the architects of national internal order by virtue of their status, organisation and equipment . . .’ and it is this issue that this chapter puts centre stage (Norois, 1997: 37). Chapters 3 and 4 examined the roles played by European armed forces in relation to society, along with the legitimacy which accrued from such roles. Chapter 3 argued that domestic assistance functions of the armed forces can be an important source of legitimacy in some states, but for all European states, the terrorist attacks of September 2001 have brought the question of ‘homeland security’ and the internal use of armed forces in this area more sharply into focus. It has also reopened the question concerning the states’ ‘. . . management of its emergent external and internal boundaries’ (Dandeker, 1990: 58). For many concerned with civil liberties this has raised fears about the erosion of civil supremacy over the armed forces, through the assignment of powers which encroach on the supremacy of civil authority in domestic matters (House of Commons, 2002). For William Arkin one of the concerns is that it will make armed forces ‘. . . more contemptuous of . . . society and unresponsive to civilian authorities’ (Arkin, 2003). For some analysts, greater emphasis on counter-terrorism functions for the armed forces has prompted concerns about the extent to which governments are widening the powers of armed forces into areas they have traditionally been excluded from. More broadly it has raised concerns about the issue of a new period of militarisation of societies and a decline in civil liberties, in what might be considered a reworked version of the garrison state thesis (Lasswell, 1941; Jasper, 2002). Within the context of the points made in 226

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Chapter 1, this chapter therefore considers the issue of domestic assistance by the armed forces in greater depth, exploring how domestic tasks have developed since the end of the Cold War and since September 2001, and how they have impacted on the armed forces’ relationship with society and armed forces themselves. Little comparative analysis has been undertaken of the domestic tasks performed by European armed forces. The exception is a 1997 NATO Defence College volume based on a series of seminar papers on military assistance (NATO Defence College, 1997).1 For this reason, conceptualisation – whether by practitioners or scholars – is as yet incompletely developed. This chapter therefore builds on the threefold categorisation of domestic tasks outlined by British military doctrine as a tool for considering domestic roles across Europe. Drawing on this approach, the first category of assistance is support provided by a state’s armed forces to assist in maintaining law and order, in cases where the civil authority considers public safety to be threatened. These tasks are referred to as military aid to the civil power (MACP), and along with domestic counter-terrorism functions, tasks under this heading include what might be described as state responses to civil disobedience (Noailles, 2003: 68). A second type of assistance is providing what are designated ‘essential services’ on behalf of the government. Examples of this type of assistance are where state public services can no longer cope with a particular problem and comprise a range of functions known as military assistance to government departments (MAGD). A third area of assistance is the deployment of armed forces to help cope with naturally occurring or man-made disasters and emergencies. Such natural disasters may include, for instance, floods, inclement weather and earthquakes and are termed military aid to the civil community (MACC). As regards structure, the chapter looks first at the types of assistance given by armed forces under the three broad headings, and then reflects on the challenges which such activities pose for both the armed forces themselves and for society more widely. This chapter argues that across Europe there is tremendous diversity of experience across the three different types of domestic roles of the armed forces. In considering the extent to which an increased emphasis on the ‘war on terror’ has impacted on the domestic roles of European armed forces the chapter argues that contrary to many expectations concerning 9/11, this has not as yet been the case. The key determinant of the types of domestic functions assigned to armed forces has been and remains embedded in the national security culture of the state, its armed forces and society.

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Roles are rooted in the customs and practice within states as they have developed during crucial periods of constitutional settlement. In particular the presence or absence of an intermediate force – described by Christopher France as part of the defence structure, but trained to operate in a civilian context and therefore located between the civil police and the armed forces – has been an important factor in the ways in which European governments have responded to post 9/11 events (France, 1997: 136–137). In states where a dual system exists of police with military status, it is the intermediate forces that have embraced counter-terrorist functions and indeed been more suited to the challenges of the maintenance of law and order. With one or two exceptions, conventional armed forces have in practice been untouched by this function. By contrast the way in which armed forces participate in MAGD functions is contingent on a particular state’s history and appears to be less affected by the presence or absence of intermediate forces as indeed is the case with MACC tasks. This chapter therefore highlights tremendous diversity rooted in national histories, and different sensitivities to the overt domestic deployment of armed forces in various roles to uphold the authority of the government and to defend the political system.

Military aid to the civil power (MACP) Within the category of military aid to the civil power, there are two clear functions. First, military support where local, regional or national authorities can no longer maintain law and order; and second counterterrorism which also includes interior or homeland security functions. Law and order functions In analysing the law and order function of armed forces across Europe, the concept of maintaining law and order is not generally given clear legal expression and definition. Perhaps because of this there is a very wide variation of how in practice the maintenance of law and order occurs, with three general approaches. First, Jean-Paul Hanon identifies one group of states typified by Italy and Greece (and to which Spain can be added) where there is no specific definition of the maintenance of law and order, but where the general concept derives from the experience of violent periods of civil war, coup d’états, political extremism and terrorism, and long periods where civil liberties have been suspended, when the maintenance of law and order is given priority over the safety of citizens (della Porta and Reiter, 1998: 144; Hanon, 2003: 67).

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In a second group of states typified by the UK, the focus has been, in the words of Mayne, ‘the preservation of public tranquillity’ through tolerance, discretion and occasionally sacrificing ‘. . . immediate and full law enforcement or order maintenance’ which over time has become the dominant ethos (cited in Reiner, 1998: 40). However where governments have deemed it necessary, targeted measures have been taken in response to a specific breakdown of security, for example, in Northern Ireland (France, 1997: 131; Hanon, 2003: 67).2 In a third group of countries typified by Germany (through the Bundesgrenzschutzgesetz) and in France (through its concept of maintien de l’ordre) there exists the most developed conception of internal security. In Germany the concept links public security to public and judicial order and the Bundesgrenzschutzgesetz defines this as protecting the existence of the state and its institutions, but adds to this the way of life of its citizens, and protecting their life, health, freedom, honour and livelihood (Hanon, 2003: 67). In France, Ordinance 59–147 of January 1959, supplemented by judicial rulings and the inter-ministerial instruction 500 of 9 May 1995, sets out the concept of maintien de l’ordre (Nogues, 2003: 80). This covers the authorisation and control of public demonstrations through crowd control, including dispersing a crowd and the arrest of ring leaders, protecting public buildings, the evacuation of personnel and confiscation of property (Noailles, 2003: 71). In this third group of states, the emphasis is on public peace, freedom of public spaces and the protection of the life of their citizens (Hanon, 2003: 68).3 As far as the maintenance of law and order function has an impact on the uniformed armed forces, there are two clearly defined categories of states in Europe – those with militarised police and those that have not created these forces. States such as Austria (Bundesgendarmeri), France (Gendarmerie), Italy (Carabinieri), Moldova (Trupele de Carabinieri), Portugal (Guarda Nacional Republicana), Spain (Guàrdia Civil), Turkey (Jandarma) and Ukraine (the MChS) have developed militarised police that are forces organised along military lines, but which carry out a wide range of domestic civil policing functions. Where intermediate forces exist, the maintenance of law and order is usually one of their key functions. For other states the maintenance of law and order rests squarely with the civilian police, but with a wide range of different approaches as to how this is handled in practice (della Porta and Reiter, 1998). In terms of states with intermediate forces, an exemplar of this group of states is France, which first introduced La Maréchaussée forces in the 1720s and is the direct predecessor to the contemporary Gendarmerie

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force. Through Napoleonic influence in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, this system spread across Europe and was later imitated in a number of Slavic states as well as Russia and Turkey. The Gendarmerie is considered the senior of the four services, alongside the navy, air force and army, and since 1921 one of the core functions of the 98,000 strong Gendarmerie is to maintain law and order (Norois, 1997: 40). The Gendarmerie Mobiles are separate from the 113,000 strong Police Nationale which police the major urban areas. However in times of public disturbance the Gendarmerie Mobiles work alongside the Compagnies Républicaines de Sécurité (CRS) under the direction of the Interior Ministry and in such circumstances the Interior Ministry has operational control over any deployment, based on a request from the local, regional or national authorities (Fillieule and Jobard, 1998: 73; Berlioz, 2001: 24; Lawday, 2001: 10). To carry out their functions Gendarmerie personnel have a wide variety of training and equipment including non-lethal weapons such as water cannon, gas sprays and grenades, lasers, powder or liquid gas and rubber bullets as well as small arms, light weapons and armoured vehicles (Noailles, 2003: 75). They also have a much wider range of powers than the police or armed forces in using force. They are also specifically trained for crowd control, security of buildings and the maintenance of public order in the French state, in a way that the armed forces are not (Norois, 1997: 41; Berlioz, 2001: 24). In other states where no intermediate force exists, the civil police have generally developed specialised units capable of riot control and policing public disorder, or governments have chosen not to develop any specific capacity at all. In the first category Germany and the UK are good examples of states without intermediate forces. In Germany each police officer is charged with maintenance of law and order and can therefore refer to the Bundesgrenzschutzgesetz and Bundeskriminalgesetz where jurisprudence sets out the powers available, and in effect criminalises any breakdown in law and order (Hanon, 2003: 67). Even in circumstances of a serious breakdown in law and order as was the case in the student protests in the 1960s, the German government was extremely reluctant to consider using the Bundeswehr in domestic politics, but introduced legislation permitting a residual role. This led to a de-militarisation of police units such as the Bereitschaftspolizeien of the Lander and the federal border police Bundesgrenzschutz (Schneider, 1986; Winter, 1998: 192). The maintenance of law and order is no longer considered a function of the UK armed forces and indeed it was not mentioned as one of the eight defence missions for the British

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armed forces in the Strategic Defence Review of 1998 (UK MoD, 1998). In the absence of either an intermediate force like that of the Gendarmerie or the armed forces taking on law and order functions, this task has been the direct responsibility of the police. In response to several industrial disputes in the UK in the 1980s, notably the coal miners’ strike in 1982–1983, which led to widespread disturbances around coal pits and power stations, and strikes in the print media industry in 1984, the civil police have become legally empowered to undertake this role and are better trained and equipped to deal with these incidents – initially with support in training based on the experience of the British Army (Jefferson, 1993; Milne, 1994; Waddington, 1994). Even in Northern Ireland where specific laws have been passed to allow UK armed forces to support the police in counter-terrorist functions, decisions to deploy the armed forces to support the civil authorities in law and order tasks come at the request of the police or national, regional or local government, and on the UK mainland require ministerial approval (Babington, 1990; France, 1997: 132). Where this is the case, military units are subordinate to the civil authorities, which in practice is usually the senior police officer in command of an operation. The only exception is where there is immediate risk to life, in which case decisions to deploy armed forces out of barracks are made by the local military commander. However, other than the use of the armed forces to guard military installations and ceremonial buildings, notably the official residences of the sovereign, the deployment of armed forces to maintain law and order has not occurred since the 1919 Liverpool police strike (Reiner, 1998: 42). What links states without intermediate forces is that investment has tended to be directed towards the procurement of equipment and resources to the civil police to allow them to undertake operations. In these states high profile and ‘tough’ policing of football matches from the mid-1980s onwards, and of anti-globalisation, anti-war and EU protests have been the responsibility of the civil police. This has led to the purchase of riot equipment such as helmets, shields and body armour and the development of mounted horse and dog units for crowd control, as well as procurement of a variety of weapons from Gendarmerie states with more experience and often greater numbers of personnel dedicated to public order policing. In parallel with the procurement of specialised equipment, over the last two decades the London Metropolitan Police have developed specific training and organisational changes and have become more experienced in managing localised breakdown in law and order, developing their own training and procedures that

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are distinct from those used by the military in Northern Ireland (Waddington, 1994: 69; Reiner, 1998: 44). Wherever possible this has been based on close cooperation with the organisers of demonstrations, agreeing the routes for a march in advance and the low profile of heavily equipped riot police, out of sight but close enough for rapid deployment if this becomes necessary (della Porte and Reiter, 1998: 7; Reiner, 1998: 44). Where a cooperative approach has not been possible either because organisers of demonstrations have been unwilling to work closely with the police authorities or because participants were likely to disregard stewards, a high profile and aggressive stance has been the option of last resort (Reiner, 1998: 46). In a distinct cluster of states that do not have intermediate forces, some governments, notably in Scandinavia, have taken the decision not to have specialised police units for crowd control, or to consider using their armed forces for this role. This approach is rooted in a shared view amongst the political elite that their own pacific political culture is such that there is no need for heavily equipped police. This has often been associated with and informed by a philosophy of community policing, negotiating with umbrella groups and demonstrator representatives, and agreeing assembly and dispersal points and routes with marchers. The approach in the Netherlands is broadly similar. However, in Denmark, Finland, Norway and Sweden, the police have no special equipment and marches are policed by ordinary uniformed officers in the Netherlands, there are some specially trained mobile units made up of volunteers from the regular police force ‘. . . who can be deployed if absolutely necessary’ (Barley, 2001). States have therefore responded to the challenge of maintaining law and order in different ways. In states such as Austria, France, Italy, Moldova, Portugal, Russia, Spain, Turkey and Ukraine, governments have relied on a distinct organisation of militarised police to address the issue of the maintenance of law and order. In other European states, relatively small parts of the civil police have been especially equipped to be able to respond to challenges of maintaining law and order, but these groups have been firmly located within the civilian police, a process often described as militarisation (Reiner, 1998: 44; Waddington, 1994: 135). Finally, in some states where a culture of civil disobedience and violent public protest does not exist, almost no specific steps have been taken to develop the capacity for intervention. In maintaining law and order in Europe the pattern is therefore quite diverse. However common features which can be identified are threefold. First, the relatively passive nature of European societies has made civil

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disobedience an exception rather than the rule of post-Cold War political activism (Fillieule and Jobard, 1998: 70; Marx, 1998: 253; Waddington, 1998: 118). Violent public protests remain exceptional occurrences as a consequence of both European political systems that allow a diverse range of mechanisms for expression of dissent and relatively sophisticated forms of often diverse policing strategies. Second, a shared commitment in most parts of Europe to a corpus of human rights law is having the effect of creating convergence around what might be termed a common European set of norms and values in the maintenance of law and order (Spinant, 2001). In most European states, there is convergence on the twin concepts of the minimum use of force and proportionality in relation to the threat posed. For example, Article 3 of the UN Code of Conduct for Law Enforcement Officers states that ‘. . . law enforcement officials may use force only when strictly necessary and to the extent required for the performance of their duty’ (Barley, 2001). Likewise the development of Justice and Home Affairs policies within the European Union which permit greater freedom of movement between the 26 signatory states is leading to a greater integration of policing practices.4 For example, the Schengen Agreements require reporting information on ‘politkhooligans’ and the EU common extradition regime is leading to a convergence of legal practices across Europe (Hanon, 2003: 77). The effect has been to establish a basic minimum of rights for individuals in European states, but with quite a wide variation in how these are operationalised. Third, whilst there are differences across Europe in the way in which the maintenance of law and order is conceptualised, each government faces a dual liberal democratic challenge: first, how to ensure the minimum use of force to protect the state and its citizens; and second, how to allow the legitimate expression of views and public protest without endangering the foundations of the state and the fabric of society (della Porta and Reiter, 1998). How this is done remains profoundly affected by political history. Despite the introduction of wide-ranging public order legislation over the last 20 years, no government has abandoned its long-established practices of either supporting intermediate forces, or locating the maintenance of law and order function in the exclusive responsibility of the police authorities. However, notwithstanding the first point, another shared feature has been a noticeable trend in the last decade towards the internationalisation of public disorder. Trans-European measures to ensure public order during football competitions were evident in the 1990s with crossborder exchanges of information on an ad hoc basis as well as through

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Interpol, Europol and Schengen’s Sirene bureaux (De Biasi, 1998: 213; Statewatch, 2001a). Since 1996 this has been expanded to include more general threats to public order with an EU Joint Action on ‘cooperation on law and order security, extending provisions from sporting events to rock concerts, demonstrations, and road block campaigns’ (Statewatch, 1997). Ambrose Evans-Pritchard comments that the introduction of a European Arrest Warrant as an anti-terrorist measure now ‘. . . covers most felony crimes ranging from fraud, rape, murder and car theft, and even racism and xenophobia’ (Evans-Pritchard, 2004). Since the Seattle World Trade meeting in 1999, financial and economic organisations, meetings of political leaders such as the G8 (Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, Russia, UK, USA), EU heads of state and government summits, and IMF and World Bank meetings have attracted large numbers of international protesters alongside national protesters. For example, the Genoa G8 meeting in July 2001 attracted 150,000 protesters and the World Bank summit in June 2001, 40,000 protesters. Likewise EU summits have been a particular focus of protest with 25,000 protesters in Gothenburg in June 2001, and 80,000 in Brussels in December 2001 (Barley, 2001; Brand, 2001).5 Whilst the general trend is towards relatively benign public protest, the emergence of these ‘set piece’ incidences of public protest and the ratcheting up of the levels of violence on these occasions pose a particular challenge for states where more passive community-based policing techniques have been used, for example those typical in Sweden and the Netherlands (Barley, 2001). Even in states where intermediate forces exist, the ‘surge’ scale of the challenge of maintaining public order is such that in these exceptional circumstances, armed forces have been called upon to provide support to the civil authorities. In the case of the G8 protest in Genoa in 2001, some 15,000 Italian police, Carabinieri and armed forces were deployed with live ammunition to protect a barbed wire perimeter around the conference centre in which the meeting of the heads of state and government was taking place (CNN, 2001). One final trend across Europe has been the enactment of legislation since 2001 to take into account the possibility of the breakdown of law and order following a terrorist attack on such a scale that the armed forces might need to be rapidly deployed if such a situation arose. With few exceptions, governments have formalised the residual role of the armed forces as an instrument of last resort available to the state. For example, in two very divergent states in terms of maintaining law and order, both the Danish and the French governments have followed similar paths. In Denmark part of the continuing purpose of

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conscription is to provide expertise for ‘national emergency response’ in large-scale catastrophes where the civilian authorities need to call on additional resources in order to maintain an organised functional society and to protect national assets (Danish MoD, 2004). In France, the 2005 Defence Budget better integrates state assets in responding to the breakdown of law and order following a terrorist attack. To this end the Police Nationale and Gendarmerie will share an Inter-ministerial Security Mission and will be answerable to the Minister of the Interior with support if necessary from the French armed forces (French MoD, 2004b: 10) and in Poland the armed forces can now be deployed to address the consequences of serious accidents and catastrophes, whatever their source (Kowalewski, 1997: 98). Counter-terrorist functions As regards counter-terrorism tasks, many European states have experienced domestic terrorism over quite long periods of time. Since 1968 Euskadi ta Askatasuna (ETA) has, for example, campaigned for a separate state in northern Spain and south-western France (killing over 850 people), the campaign for re-unification of Northern Ireland with the Irish Republic has led to over 3000 deaths, while in Germany and Italy the Red Brigades were active throughout the 1970s and 1980s and in Greece the Revolutionary Organization 17 November, the Revolutionary People’s Struggle (ELA) and Revolutionary Nuclei (RN) and other left- and right-wing radical groups have undertaken political kidnappings, bombing campaigns and assassinations (US Department of State, 2004). In France from the mid-1980s attacks in public areas and on symbols of state authority, such as police stations, required an appropriate response and in 1995 a 4-month campaign of attacks by an Algerian group killed 8 and injured 130 (Embassy of France in the US, 2004). The part played by armed forces in countering such activities has taken two main forms. One approach is that of those states where intermediate forces such as the Gendarmerie or Guàrdia Civil exist and where these are the principal state security organisations responsible for counter-terrorist tasks, such as guarding public buildings and places, bomb disposal, surveillance and monitoring of suspects. In this group of states it may be noted that counter-terrorist functions have generally been added retrospectively to the role of intermediate forces, through the expansion of the scope of their domestic security functions. For example, in Spain the Guàrdia Civil focus on counter-terrorist tasks (Jaime-Jiménez and Reinares, 1998: 172) with their powers updated to take into account counter-terrorism

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since the Madrid train bombings.6 In France emergency measures collectively known as the Plan Vigipirate were introduced in 1978, with the aim of deploying the Gendarmerie, police and if necessary the armed forces, to ensure public safety. ‘It takes protective measures that are deemed necessary, including the reinforcement of surveillance and security measures in train stations, airports, and other places where there are large amounts of people’ (Embassy of France in the US, 2004). These measures were updated in 1995 and again in 2000.7 A similar set of functions fall within the remit of the Carabinieri Corps in Italy (Alfiero, 1997: 48). In general then, since 2001, additional powers have been added to the existing counter-terrorist functions of these type of intermediate forces and in general for routine counter-terrorist tasks the remaining parts of the armed forces have been left untouched. A second category is those states that do not have intermediate forces. Here there is a wide range of responses to how counter-terrorist functions are undertaken. In Germany, for example, Special Forces such as the paramilitary Grenzschutzgruppe-9 (GSG9) unit in Germany were created within the police force in 1972, following murders at the Munich Olympics, and became operational in April 1973. Numbering 350 personnel it has three units each with different specialisms. GSG-9/1 is the counter-terrorist assault group, GSG-9/2 has responsibility for maritime counter-terrorism and GSG-9/3 is the airborne unit. In the UK a different approach has been taken with the police having primacy in counter-terrorism, notably through the Special Branch (created in 1883 as the Irish Special Branch) and the anti-terrorism branch S013 supported by other specialist units. The principal military unit with a remit to support the civil power is the Special Air Service, which is reported to be creating a new counter-terrorist squadron (Davies, 2002).8 In addition, British armed forces have provided ordnance and bomb disposal support to the police.9 Typical of the response of this group of states is the way in which post-9/11 counter-terrorism steps have been allocated to clearly identifiable units rather than the armed forces as a whole. For example, in the UK the newly created Civil Contingency Reaction Force (CCRF), which is part of the Reserve Forces, has been assigned home defence and security tasks. It comprises 14 Reaction Forces, each of 500 Volunteer Reservists, who can assist the emergency services and other authorities at short notice (UK MoD, 2003a). Of course in the event of a major national emergency, powers exist to call on the armed forces and indeed any national assets to protect the state, but the creation of a CCRF has in effect ring-fenced the impact of the homeland security task

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on the regular armed forces in the UK (House of Commons, 2002). As noted earlier, similar steps have been taken in Denmark where this residual role has become a new raison d’être of a re-modelled form of conscription. In a third group of states however the armed forces carry out counterterrorist functions. Perhaps the most explicit counter-terrorism role of armed forces exists in Turkey and the Russian Federation. In Turkey ‘Internal Service regulations stipulate that Turkish armed forces shall defend the country against internal as well as external threats, if necessary by force’ (Heper and Güney, 2004: 184). Likewise in Russia the National Security Concept requires the armed forces to engage in the ‘. . . neutralization of the causes and conditions which are conducive to the rise of political and religious extremism, ethnoseperatism and their consequences – social, intra-ethnical and religious conflicts, terrorism’ (Baburkin, 2004: 78). For example, in addition to the 250,000 Jandarma which has a lead role in internal security and the police special operations teams from the Turkish National Police, the Turkish armed forces have been heavily committed, especially between 1984 and 1999, in a counter-terrorist operation against the Kurdistan Workers Party (PKK), Kurdish rebels in Turkey and Iraq (Martin and Keridis, 2004). In Russia the secessionist war in Chechnya between 1994 and 1996 and since 1999, has been portrayed as a counter-terrorist war and led to a major deployment of Russian armed forces including 11,000 MVD (Interior Ministry) troops and 40,000 Ministry of Defence troops (Baburkin, 2004: 77; IISS, 2004: 101).10 Within these three categories there is considerable fluidity. Where there is a threat to law and order and/or a major threat to the territorial integrity of the state through armed separatism, regular units have often been called upon to uphold the authority of the state. For example, in the UK at the height of the troubles in Northern Ireland some 30,000 troops were stationed in the province. In a similar vein, the military have been called upon to undertake specific counterterrorist functions. For example, the Greek government deployed more than 16,000 troops to support 50,000 police, coast guard officers, fire fighters and other personnel during the Olympics under the authority of the Greek Ministry of Public Order which took charge of security (Associated Press, 2004; Bosnakoudhis, 2004).11 Likewise the deployment in Britain of infantry and armoured reconnaissance units of 450 personnel alongside 1000 police officers at Heathrow airport, patrolling the M25 and other sites in London on 11 February 2003, was generally greeted with acquiescence as a response to a specific threat to air

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traffic rather than a routine deployment of the regular armed forces, having last occurred in 1994 in response to an IRA threat (BBC News Online, 2003a). Within this threefold categorisation of approaches to counter-terrorism, however, in most European states the impact of the September 2001 terrorist attacks in the US, the 20 November 2003 and 17 May 2004 attacks in Istanbul, Turkey, the 11 March 2004 train bombings in Spain and the 7 July 2005 attacks in London have brought the whole issue of homeland defence to the fore and three particular developments have been striking in terms of armed forces–society relations. The first point is that until 2001 there was no common definition in Europe as to what constituted terrorism. However, over the last four years a clearer understanding has emerged within the 25 member states of the European Union and a common definition of terrorist offences agreed as including intentional acts, by their nature and context, which may be seriously damaging to a country or to an international organisation, as defined under national law, where committed with the aim of: (i) seriously intimidating a population, or (ii) unduly compelling a Government or international organisation to perform or to abstain from performing any act, or (iii) destabilising or destroying the fundamental political, constitutional, economic or social structures of a country or international organisation. (Statewatch, 2001b) Agreement on a common definition has thus cleared the way for specific transnational EU measures such as the appointment of Gijs de Vries as an anti-terrorism czar, the introduction of a European Union arrest warrant, improved exchange of information and the creation of an anti-terrorism unit in Europol; with the expansion of the Union to 25 members in May 2004, these represent significant and geographically far-reaching advances that may in time affect the counter-terrorist roles of armed forces (EU, 2002; Evans-Pritchard, 2004).12 Second, all states have embarked on a legislative process to better integrate the armed forces into existing internal security arrangements, to deal with the consequences of both emergencies and pre-emptive measures. For example, building on legislation passed in the 1980s in France, a range of laws have been approved to allow the armed forces to assist the Gendarmerie in undertaking counter-terrorism activities, including developing nuclear, radiological, biological and chemical capabilities and to further clarify their public safety role through Plan Vigipirate (March 2003) (Nogues, 2003: 78; DGGN, 2004). In the UK the

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CCRF has created a regional command structure to make it easier for the civil authorities to get rapid support from the armed forces, and therefore includes an integrated communications structure compatible with that used in the emergency services (UK MoD, 2003a). In addition, the November 2004 Civil Contingencies Act sets out emergency powers to be used in the rare large-scale or severe emergencies which cannot be dealt with effectively under the existing legal framework, and so brings up to date and extends the provisions of existing emergency powers legislation, notably the Emergency Powers Act 1920 and the Emergency Powers Act (Northern Ireland) 1926 and 1964 and the Civil Protection in Peacetime Act 1986 (UK Parliament, 2004). The new emergency powers include allowing police and military to order evacuations, to confiscate property and animals without compensation, to ban demonstrations and travel, and to impose curfews. While these powers would need renewal after 30 days, the Civil Contingencies Act has also however broadened the definition of what constitutes an emergency to include serious disruption to the political, administrative and economic stability of part of the country or a threat to its security. This includes natural disasters, a nuclear accident, an epidemic, or a major act of terrorism (UK Parliament, 2004). Closely linked to this is the use of legislation to better integrate the activities of the armed forces with existing counter-terrorist agencies and arrangements in terms of pre-emption. A third major trend across Europe since 2001 has therefore been the increased support which conventional armed forces provide for the protection of air space and coastal waters with specific reference to the terrorist threat (Jacobs, 2003: 59). Air forces have undertaken a specific role in responding to the hijacking of aircraft, or the unauthorised deviation of aircraft especially across urban areas and sensitive locations. Likewise naval forces have new responsibilities patrolling sensitive national and international waterways. For example in Norway, the navy police shipping movements in Norwegian territorial waters especially near oilfields (Jones, 2004); in France the GIGN have responsibility for four missions: Piratair air space security, Piratmer (preventing attack on French military and civilian buildings), Piratome (defence of nuclear installations) and Piratext (hostage response) (French MoD, 2004b). In summary, states that have intermediate forces have seen these as the principal organisations to undertake counter-terrorist roles as part of the portfolio of internal security responsibilities. Other parts of the armed forces have been affected only insofar as they contribute in terms of preparing to help ameliorate the consequences of catastrophic events

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and a secondary role in support of the police. In the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, where intermediate forces do not exist the armed forces have been given an enhanced role in guarding national airspace and borders, placed on a heightened state of alert and given a legal residual competence to support the state in terms of national emergency. Only in states with a long-standing terrorist problem – notably in Russia, Spain, Turkey and the UK – has a counter-terrorism role been a feature of the roles of regular armed forces units and in all cases this has pre-dated the war on terror, though, as the example of the UK illustrates, political settlement has moved the armed forces back to a group of states where the impact of the counter-terrorist role has been limited. Overall then in considering the MACP tasks of maintenance of law and order and counter-terrorism, what links all states with armed forces not only across Europe but across the world are the various emergency powers that permit the use of the armed forces for almost any foreseen and unforeseen state of emergency. This is the ultimate and indeed the residual domestic military assistance function. In many states this set of domestic roles has often been overlooked, in part because the constitutional settlement that fixed the broad boundaries of the state, its political system and internal cohesion occurred back in time. Where this has not been the case, notably in parts of central and eastern Europe, there has been much greater awareness of the dangers and the need to try and specify the legitimate roles of the armed forces as an instrument at the disposal of the political executive. Here it is useful to contrast the rather expansive approach of Finland, with that of Germany or Hungary, where the roles of the armed forces are more tightly specified. There has been a need to ensure a distinction between police and military forces and dependence on parliamentary rather than executive decision, even in times of national emergency (France, 1997: 137; Kirk, 2003). In Finland these tasks are provided for under the Emergency Powers Act and State of Defence Act. The first act is used for ‘exceptional conditions below the intensity of war . . . to secure the nation’s livelihood and economy under exceptional conditions, maintain law and order and guarantee the basic rights and human rights of citizens, and also to safeguard the territorial integrity and independence of the nation’ (Finnish MoD, 2004: 10). The second State of Defence Act is for circumstances where the government considers the Emergency Powers Act is insufficient (Finnish MoD, 2004: 11). Whether specified or not, all armed forces therefore have the inescapable function of serving as a residual resource of the political executive that has the potential to enforce, through military means if necessary,

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the authority of government and the judicial system. However as an analysis of MACA functions demonstrates, European governments are wary of using armed forces in this way and in all instances have preferred to use the police and intermediate forces such as the militarised police rather than deployment of armed forces for maintenance of law and order and against counter-terrorism tasks which could be seen as confrontational. As Herbert Reiner notes, governments have preferred to use intermediate forces and/or civil police forces as a means of regularising and routinising its authoritative instruments ‘. . . rather than a potentially provocative exceptional deployment of the military’ and this was true prior to and indeed subsequent to the events of 9/11 (Reiner, 1998: 38–39). Likewise the armed forces have generally been reluctant to take on maintenance of law and order and counter-terrorist tasks at home, preferring instead the self-image of seeing themselves as the external agent of the state operating beyond national borders, despite the inescapable reality that the very existence of the armed forces contributes to maintaining the authority of the state.

Military assistance to government departments Military assistance to government departments (MAGD) is designed to maintain the provision of essential public services. Although duties under this heading vary widely across Europe, they can generally be divided into two categories: routine tasks and those relating to exceptional occurrences (Norois, 1997: 40).13 As regards routine tasks most European governments use their armed forces to support border guards and customs officials in policing national frontiers and for maritime states it is commonplace to use naval forces for fisheries protection (Norwegian MoD, 2003). For example in Albania, naval forces serve as the Coast Guard ‘. . . enforcing the law within the territorial waters of Albania’ (Norois, 1997: 40; Albanian MoD, 2004a: 30). In the UK the function of protecting seaboard territory is carried out by a separate Coast Guard, with the Royal Navy Fishery Protection Squadron operating under the direction of the Department of Environment, Food and Rural Affairs to provide reassurance to fishermen and enforce fisheries legislation within British Fisheries Limits. In a similar category many armed forces, such as in Italy, provide meteorological reports to civilians which are also typical of this type of routine MAGD function. Since 1989 a new task that has become a routine function is the use of armed forces for tackling transnational crime especially the interdiction and arrest of smugglers as well as support for police in

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counter-drugs activities. In Italy it is the Carabinieri General which directs the police and territorial units in fighting the war on drugs (Alfiero, 1997: 49) and in Albania the armed forces work under the direction of the Ministry of Public Order in fighting cross-border trafficking and organised crime (Albanian MoD, 2004a: 30). In the UK there is quite an expansive interpretation of this task with British armed forces involved in the West Indies Guardship and RAF Nimrod maritime patrol, which work closely with HM Customs and Excise in the Caribbean, a major source of drugs for British and European markets (UK MoD, 2004b). In terms of other routine tasks one might add the use of the armed force for what might be termed state cultural, military and political events. This often covers a wide range of tasks related to preparation of these types of events and provision of the personnel in the events themselves, ceremonial processions such as the opening of parliament or state visits, demonstrations of military power including ‘fly-past’ and ‘drive-past’ events and expressions of national homage, including remembrance events of those who gave their lives in the service of the state or the celebration of ‘national’ military victories. In almost all European states, from the most advanced democracies, transition states and authoritarian regimes, this type of military involvement takes place to varying degrees. The extent depends on the martial nature of the state and the culture and public appetite for this, and it takes place through active political sponsorship and promotion of the armed forces as a key state institution. To this set of ‘routine tasks’ can be added the role that many armies provide in the Former Soviet Union, particularly Belarus, Russia and Ukraine and prior to 1989 in most of central and eastern Europe, to support the civil authorities in whatever way deemed appropriate.14 Ferenc Gazdag draws attention to civil construction tasks, such as the Romanian Danube channel and the Hungarian nuclear power station at Paks, which were illustrative of the type of tasks the military were asked to undertake during the Cold War (Gazdag, 1997: 78). This same group of states often use the organisational and resource capabilities of their armed forces for engineering tasks, medical support and explosive ordinance tasks. For example, the Albanian armed forces Engineering Brigade are currently engaged in road infrastructure improvements, such as bridge construction and earth moving, especially in the north of the country. Likewise the Central Military University Hospital is the only service for emergency medical care and is spread around the country for this purpose (Albanian MoD, 2004b: 4).

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In addition to this, armed forces in communist states were routinely used to assist in agricultural tasks, notably in Hungary where over 700,000 hours per annum were committed to this task (Gazdag, 1997: 78). In states such as Belarus, Georgia, Russia and Ukraine this practice continues and with all armed units both interior ministry troops and regular armed forces being drawn into these tasks. This use of the armed forces marks out these states as distinctive in terms of the domestic roles of armed forces. Of course in some engineering and medical roles the domestic use of the armed forces in a civilian context can add to the professionalism (and the standing) of the armed forces and is seen as a source of pride for the armed forces. The Albania Ministry of Defence remark ‘[T]he participation of Armed Forces in humanitarian operations and medical care, has clearly increased their reputation in public opinion, and bolstered the professionalism of the forces itself’ (Albanian MoD, 2004b: 4). However the danger is that some tasks, notably agricultural work, brings with it ‘. . . diminished fighting readiness . . .’ and in almost all cases engaging the armed forces in civilian commercial activities exposes these forces to the danger of corruption (Gazdag, 1997: 79). As regards MAGD tasks which are delivered in response to exceptional occurrences, activities can be wide-ranging and, though the catalyst and context differ, are often similar in kind to the type of assistance offered under the category of military aid to the civil community; this is considered in the next section. However the difference is that the tasks are usually related to what might be termed the service functions of government which are ‘. . . of national importance and in maintaining services essential to the life, health and safety of the community’ rather than response to natural disasters (UK Resilience, 2004: 2). In Finland the Emergency Powers Act covers ‘A serious economic crisis, such as hampered or interrupted imports’ (Finnish MoD, 2004: 11). Other examples include the use of troops to assist with the foot-and-mouth epidemic in UK during spring 2001, or, in France keeping open vital transportation routes. Once again, the critical factor in whether the armed forces are used for these exceptional MAGD tasks is the existence or not of intermediate forces. In the case of the foot-and-mouth outbreak in 2001, in France some 2000 Gendarmes were deployed under the direction of the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries on the basis of civil defence legislation in place since 1959, without the necessity of deploying regular units of the French armed forces (Langlois, 2003: 123). By contrast the British government took all the steps it possibly could before eventually deploying regular troops (Maxwell, 2002).15

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A more contentious exceptional usage of the armed forces to which a number of governments have nevertheless had recourse, is the deployment of troops in the event of industrial disputes where the government claims the armed forces are needed to maintain essential services (Babington, 1990; France, 1997: 134; Peak, 1998). Specific types of intervention include providing emergency fire, police and rescue cover, refuse collection and the deployment of military drivers to ensure the safe delivery of supplies to petrol stations. The use of the armed forces for such duties is contested, since they often directly challenge the image of the armed forces being politically neutral and such functions expose the military to accusations of playing a directly partisan role in domestic politics. In some states the use of armed forces in this way is unthinkable and the presence or absence of intermediate forces is less important than societal acceptance or otherwise of this use of armed forces. Where there is acceptance of using armed forces, governments sensitive to criticisms of politicising the armed forces generally tread warily in this area, with these governments keen to draw a distinction between ‘strike-breaking’ and ‘maintenance of essential services’. Largely this concerns a fear that armed forces might be perceived as being used for partisan political purposes rather than as an apolitical instrument of the state; in most states where the armed forces are used for this purpose it has been limited to ‘essential services’, though what is included in this category has varied widely, including refuse collection, fire cover and guarding prisons and prisoners. In the UK the conventional wisdom concerning this distinction was made by Winston Churchill in 1919. The use of the armed forces ‘. . . to take sides with the employer in an ordinary trade dispute . . . would be a monstrous invasion of the liberty of the subject . . . but the case is different where vital services affect the health, life and safety of large cities or great concentrations of people . . .’ – this holds today, though what constitutes vital services has moved on with the times (France, 1997: 134).16 In this respect UK armed forces share this type of function with a limited number of other states mainly in central and eastern Europe, willing to use their armed forces for this purpose, though in all cases the use of troops in strikes is the exception rather than the rule.17 Since 1995, a considerable number of person days have been committed to this type of activity, with a total of 19,984 British troops deployed in four industrial disputes all related to providing emergency cover during fire service strike action (DASA, 2003). In at least one instance in March 2003 when British service personnel provided emergency fire cover, the Chief of the Defence Staff publicly noted he was ‘extremely concerned

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that the armed forces would not be able to cope with training for a possible war on Iraq and fire duties’ (Brown and Rayment, 2003; Firefighter, 2003).18 In summary the nature of the use of armed units for MAGD tasks depends on the security culture and history of the state in question, with the key difference of whether government and societies are prepared to countenance the use of any militarised units in support of the non-military functions of their government. In terms of routine tasks, many MAGD functions have been incorporated into the role of the armed forces and reflect the way in which national security is defined within each state and the division of responsibilities between existing state assets, with quite wide variation in terms of what these are, though one common unifying theme is the ceremonial role of the armed forces as a state institution. In states where there is acceptance of using militarise units for MAGD tasks, where intermediate forces exist they are more likely to be chosen to carry out exceptional MAGD tasks, with little impact on regular armed forces untouched. Elsewhere where intermediate forces do not exist, the use of regular units of the armed forces for exceptional MAGD tasks has generally been received with some trepidation from service commanders, rather than as an opportunity to expand their influence and budgets. In large part this concern centres on the impact this might have on operational efficiency and morale of the armed forces, often already overstretched in carrying out core functions (Peak, 1998). Finally, as yet there is no evidence to suggest that routine and exceptional MAGD tasks have increased over the period since the end of the Cold War, or indeed changed in importance since 9/11, though as noted above for those states engaged in international security missions, overstretch has increased the strain MAGD tasks place on armed forces.

Military assistance to the civil community In many European states MACC tasks are tasks that are considered part of civil defence, described by Marian Kowalewski as responding to dangers from ‘. . . natural and environmental disasters, eliminating the latter’s direct effects, and supplying the necessary means for survival’ (Kowalewski, 1997: 100). As regards tasks undertaken by the armed forces in support of the civil community, aside from the specific trigger event and context, these share many of the features of responding to large-scale terrorist attacks. They include the effects of severe weather such as floods, storms, snow, landslides, fires ‘. . . and catastrophic events

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such as major accidents where human life is judged to be in danger (e.g. air or rail crashes, mountain rescue, shipwrecks)’ (UK Resilience, 2004). For example, the armed forces have provided helicopters, trucks, boats and sandbags during river floods in Austria, Bulgaria, the Czech Republic, Hungary and Romania in 1998 and 2002. Likewise in many states the armed forces are used to fight forest fires as is the case in Spain, Portugal and Romania. Across European states the key differences seem to be the extent to which civil protection is systematically organised as a routine function, or left as an ad hoc response based on the immediate crisis at hand, and addressed through coordination in which the armed forces are one amongst many governmental and civilian groups called upon to offer assistance. For example, Norway is typical of Scandinavian and many central and east European states that have a well-developed concept of civil protection and civil defence and emergencies. Norway has a Directorate for Civil Protection and Emergency Planning (DSB) for this purpose which is part of the armed forces (Norwegian MoD, 2003: 5).19 In Slovenia, the armed forces provide rescue, humanitarian assistance and disaster relief as a core part of their function. Indeed, dual use equipment is specifically purchased with this in mind and this has become a key source of legitimacy for Slovenian armed forces (Jelušif, 2004).20 By contrast the UK has a very weakly defined concept of civil defence which is rather informal in nature and does not look to the armed forces except when all other options have been explored, or where specialist expertise is only available within the armed forces (UK Resilience, 2004). Given this approach in the UK, MACC tasks are not funded from the MoD budget and assistance is only provided ‘subject to availability of resources and time’ (France, 1997: 135). In the case of the UK an explicit disincentive to using armed forces for domestic functions is that a general principle has been established that money provided by parliament for defence cannot be used for other purposes and military assistance will be charged for except where there is immediate risk to life. As one Emergency Planning Office commented, ‘life-saving comes free of charge, but anything else comes at an exorbitant rate’ (House of Commons, 2002: para. 39: 2). Somewhere in between these different approaches of full integration and residual task are states like that of Portugal where the government has over the last 2 years signed agreements for the armed forces to provide limited services such as search and rescue capabilities. With regard to ‘catastrophic events’ most European governments have strengthened the legislative base for the deployment of armed

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forces in response to terrorist attacks. As noted above, much of this recent legislation has been created to cover MACC tasks such as support to the state in natural disasters, with planning increasingly focused on catastrophic large-scale disasters which may indeed have been the consequence of a terrorist attack on the scale of the World Trade Centre attacks or the Madrid rail bombings. The common pattern in MACC tasks is that all armed forces have the capability to respond to natural disasters, rescue and humanitarian tasks as a result of the ability to deploy and sustain large numbers of personnel at short notice and, through a chain of command and disciplined culture, have the ability to react to these types of crises. The key issue is the extent to which the armed forces regularly undertake these tasks, the extent to which these tasks are seen as core or supplementary to the major tasks of the armed forces and are therefore integrated into budget and organisation of the armed forces. Clearly the use of intermediate forces provides a resource to draw upon in addition to regular units of the armed forces and this affects the extent to which other parts of the armed forces, are called upon. However, the major difference underlying MACC tasks appears to be first whether this is considered an integral function of the armed forces or not, and second where costs fall. Nonetheless armed forces do gain credibility from undertaking such tasks and at least in some states, notably the Czech Republic and Slovenia, this has become a major source of legitimacy (alongside international security missions) for the armed forces (Jelušif, 2004; Vlachová, 2004).

Conclusions: Domestic military assistance – challenges and perceptions European armed forces undertake a wide range of domestic tasks, from the maintenance of law and order to counter-terrorism (MACP), through to tasks in support of government departments when existing agencies cannot cope (MAGD), and functions in support of the civil community in time of natural or man-made disasters (MACC). The way in which these tasks are perceived will depend on a number of factors, but it is worth noting that the prevailing security culture in society is an important factor in shaping perceptions of legitimacy and politicisation of the whole range of domestic assistance tasks carried out by the armed forces. A critical distinction in terms of approaches to and perceptions of the use of the armed forces in maintenance of law and order tasks, is whether governments have at their disposal intermediate forces. Some European states, notably France, Greece, Italy and Spain, have a culture

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of political violence, public protest and demonstrations and civil disobedience which has shaped societal attitudes towards the state and its agencies. In turn this has shaped state responses, with governments responding to violence and public protest with the development of particular forms of containment and counter-measures to limit the effect of public disturbances, and principally rely on intermediate forces to deal with these challenges. Where such forces exist, they generally have long-standing societal legitimacy in providing support in all key tasks. In particular their links to the local community and training in and experience of use of powers of detention and arrest along with nonlethal force make it easier for them to carry out a range of domestic tasks than it is for regular armed forces. Where intermediate forces do not exist, usually the police have developed separate sub-units capable of carrying out some or all of the maintenance of law and order functions. Indeed, in most instances where intermediate militarised forces do not exist there has been a militarisation of the civil police which means that most nations now ‘. . . have riot squads, either independent of or formed from within the ranks of normal forces, which can take action quickly to put down any insurgency – with rubber and plastic bullets, water cannons and CS gas, as judged necessary’ (Barley, 2001). Nonetheless whether specified or not, armed forces retain what might be termed a residual domestic function to uphold the authority of the state, though, as has been argued, most regular armed forces remain reluctant to get involved in domestic functions irrespective of whether an intermediate force exists or not. It is the counter-terrorism function which has perhaps inevitably attracted greatest attention since September 2001, and in this regard there have been concerns across all states among civil liberties groups about the impact on civil and human rights of the new counter-terrorist measures being put in place. Here, where intermediate forces exist, they have had these tasks added to their long-standing roles and it should be added that in most instances counter-terrorist functions predate the war on terror. Where intermediate forces do not exist, the regular armed forces have been rather reluctant to undertake this role at the expense of their external missions and tried to ring-fence this task either by creating special units or by allocating the task to reserve and conscript units. Key questions have related to the issue of access to government intelligence on decisions to deploy the armed forces in counter-terrorist tasks; what degree of force is proportionate and how it may be regulated; the place of surveillance; and how freedom of speech and legitimate

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protest are defined and maintained. Many civil liberties groups also fear that the argument that the military should play a greater role in homeland security is being deliberately used to justify greater defence expenditure. To date, however, it is also fair to say that concerns over civil liberties have been ameliorated by the fact that in practice counter-terrorism functions have been quite strictly limited and that the threat of terrorist attacks in Europe have continued to be high (BBC News Online, 2003a; Embassy of France in the US, 2004). Moreover, the public’s response to measures taken can at least indirectly affect how far the government can go in terms of the use of the armed forces for counter-terrorist tasks. However, since the terrorist attacks of September 2001, the scale of civil contingencies for which planning is now required has posed some quite fundamental questions about the ability of the state and its various agencies to cope with major crises and catastrophic terrorist attacks. In the past, since such events were both rare and relatively small scale, they could be managed by ad hoc measures mainly within the resources of the emergency services. Since September 2001 this is no longer the case and particularly for those without intermediate forces this is a source of considerable concern. As the British Metropolitan Police Assistant Commissioner David Veness made clear ‘. . . if we had a massive scene . . . how would we go about that? We have not got a gendarmerie. We have not got a third force . . . [or] a national guard’ (House of Commons, 2002). In all states integration of the armed forces into a more coordinated state response to crises and catastrophic events has been evident since 2001. In this context of governments drawing on their armed forces as a state resource, European militaries have been reluctant to add this task to other roles and very reluctant to re-order their existing core functions to accommodate this task. In part this reluctance to embrace duties in the area of law and order is based on a fear of contravening the European Convention on Human Rights and of attracting civil actions against individual service personnel, other than in exceptional circumstances, since they are not explicitly trained in law enforcement. Perhaps most of all there are concerns among armed forces commanders about the cost to the armed forces of domestic functions in terms of the loss of training time and the use of resources on what are often deemed peripheral tasks. A useful illustration of the national specificity of how armed forces are used in domestic functions can be highlighted by analysing the approach of states to MAGD and MACC tasks. Here the presence of intermediate forces appears less relevant than other factors. In almost all states the armed forces assist government departments in a range of

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routine and exceptional functions. However the most contentious MAGD role relates to the use of armed forces for the provision of essential services. In some states this is unthinkable, whilst in other European states whilst delicate (since it raises the prospect of deploying the armed forces in support of partisan interests), there is a long-standing practice of using the armed forces in this way. Likewise in many FSU states, the armed forces continue to be used for civil engineering and agricultural tasks, unthinkable in most west, central and southern European states. In terms of coping with natural and man-made disasters all militaries have undertaken these tasks, but the extent to which this is a core task for which equipment and training provision is made varies widely. Finally, one paradox worth noting is that the full range of domestic military assistance tasks brings armed forces personnel into contact with citizens more directly than any other role, which has an impact on the perceptions and outlook both of the armed forces and of their civilian collaborators. In particular, undertaking such tasks poses challenges to the armed forces because their credibility is tested in what are typically crisis situations which require them to adapt their cultural and organisational structures constructed for military tasks. In general this has had a positive effect on their popularity and their ability to recruit personnel despite reluctance to undertake these tasks. At the same time, however, working with civilian authorities may affect military personnel in a number of ways. Witnessing overstretch and lack of capacity on the part of the appropriate authorities may, for instance, act to undermine the respect with which civilians are held by the armed forces. Overall, however, the September 2001 attacks cannot be seen as representing an obvious ‘Rubicon’ which has been crossed in terms of a profound change in reorientating armed forces towards internal domestic military assistance tasks. It is true that more planning has taken place to better integrate the armed forces into civil contingency preparation, and that counter-terrorism has become a more accepted and more important priority within armed forces. However, functions in the area of war-fighting and international security missions as well as defence diplomacy have ensured that the principal focus of armed forces remains the external role or what Ralph Eberhart calls the ‘away game’ (cited in Arkin, 2003). Significantly, too, a key factor in this has been the unwillingness of armed forces themselves to exchange their external functions for internal security missions and have only reluctantly embraced internal security tasks (Jacobs, 2003: 59). In most instances the armed forces have either hived-off the domestic functions to reserve units or conscript forces or been quick to let intermediate militarised

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forces embrace these new tasks whilst providing a residual role. As this chapter has suggested, this reluctance owes less to a clash between the ‘strict limits imposed by a constitutionalist liberal democratic system’ and ‘the professional instincts, traditions and ethos of the military’ than to more mundane practical concerns about lack of training and preparation for tasks in the domestic sphere.

Notes 1. See also the 1993 National Defence University volume on Non-Combat Roles for the US Military edited by James R. Graham (Graham, 1993). 2. Under the Prevention of Terrorism Act, for instance, members of the Police Service for Northern Ireland carry weapons and have authority to use force not acceptable on the British mainland ‘to match the degree of force being used against them’ (Barley, 2001). Such strategies have allowed governments to argue that they are preserving fundamental civil liberties except where there is a pressing need to take special powers. Where political violence has become what might be termed ‘systemic’, governments have argued that the level of breakdown in law and order is such that the measures taken are better described as counter-terrorist measures which is the second category of military assistance to the civil power. 3. Interview senior Gendarme officer, French Ministry of Defence. 4. The signatories are Austria, Belgium, Czech Republic, Cyprus, Denmark, Estonia, France, Finland, Germany, Greece, Hungary, Iceland, Italy, Latvia, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Malta, Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Portugal, Slovakia, Slovenia (signed not implemented), Spain, Sweden and Switzerland. 5. For example in Gothenburg, three people were shot dead by the Police, over 500 arrests were made and damage was estimated at $10 million dollars. Ultimately events at the Gothenburg summit led to the resignation of the Police Chief. 6. In the Basque region the powers of Ertzaintza (the autonomous police force) have been increased to tackle ETA. 7. In France in 1973 a regional commando was created and today the Groupement de Sécurité et d’Intervention de la Gendarmerie Nationale (Gendarmerie Security and Intervention Group) comprises the Groupe d’Intervention de la Gendarmerie Nationale (the intervention group of the National Gendarmerie), the Groupe de Sécurité de la Présidence de la République (the President’s Security Group) and the Escadron Parachutiste d’Intervention de la Gendarmerie National (the National Gendarmerie Parachutist Squad) (French MoD, 2004b). In addition Departmental Gendarmerie and the Gendarmerie Mobile along with eight specialised units from outside France are involved in counter-terrorist activities. These are Republican Guard, the Sea Gendarmerie, Air Gendarmerie, Air Freight Gendarmerie, Weapon and Arm Gendarmerie, Nuclear Weapons Security Gendarmerie, French Forces of Gendarmerie in Germany and Gendarmerie of French Departments and Territories (overseas), Direction Generale de la Gendarmerie Nationale, 2004. 8. ‘SAS Creates a New Squadron to Counter Threat from Al-Qaeda’, The Sunday Telegraph, 7 March 2004. I am grateful to Timothy Edmunds for drawing my attention to this point.

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9. Across Europe moreover most military intelligence units also work closely with civil police counter-terrorist units providing analysis and intelligence assessments. For example, the British Defence Intelligence Service (DIS) has a branch dedicated to counter-terrorist activities and works alongside Special Branch MI5 and the Secret Intelligence Services (MI6). In France, the Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire (DST) provide a similar domestic counter-terrorism function and Direction Generale de la securite exterieure (DGSE) work alongside the Direction de la Protection et de la Sécurité de la Défense (DPSD) and the Direction du Renseignement Militaire (DRM) – internal and external military intelligence agencies. 10. In November 2004 the Russian Defence Minister Sergei Ivanov announced conscripts would no longer be used in the war and that the main military unit, the 42 Motorised Division, would be permanently stationed in the region. 11. These personnel were supported by a NATO deployment of assets (Patriot missiles, AWACS aircraft and the deployment of command and control assets; the Standing Naval Force Mediterranean to patrol extraterritorial waters around Greece; nuclear and biochemical defence assistance and intelligence) (World Tribune.com, 2004). 12. Of the 12 UN anti-terrorism conventions and protocols by July 2004 55% of OSCE states had ratified all 12 (OSCE, 2004). 13. Norois refers to these categories as exceptional assistance and permanent assistance. See Norois, 1997: 40. 14. One might add that in many states the armed forces often carry out minor tasks where it is simply uneconomical to use other national assets to undertake these tasks or to use contractors from the private sector. For example, in Portugal the air force provides a postal service for the Azores. 15. In the case of the foot-and-mouth outbreak in 2001 French Gendarmes were deployed almost immediately whilst by contrast the British government was hesitant about deploying troops and took 25 days to do so, on the grounds that, as Robert Uhlig argues, ‘. . . it would have signalled that the outbreak had become a crisis’ (Uhlig, 2002). In the event the civil authorities were left overstretched with devastating consequences for the options available and extending the length of the crisis to 7 months (Maxwell, 2002). 16. Christopher France also notes that the law and order function is distinguished from the MAGD task by providing police units to provide escorts to unarmed military undertaking MAGD tasks in order to ensure no conflict of role (France, 1997: 134). 17. A similar function is evident in former colonies such as Australia and New Zealand. 18. The Chief of Defence Staff also indicated that troops would not cross picket lines to get hold of fire equipment and vehicles much to the reported annoyance of the Labour government (Brown and Rayment, 2003; Firefighter, 2003). 19. This has as its remit ‘. . . the aim of working to prevent loss of life and to protect health, the environment and essential public functions and material assets in connection with accidents, disasters and other undesired events in times of peace, crisis and war’ (Norwegian MoD, 2004: 5). 20. In the UK since 1995 the armed forces have undertaken nine deployments under the MACC heading involving 1836 service personnel (DASA, 2003).

Conclusion: Patterns and Trends in Armed Forces and Society Relations

It is worth restating the scale and nature of the ambitions of this volume. As the introduction sets out, the approach which underpins this research is that a comparative politics method can shed new light on a number of old issues, and illuminate a number of overlooked issues in contemporary debates about armed forces and societies in Europe. In part the diminution of ‘politics’, both as an issue in civil–military relations and as a disciplinary contribution to the field, reflects the dominance of sociologists of the military in developing the terrain and establishing the parameters of key civil–military relations debates. But it also reflects a reticence on behalf of many political scientists to take the military seriously as a complex political organisation. In some (perhaps many) cases this also reflects opposition to the raison d’être of the military and its various forms of social and cultural organisations.1 In a similar vein, given the priority of the structural level (and particularly for neo-realists its anarchic nature), few international relations scholars have made a serious attempt to open up the ‘black box’ of the state and its key institutions, as differentiated units in the international system (Smith, 1995). The argument here is not to belittle other disciplinary contributions, but rather to open up new foci of enquiry, and to use existing insights to integrate rather than fragment analysis of civil–military relations. In this way the purpose of this volume is to offer a contribution to multidisciplinary debates that are respectful of existing knowledge, but not constrained by them in terms of method, focus or critical engagement. This research has taken the world as it is rather than the way one would like it to be. Whilst recognising the contested nature of the states and violence, this research also takes as unproblematic the existence of the state and the military, in order to create critical space to explore what Michael Drake terms ‘the problematizations of military power’ 253

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(Drake, 2001: 6). The analytic frame of reference is based on typologies and ideal-types. They are not real descriptions, but they are heuristic constructs to explore difference within and between states and their militaries. In doing so, this work occupies the middle ground between description and theory, identifying key variables and applying them to empirical case studies and exemplars, based on an inductive methodology (Mackie and Marsh, 1995: 176). For those aspiring to a complete theory of civil–military relations the glass may appear half empty, but for others the hope is that the research findings and arguments will allow observers to see a glass half full. The ontological focus of this volume has been on the armed forces of the state (principally armies) as the unit of analysis and on this basis has been organised around thematic and comparative approach.2 This work is therefore structuralist insofar as it has compared and contrasted different issues across states, but post-structuralist insofar as it has explored differences to be explored within categories. Indeed in a number of instances arrival at a similar point from a very different direction has generated important insights into the dynamic of armed forces–society relations. In many ways this volume offers a ‘first cut’ with a number of issues demanding further attention in a ‘second cut’, including the role of private security companies, the role of grey forces, the arms industry, ‘real’ experiences at the individual level of many of the policies and issues analysed here, civil–military cooperation within peace operations,3 and the overlooked issue of whether and how civil– military relations differ in times of war, when compared with times of peace. The purpose of this chapter is to draw on the evidence of the preceding chapters as regards the nature of interactions between armed forces and society, and to explore patterns and trends in Europe. A number of authors have analysed different aspects of the armed forces–society relations, for example Kenneth Waltz has suggested a ‘new military model’ and Lorraine Elliott and Graeme Cheeseman have explored the emergence of what they term ‘cosmopolitan militaries’ (Waltz, 2000: 11; Elliott and Cheeseman, 2004: 3). However few have developed, tested and advanced a comprehensive model more clearly than Charles Moskos, Jay Williams and David Segal and this conclusion takes as its reference point their pioneering work analysing 13 states (7 European states). These authors have developed a Postmodern military model and concluded that ‘The Postmodern type is ascendant in the contemporary era’ (Moskos, Williams and Segal, 2000: 2).4 This chapter now turns to applying the findings of the Postmodern thesis which, as the

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authors hoped, is a very useful guide to structuring a debate on European armed forces (Moskos, 2000: 14). There are five organisational changes of a Postmodern model: first, increasing permeability of civilian and military spheres; second, a reduction in difference in service and branch; third, a change in military purpose from fighting wars to conducting missions not traditionally considered military; fourth, a more extensive use of multinational military forces authorised or legitimised by supranational institutions; and fifth, the internationalisation of military forces themselves (Williams, 2000: 275). This chapter explores whether there is indeed a single Postmodern model in Europe with fixed characteristics. It goes on to analyse the more nuanced argument that the concept of a Postmodern military is developmental construct which ‘. . . posits an ideal-type at some future point by which trends can be identified and appraised’ (Moskos, Williams and Segal, 2000: 7). However in this context Jay Williams argues we need to be clear that even here what is being argued is that whilst we can expect variation in which ‘. . . national difference exist . . . the direction is clear’ (Williams, 2000: 265). On the basis of the evidence in this volume, the argument is threefold: first, whilst European armed forces and society share many similar characteristics within the ‘architecture’ of armed forces and society relations, cross-European analysis indicates there is no single Postmodern model of armed forces after the Cold War. Second, whilst the introduction and subsequent chapters identify a variety of contemporary challenges to armed forces and society relations, the current direction of change is by no means clear across a range of key issues. The connecting theme of this volume and the third argument advanced here is one that highlights diversity and differentiation within European armed forces. This diversity is a consequence of pressures from within and beyond the state – with different pressures being exerted on states. The ways in which these pressures are mediated vary quite widely. This depends on, first, historical and socio-cultural factors which affect the legitimacy of armed forces and what is (or is not) accepted by national electorates as their roles; second, what Theo Farrell terms ‘institutional factors’, such as geographical location and wealth, which also have an impact on threat perceptions and the purposes of the military (Farrell, 2001); and third organisational factors and in particular how autonomous the military are a self-regulating body. Here, the key factors are the ability of the armed forces as a professional interest group to promote their case for resources and to advance or resist organisational and cultural change from within the armed forces and from outside.

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Patterns exist within key aspects of civil–military relations – for example democratic civilian control; military reform; changing roles and legitimacy; difference and similarities between societies and armed forces – but are less evident across all elements. Whilst there may be an epochal change underway from a Modern, to Late Modern, to Postmodern period, the conclusion of this volume is that there is heterogeneity rather than homogeneity in contemporary European civil–military relations, ambiguity rather than certainty in the nature of the impact of domestic and international pressures; and outcomes that are not only more contingent and conditional than the Postmodern military model suggests, but ones which pose a fundamental challenge to it. The first characteristic of the Postmodern military is the increasing permeability of civilian and military spheres. In particular at the core of the Postmodern thesis is that ‘. . . the distinctions between the military and society are lessening’ (Williams, 2000: 274). It is important to note, as Chapter 3 does, that armed forces were founded to provide the controlled use of violence, but their roles are constantly being shaped and reshaped by governments and societies, with functions added to and taken away from the military. Moreover, as Chapter 4 indicates, all governments are struggling to reconcile the need to maintain forces fit for a broad range of purposes and societal legitimacy to support funding, recruitment and their use (Dandeker, 2000b: 185). First, given the distinctive functions of armed forces across Europe, differences between civilians and military are indeed in general declining. However, the speed and direction of any change to the military sphere is highly contingent on the sources of change and the way it is being mediated by the military as a self-regulating body. For states where militaries are ‘weakened gatekeepers’, the general context and specific circumstances in which militaries operate are highly circumscribed. Chapter 4 highlights that within the 25 EU states, the role of supranational human rights, equality and diversity and employment legislation are key factors in eroding the influence of the armed forces. In addition, given the nature of the EU system of governance, the effect is more homogeneous than many other factors with a direct impact on civil– military relations. A key development in many European states are the actions of service personnel within the military who are increasingly contesting and challenging established practice which is having a dramatic effect on the military sphere. However, in ‘shared gatekeeper’ states and ‘strong gatekeeper’ militaries, the extent to which there is reduction in the difference between civilians and the military is more differentiated, the pressure for change is lower and in some cases the

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ability of the military to control the consequences of it are considerably greater. It is also questionable whether this can be best conceptualised as a civilianisation of the military when the impact is so varied and variable. Second, when analysing why the distinctions between the military and society are lessening, there can be very different reasons for convergence of armed forces with societies. Even within groups, states can end up at the same point for very different reasons, as shown by an analysis of the cases of the German and Netherlands armed forces concerning anti-discrimination policies. In Germany this was resisted until imposed by the courts whilst in the Netherlands a more liberal policy preceded court rulings on this issue by several decades. Moreover, many militaries are highly segmented with some issue areas more convergent with civilian life than others. As Chapter 4 argues, this varies both within and across militaries and is issue specific. Third, a silent assumption which at least needs acknowledging is that militaries are not always inherently conservative organisations that are converging on a civilian model of organisation (Winslow and Dunn, 2001: 15). In a number of cases explored in Chapter 4, militaries are in some areas in fact more progressive than the societies from which they come. For example, this is the case concerning gender issues in the Czech Republic, and adds a further complicating factor concerning any unidirectional assumptions of change on a conservative military sphere to a progressive liberal one. As Chapter 3 notes, any permeability of the military sphere takes place within a particular political and social context. In almost all European states – irrespective of whether conscription exists or not – most citizens are lacking interest or concern in being part of the military, what Haltiner and Hirt term a ‘without me attitude’ (Haltiner and Hirt, 2000: 215). In many states this occurs in tandem with a growing interest of civil society groups in the organisational conduct of how militaries are organised and carry out their functions. At the same time what the armed forces are being used for is becoming more contested. In what Elliott and Cheeseman term its cosmopolitan guise, this has included tasks such as peacetime military-to-military cooperation analysed in Chapter 6, and international security tasks, the consequences of which are analysed in Chapter 7. Electorates of many European states are also questioning the role of violence in the contemporary security environment – especially ‘wars of choice’ which are more contested and often seem as more partisan, serving political party rather than national interests. Indeed what tasks militaries are being asked to undertake are becoming more questioned by militaries themselves. Specifically military personnel are themselves challenging dominant

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practices where they contradict civilian reference points, where best practice in other militaries provides an alternative approach and where the law provides an alternative view of their rights and the employers’ obligations. Jay Williams perceptively captures a key dynamic when he comments ‘Military culture is challenged by a relativistic civilian ethos from without and by increasing civilianisation of military functions and personnel orientation from within’ (Williams, 2000: 274). As Chapter 4 notes in many militaries, the implications of this have yet to be fully realised. Finally it is worth noting that any permeability of the military sphere takes place within a context dominated by the continued centrality of the use of violence. All militaries remain organised around ‘personally killing or maiming designated human beings, destroying property and suppressing freedoms, all in the name of legitimate or even sacred duty’ (Boëne, 1990: 4). Whilst the context is changing and becoming more complex, the distinctiveness of this role in society (sometimes shared with other parts of the security sector, such as militarised police and border guards) continues to mark out the purpose of armed forces and those licensed to use lethal force, from the rest of society. A second organisational characteristic identified in the Postmodern military is a series of related changes inside the military itself. These include the reduction in difference in service and branch, the changing nature of the dominant military professional from manager or technician (in the Late Modern period) to solider-statesman and soldier-scholar, and the greater presence of civilian employees, women and homosexuals in the armed forces in the Postmodern era (Moskos, 2000: 19–25). In analysing a reduction in service and branch the evidence is rather mixed and the general focus of this research on this specific issue can only lead to tentative observations. Across European armed forces, a wide range of branches have become more technical in nature. However, in the Expeditionary Warfare, Late Modern and Post-Neutral models, analysed in Chapter 2, it is not unreasonable to suggest that there is little diminution of distinctions between service and branch. In fact the complexity of modern warfare tends to suggest greater differentiation in skills required of the teeth, combat support arms and logistical branches embedded within higher levels of professionalism, military education and training. The nature of this differentiation depends on the role that IT (especially network-centric warfare) plays in modern combat, the type of missions which armed forces prepare for and the levels of professionalism. In turning to the changing nature of the dominant military professional from manager or technician in the Late Modern period to soldier-statesman

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and soldier-scholar in the contemporary period, the Postmodern argument is that this will remain in the officer corps, but that alternative types of the soldier-scholar and the soldier-statesman will be in the ascendant (Moskos, 2000: 19). What is clear is that the challenges of leadership and the use of organised violence are becoming more complex, requiring a range of additional skills and specialisms. Whether this is layered on top of, rather than a replacement for the manager or technician in the Cold War period (itself a notion which is contested) is an open question. What this research demonstrates is that a dominant military professional varies within and across European militaries depending on the type of armed forces. As Chapter 2 argues in Expeditionary Warfare armed forces the need to develop high levels of technical skill, the growing need for presentational and managerial abilities, the ability to be a warrior-diplomat as well as be an excellent combat leader are all the features that are the dominant military professional requirements. In the Late Modern and Post-Neutral armed forces, there is a much clear sense of the relative priorities of these characteristics. For example, reflecting the importance of contributing to international security missions, professional skills relate to effective peacekeeping missions such as the warrior-diplomat, presentational and managerial abilities especially in relation to multinational units. Since their contributions are generally aimed at a lower level in the spectrum of conflict, typically peace support operations and peacekeeping rather than war-fighting, combat leadership is less significant. In Territorial Defence armed forces, there is wide variation in terms of the dominant professional characteristics. In some armed forces the ability to successfully interact with the ruling political party (the partisan soldier) is the key professional characteristic, alongside basic competence in technical skills. In other armed forces there is a more mixed range of professional skills such as combat leadership in a national context whilst in other armed forces the dominant skills set resembles that of Post-Neural and Late Modern armed forces. In terms of the greater acceptance of women and homosexuals in the armed forces again the picture is contingent and context specific. In all European armed forces women are now partially integrated, but in no armed forces can women be considered to be ‘fully integrated’ (Carreiras, 2004). At best in the most progressive armed forces, legislation is in place to promote de jure integration and full equality, but as Chapter 4 shows, in no state does this amount to de facto equality. As Williams correctively surmises ‘. . . de jure policies do not automatically translate into de facto opportunities, and domestic interest groups know they

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must use both legal and political instruments to ensure that they do’ (Williams, 2000: 270). Indeed in some armed forces this is the major issue they now face in challenging all facets of a strikingly resilient masculine culture where even at 19% (the highest level of women’s participation in the military), female representation remains tokenistic. Likewise acceptance of gays, lesbian and transsexuals is now widespread, in many armed forces as a result of imposed change through European legislation (The Observer, 2001). However, precious few European armed forces can claim that they are tolerant organisations and as with women’s experience, work-place equality in practice as well as theory is not yet a reality. A final comment is reserved for the increasing role of civilians in armed forces. This has not been explicitly examined here, though there is evidence to support the assertion that civilian contractors are playing a much greater role in non operational areas such as ‘logistic and house keeping duties’ (Moskos, 2000: 21). However, there is also a growing trend of the use of civilian contractors in operational missions. At least for those armed forces operating in Iraq, private military contractors have been in direct engagement with insurgents and provides a further blurring of any uniformed (and uniform) sense of ‘us’ and ‘them’ which requires further analysis. The third major organisational transformation is ‘. . . a change in military purpose from fighting wars to conducting missions not traditionally considered “military” ’ (Williams, 2000: 275). Key conceptual markers in understanding organisational transformation are changes in perceptions of threat, force structures and major mission redefinition that will all affect the defence model which governments aspire to, and affect the nature and type of the reform process. For Williams ‘. . . peacekeeping and humanitarianism actions are increasingly seen firmly as in the mainstream of military missions, rather than a distraction from the “real” purpose of militaries’ (Williams, 2000: 266). The first point to make is that there is a very wide variation in threat perceptions and European governments clearly have a range of views on the extent to which they and their electorates feel threatened. In Greece and Turkey and some states that border Russia notably the Baltic states, Norway, Finland and Sweden these governments remain concerned by the need to defend of national territory and are thus a predominant group within the Territorial Defence model analysed in Chapter 2. In Russia and Turkey the threat to territorial integrity posed by Chechens and Kurdish groups can be considered internal threats, whilst for other governments it is a traditional external state threat to territorial integrity

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that preoccupies them. Other governments do not consider a major conventional statist territorial threat to their territorial integrity in the next decade. Rather it is the terrorist threat that requires both an internal and external focus in defending society at large, national infrastructure, economic well-being and symbols of national identity which are all considered more of a target from hostile non states actors. As Chapter 8 argues, the European responses have varied widely, though in most cases other than where intermediate forces exist, militaries have been reluctant to embrace these tasks. The range of defence tasks that governments now plan for has also changed beyond the more clear-cut priorities from 1945 to 2001. The key characteristics of this are two fold: a redefinition of what constitutes national security; and an expansion of missions undertaken by the military. In terms of a redefinition of the national security role, this has moved away from a narrowly conceived purpose of the armed forces to defend national territory, towards a broader interpretation that now ranges from Territorial Defence, to pre-emptive intervention outside the territory of the state and in some cases is based on the concept of preventive defence. In terms of an expansion of tasks there has also been an important focus on ‘humanitarian’ intervention in defence of solidarist values rather than territorial ambitions. Militaries have therefore been called upon by their governments to act in support of ‘the moral community of humankind’ to protect victims of human rights abuses – what Elliott and Cheeseman term ‘cosmopolitan militaries’ (Elliot and Cheeseman, 2004: 1). Thus in contrast to the Late Modern period of cold war, threat perceptions are less uniform and certainly more multidimensional (Burk, 1998: 4). As argued in the Postmodern military thesis, these tasks are not seen as a distraction from the real purpose of militaries, but have become an integral part of the new functions of many European armed forces. What the Postmodern military thesis accurately captures is a dual change, of non-war fighting tasks not previously undertaken by the military becoming more prevalent and acceptance of these tasks firmly ‘. . . in the mainstream of military missions’ (Williams, 2000: 266). However, ‘soft’ non-military tasks have not moved into the mainstream of core functions of the military by masking or replacing the war-fighting functions of the military. Rather what has occurred is a ‘hardening’ of humanitarian intervention missions, which in many states has blurred the line between war-fighting and what were conventionally considered ‘softer’ peace support operations, such as stability operations, peacekeeping and peace enforcement. In particular the operations in Iraq in 1991 and 2003–2005

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had all the characteristics and intensity of major war-fighting operations, despite the claim that they were peace support operations, upholding international peace and security.5 Even the peacekeeping mission in BiH has been sufficiently distinct from traditional ‘blue helmet’ missions to require a new conceptualisation for these types of peace support missions and the introduction of the concept of concurrent rather than sequential activity (UK MoD, 2004c). Likewise, experience in Iraq has led to the development of the ‘three block’ concept, which recognises the complexity of PSOs and the wide range of violence that may be required (Marcus, 2003; Dorman, 2004b).6 Certainly all governments are aware of the need to ensure their armed forces are trained, equipped and prepared for escalation in violence, whatever the nomenclature of operations. As Moskos, Williams and Segal argue there is thus increasing convergence between military and humanitarian operations, but what they miss is that ‘humanitarian’ interventions are increasingly war like rather than pacifistic in nature (Moskos, Williams and Segal, 2000: 5). As Chapter 2 argues, what differs across Europe is the extent to which governments have fully embraced the concept of Expeditionary Warfare and applied it to the armed forces as a whole (as in the UK and to a lesser degree in France); or on a more limited basis applied taken the idea of power projection and applied it to a very limited number of forces capable of operating at a medium level within the spectrum of conflict, as in the case of other defence models notably the Post-Neutral, Late Modern and Territorial Defence. Indeed it is on this issue that much will depend in terms of whether there is as Timothy Edmunds argues, a single continuum of contemporary armed forces, or as argued here there is a more segmented typology upon which an influential idea of Expeditionary Warfare is impacting. For Edmunds at one end of the spectrum is the Expeditionary Warfare model, considered the most advanced military type of its age, and Territorial Defence the least advanced with Late Modern and Post-Neutral models somewhere in between, with all states really aspiring to the Expeditionary Warfare model but through funding, limitation and other constraints unable to do so. The argument outlined here, is that there is a more segmented typology upon which an influential idea of Expeditionary Warfare is imperfectly, incompletely and in some case inappropriately impacting. In terms of force structure, the reduction in the size of European armed forces has led to personnel cuts of between 30% and 50% compared with their Cold War force levels. However the end of the mass armies based on a small cadre of professionals and conscripts is not a universal phenomenon. As Chapters 1 and 2 analyse, nearly a third of

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European states retain conscription and whilst some have plans to introduce an all volunteer force this is by no means widespread challenging Karl Haltiner and Tibor Szvircsev Tresch’s contention ‘. . . that conscription has in fact had its day’ (Haltiner and Szvircsev Tresch, 2005: 2) (see Table 1.1). What is the case, is that most states with conscription are rethinking exactly what this involves and in some cases in quite radical ways that may require us to develop new conceptual language to accurately capture the differences between old and new conscription. As Chapter 7 explores and the Postmodern military model suggests, it has led to the incorporation of reserve forces as integral components of any force deployment (Moskos, 2000: 19). However, in addition to this, the shear cost of participating in international security missions (and in the UK’s case) in operating alongside the US forces, has also led to the creation of two-tier forces where investment is being focused and this is already a major issue across Europe with long term implications for armed forces. In terms of creating, and sustaining legitimacy for armed forces there is no doubt that in the contemporary environment this is a challenging proposition in what Christopher Dandeker call ‘new times’ (Dandeker, 1994b, 2000a). However rather than a uniform decline in legitimacy there appears to be a more complicated picture in which a threefold conceptualisation of the relationship between armed forces and the society they serve is evident, termed ossified, reconnected and renewed groups. In the first group where armed forces-society relations have ossified, the willingness of electorates to fund the military has been undermined by the decline in old roles with no new roles emerging to generate legitimacy. Often this has led to a downward spiral with even greater difficulty in successfully promoting new roles, securing appropriate defence expenditure and efficiently and effectively spending it. In a second group of re-connected states, old roles have declined, but new roles have been created and accepted for the armed forces; whilst in a third renewed group old roles continue alongside and new roles created for the armed forces and generally have appropriate levels of funding and societal support for the full range of missions they undertake. As Chapter 3 argues, states in each group have particular challenges which they face. One reason for this is that different types of defence model whether they be Expeditionary Warfare, Late Modern, Territorial Defence or Post-Neutral, require different levels of defence expenditure and societal support. This adds further diversity to any analysis of public attitudes towards the military which is far from indifferent, except in terms of the ‘without me’ attitude to joining the armed forces and discussed above.

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In turning to the fourth characteristic of more extensive use of multinational military forces authorised or legitimised by supranational institutions, evidence from Chapter 5 indicates this to be the case across Europe, either as a result of various functional needs (e.g. specialist ‘niche’ capabilities provided by particular states, the limited number of governments that can provide ‘enablers’ such as an operational HQ and strategic lift; or the need for more forces in the ground), or for the purpose of creating (or claiming) legitimacy for operational deployments. The agreement at the December 2003 EU European Council and the UN Secretary General’s High Level Panel’s report in December 2004 on UN reform have both highlighted their preference for and the need to further develop ‘effective multilateralism’ (Hannay, 2005: 1). Notwithstanding this, even here the picture is a complex one, which amounts to something more than all states moving in exactly the same direction toward the same goals, with the only difference in the speed of travel. As Chapter 5 notes, multinationalism has been a long-standing feature of European security arrangements. A rise in missions involving more than one states has occurred in the last decade and a half, reaching a high water mark in 1999 when 52,178 service personnel from European armed forces were deployed on international missions – in 2003 the figure declined to 42,134 but is still high compared with the cold war period (see Table 5.5). The UN has provided one important institution in which multinational deployments take place. The number of these tasks has grown dramatically over the last 15 years. As Chapter 5 notes, between 1988 and 1993 there were more such interventions than in the whole period from 1945 to 1987 (Bellamy, Williams and Griffin, 2003: 75). Since 1999 there has been 10 UN military missions (see Table 7.2). In addition, as Chapters 5 and 7 analyse, alongside the UN, the role of two core European security institutions, NATO and the EU have been at the forefront of promoting multinational deployments. The principle of out-of-area roles was established through the 1991 new Alliance Strategic Concept and the 1999 Strategic Doctrine. Examples include NATO missions in Bosnia-Herzegovina (BiH) (1995), Kosovo (1999), Macedonia (1999), Albania (1999), Afghanistan (2003) and in Iraq (2004) (EU, 2003; Gazzini, 2003: 249; Robertson, 2003; Missiroli, 2004). Likewise the EU has already led 3 multinational missions in DRC (2003), Macedonia/FYROM (2003) and BiH (2004). It is important to note that even non-NATO/EU states have been active participants in many missions led by these organisations, with, for example, 9 non-EU European states participating in Operation Concordia and 11 non-EU states contributing to Operation Althea in BiH (see Table 5.1). Both NATO and the EU have

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therefore provided a permanent policy frame through which to debate the parameters and establish the principles of multilateralism, to negotiate on a case by case basis the specific operational requirements of deployments and these institutions have played a central role in legitimising military operations. However, opt-outs and the optional nature of these missions have all served to ensure participation remains a national decision and the experiences of Greece in NATO and Denmark in the EU illustrate, these are rights that governments have been willing to exercise. In terms of multinational military forces increasingly being authorised or legitimised by supranational institutions, a number of points can be made. First, as Chapter 7 analyses, in some counties termed ‘Westphalian’ states (Russian and the 5 states of Austria, Finland, Ireland and Sweden, and Switzerland), military intervention has to be authorised by the UN Security Council as an absolute requirement. However, for a second group of ‘post-Westphalians’ states, of which the most prominent are the UK and France, but which also includes Denmark and Poland, this group of states have been willing to deploy military force without explicit UN approval. In a third grouping of ‘solidarist’ states, of which Belgian, German, Italian and Greek governments are exemplars, they have a strong preference to see the UNSC as the arbiter of when and where intervention is legitimate and to seek UN authority whenever possible. This group have also generally been reluctant to allow NATO and the EU to be used for non-UN authorised missions and where this has occurred many governments have disassociated themselves from decisions and exempted themselves from missions. Likewise these states have often only engaged in military deployments as part of post-conflict reconstruction, once missions have been taken under the umbrella of the UN and associated with it as is currently the case in Iraq. Beyond the generalised preference for multinational military forces authorised or legitimised by supranational institutions, there is therefore a highly differentiated picture of how this works in practice. In addition and in all cases though often for different reasons, multinationalism is layered on top of, rather than a substitute for national autonomy, and militaries remain quite firmly rooted in the nation state, which in all instances hold onto their function of defence of national interests whether broadly or narrowly defined. The extent to which the national context is permeated by multinationalism varies. In the case of the UK whilst a preference exists for multilateral solutions, the capacity for autonomous national action through unilateral deployment remains a benchmark and core feature of its organisation as evidenced by its deployments and defence plans and which acts a limit

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to multinationalism. In other states, the roles and duties of military forces have been reconceptualised in a way that beyond a response to a direct attack, has made unilateral action normatively inconceivable. In practice too, for these states the capacity for national deployment severely limited, as is the case in the Scandinavian states of Finland, Sweden and Norway (Bergman, 2004: 169). Whilst the implications of multinationalism have led to greater levels of interoperability and reorganisation of armed forces, in no state has it led to a revision of the role of armed forces to defend state interests whether it be territory, values or economic well being (Elliott and Cheeseman, 2004: 3). In turning to the fifth organisational characteristic, there is no doubt that internationalisation has affected European militaries, but again this highly contingent and context specific. First, as Chapter 5 highlights defence cooperation has been shaped by three overlapping security communities, the Euro-Atlantic Community, the EU and NATO. The most integrated militaries are the 30 states lying at the core of these overlapping communities (Table 5.2). Membership of these international organisations has affected the nature of the defence commitments of members and the levels of formal and informal political and military interaction. They have also led to high levels of mutual identification and collective identity, including shared concepts of foreign policy behaviour. Beyond the core, comprising a further 23 states, a more differentiated pattern exists, both in terms of mutual identification, military interaction and identity and behaviour. Second even within these two groups, the ‘reach’ of internationalisation has been variable. It has been greatest within the 10 new NATO central and eastern European members (Bulgaria, Czech Republic, Estonia, Hungary, Lithuania, Poland, Romania, Slovakia and Slovenia) and NATO aspirant states (Albania, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Croatia, Georgia, Macedonia and from 2005 Ukraine), where the impact of NATO has been more direct than for member states of long standing. Within the broader context of NATO’s PfP framework, MAPs, and PARP have been designed with membership as a goal and thus provided key levers of conditionality. In the case of long standing members of NATO, the effect has been much more limited in terms of impact on defence expenditures and the promotion of specific defence reforms. One example is that proportionately more of the new member states of NATO have ended or taken a decision to end conscription, reflecting the greater impact of NATO on aspirant than existing members (see Table 12.4).7 Indeed the recent change within NATO and to a lesser extent the EU, to an ‘effects’ based approach to promoting defence

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reform, recognises the limited influence on current members. In this respect it is merely the latest initiative in a constant search for effective mechanisms to promote and focus improvements in military capabilities of NATO’s member states. NATO and the EU have thus provided key international ‘policy framing structures’ shaping military attitudes, developing procedures and rules and conventions of behaviour, and commitments and capabilities that provide a key reference points in debates within NATO concerning military reform and national defence procurement. In terms of specific forms of internationalisation, the growing centrality of the UN as an international actor, is also reflected in the creation of a UN’s Stand-by High Readiness Brigade (SHIRBRIG) which is dedicated military unit capable of being deployed within 30 days under the auspices of the UN. This involves 16 (out 21 member states participants) giving it a distinctive European character (Langille, 1999).8 Across Europe the level of operation integration of armed forces is also striking. For example, the reorganisation of NATO forces has created substantially more multinational forces. Perhaps most notable in this regard is the creation of the NATO Response Force which aims to be ‘. . . effective, technologically advanced . . . designed to be flexible, rapidly deployable, interoperable and sustainable’ (NATO, 2003: 10). The more recent EU 2010 Headline Goal initiative will to lead to the creation of EU multinational battle groups (von Wogau, 2004).9 All these forces provide an important context for the development of shared culture and practices and promoted levels of interoperability that are qualitatively different from the Cold War period. In armed forces of NATO aspirants, the development of interoperability and shared operational experience has had significant consequences on investment in new equipment, the development of new doctrine and military culture. However, no force has been willing to embrace the complete internationalisation of their armed forces. Moreover this needs to be set in the context that the actual number of forces affected is relatively small (even with rotation). For example, Germany, France and the UK contributed or earmarked only 5.3% of their total forces (40,602) to multinational operations out of total military forces of 756,210. The German government has formally introduced a two-tier structure and in postcommunist European states, participation in peacekeeping missions was premised on the development of two-tier forces capable of operating alongside west European forces and a cash starved rump. In short armed forces therefore remain firmly national in organisation, whilst more often than not multinational in deployment. There is

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therefore considerable counter evidence to challenge the idea of a tendency to decouple contemporary armed forces from national structures (Moskos, Williams and Segal, 2000: 5). As Chapter 5 suggests, where internationalisation has had most reach is through NATO transmitting norms of professionalism, developing a common corpus of military doctrine, promoting interoperability and over quite a considerable period of time minimising the fear of shared multinational command structures. Different issues have a specific combination of policy advocates to champion them. The issues of force structure, doctrine and military reform are most heavily influenced by attitudes in the US transmitted through NATO and through leading military and political partners, notably the UK government and its military.10 On other issues such as the development of modern forms of conscription, militaries in Denmark and Germany have been at the forefront of sharing ideas. One particular overlooked area of internationalisation relates specifically to the EU. Whilst the EU currently has had a limited impact on doctrine and force structures and therefore provides a thin institutional layer, in one very important respect this layer is thick. As Chapter 4 argues, for those states that are members of the EU, the impact of binding supranational legislation enforced by the ECJ has arguably had a more far reaching impact on the military than NATO in the areas of employment legislation notably equality and diversity issues and the armed forces’ duty of care to its employees. In terms of this effect this is removing some key elements of the right to be different and the unquestioned primacy of ‘operational effectiveness’ as defensive discourse against change. In this respect there is a very clear convergence around common employment standards with limited variation through specific derogations and a transition period for new entrants to the EU. This dynamic is clearly absent in the USA and Canada, and can reasonably be considered Europeanisation. One final point concerning internationalisation relates to the very close relationships that some states have developed, with others that share aspirations or models of defence reform. It is the US military that are the leading example of the Expeditionary Warfare model and it is the Bush administration (notably US Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld) and the US military that have taken the lead in developing all aspects of the Expeditionary Warfare model, typified by the publication in the US of the Transformation Planning Guidance in June 2003 and the creation of NATO’s Allied Command Transformation (Rumsfeld, 2002; Mahnken and FitzSimmonds, 2003). In this respect the UK armed forces

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are directly engaged with the US in terms of understanding and promoting network enabled warfare, the development and application of battle space knowledge, and the implications of effects based warfare, which are all feeding into doctrine, procurement and training (Cronin, 2002; Hone, 2004; Schulz and Reimer, 2004). For the UK government aspiring to the Expeditionary Warfare model, it is the level of interoperability with ‘first-wave’ US forces that has become the goal of their own force transformation processes. Beyond the Expeditionary Warfare group of states, what has been termed a new ‘American way of war’ in organisational, equipment, doctrine and culture, is percolating through to other European armed forces (Boot, 2003). However, as Chapter 2 argues, the impact of this on governments that have embraced Territorial Defence, Late Modern and Post-Neutral models is highly variable, both in terms of which parts of this model apply and how.

Conclusions In summary from the vantage point of mid-2005, the evidence in Europe suggest that it is premature to consider that a Postmodern type of military has come into existence. Militaries are surprisingly resilient in terms of their modernist foundations structure and purposes. Moreover, the Postmodern military model masks important differences both within and across militaries in Europe. Neither is there a single model of armed forces, nor is the direction of change uniform moving towards a single point albeit at varying speeds. This is not simply a result in a rise in the level of threat perception as a result of the September 2001 terrorist attacks or the rise of identity politics, but the very different historical, socio-cultural factors and organisational difference across European armed forces and their societies.11 Can we consider then, that there are what Williams terms a Postmodern ‘era’ or Moskos a Postmodern ‘paradigm’ (Moskos, 2000: 27; Williams, 2000: 265). Certainly, it is the case that as a developmental construct Postmodern framework has identified important conceptual markers against which to judge change, but as yet there is one dominant ‘US’ model does not fit all (Moskos, 2000: 14).

Notes 1. One of the most puzzling issues in this regard is that if one genuinely wants to understand the complexities of military power, it seems to make little sense to overlook that which one fears the most. Exploration of this is certainly worthy of more consideration than can be offered here.

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2. In doing so it is important to acknowledge that other foci are not only legitimate, but indispensable to a comprehensive understanding of a multilayered and multilevel set of issues, including placing the individual centre stage of analysis. 3. The ground-breaking work of Hugo Slim ‘The Stretcher and The Drum’ in Ginifer (1997) and Weiss’ chapter on civil–military interactions are already key contributions to this issue. 4. The states analysed are Denmark, France, Germany, Italy, Netherlands, Switzerland and the UK. 5. To a lesser extent both in scale and intensity this was the case in Kosovo 1999 and Afghanistan in 2001. 6. The three block reference is to the different types of military action operating concurrently within the same battlefield space, comprising three city blocks. In the first city block, fighting high-intensity warfare against a well trained and equipped enemy; in the second block, fighting irregular forces that are conducting a guerrilla or insurgency campaign; and in the third city block providing blue helmet style humanitarian assistance (Marcus, 2003). 7. Of the 14 ‘old’ European members of the Alliance that have all volunteer forces, 6 have ended conscription since 1989 with 5 members maintaining a strong preference to some form of conscription. With Latvia, Romania and the Slovak Republic committed to ending conscription by 2007, of the 10 ‘new’ central and east European members that joined NATO since 1999, only 4 states will retain conscription. 8. The 16 signatory nations have signed one or more SHIRBRIG documents are Argentina, Austria, Canada, Denmark, Finland, Italy, Ireland, Lithuania, the Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Slovenia, Spain and Sweden. Chile, Czech Republic, Hungary, Jordan and Senegal participate as observers. http://www.shirbrig.dk/shirbrig/html/sb_intro.htm visited 14 April 2004. 9. Single nation battle groups are expected to be supplied by France, Italy, Spain and the UK with nine multi-national battle groups. 10. The effects of promoting a single Expeditionary Warfare model have certainly been dysfunctional with a number of damaging financial and operational consequences that have challenged existing bases for legitimacy in society in some states (Forster, Edmunds and Cottey, 2003). 11. For example, Moskos notes, ‘The basic point is that a Postmodern military ultimately derives from the decline in the level of threat to the nation . . . and . . . the rise in identity politics’ (Moskos, 2000: 27).

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Index Note: Page numbers in italics refer to tables. Abi-Saab, G., 201 Abrahamsson, B., 21 Adams, J., 113 Adler, A.B., 222 Adler, E., 137 Afghanistan, 8, 88, 94, 96, 109, 159, 179, 190, 197, 206, 264 Africa, 174 African Union (AU), 179, 186, 189 Agboluaje, A., 174, 186 airborne warning and control systems (AWACS), 147 Albania, 264 and MAGD, 241, 242 and NATO, 160, 196, 266 Alfiero, C., 236 Algeria, 150 all-volunteer forces (AVF), 92 Alliance Strategic Concept (1991), 196, 264 Allied Command Transformation (NATO), 48, 268–9 Amnesty International, 113 Andreopoulos, G., 25 Appathurai, J., 4 Aris, B., 127 Arkin, W., 250 armed forces, 2 civilianisation of jobs in, 7 connection with state, 97 and connection with the state, 97 domestic role of, 7–8 external role as principal focus, 250 interoperability of, 3 and peacekeeping/peaceenforcement, 8, 175, 178–9 redefinition of role, 1 reduction in, 2, 3, 48–9, 50 relevance of conventional, 7 reorganisation of, 2 retention of, 51

transformation/adaptation, 3–7 trust in, 83 and use of violence, 174 see also forces–society relationship Athens Report (1993), 209 AU, see African Union (AU) Austria, 156, 158, 160, 205, 207, 229, 232 Avant, D., 22, 221 AWACS, see airborne warning and control systems (AWACS) Azerbaijan, 182 Babington, A., 231 Baburkin, S., 237 Baldwin, T., 103 Balkans, 60, 83, 178 Baltic Air Surveillance Network (BALTNET), 191 Baltic Battalion (BALTBAT), 191 Baltic Defence College (BALTDEFCOL), 191 Baltic Sea forum (BALTSEA), 191 Barder, B., 204, 222 Barley, A., 232, 233, 248 Barnett, M., 199 Basham, V., 218 Battistelli, F., 132, 133 Baynes, J.C.M., 78 Bebler, A., 29, 34 Beevor, A., 103 Belarus, 59, 156, 158, 242, 243 Belgium, 29, 214 and late modern model, 62 and peacekeeping, 204, 206, 210 Bellamy, A., 40, 61, 83, 84, 87, 179, 196, 198, 199, 201, 202, 204, 205, 206, 210, 264 Ben-Ari, E., 18 Bennett, P.V., 27 Berg, J., 61, 71 302

Index Bergman, A., 80, 90, 140, 141, 191, 192, 205, 206, 266 Berlioz, J.-M., 8, 230 Betz, D., 31, 33 BiH, see Bosnia-Herzegovina (BiH) Bilski, A., 58 Binnedijk, H. and Kugler, R., 4, 48 Blair, T., 187, 205, 224 Bland, D., 10, 11, 22 Bloch Lainé, A., 48 Blondell, J., 9 BMATT, see British Military Advisory and Training Teams (BMATT) Boëne, B., 6, 18, 20, 51, 102, 136 Boot, M., 2, 3, 269 Booth, B., 110, 113 Booth, K., 205 Borchert, H., 65, 222 Bordert, 86, 87, 158 Born, H., 40 Boseley, S., 218–19 Bosnakoudhis, A., 237 Bosnia-Herzegovina (BiH), 56, 142, 152, 156, 160, 196, 202, 207, 212, 264, 266 Bothe, M., 201 BPST, see British Peace Support Teams (BPST) Brand, C., 234 Bratton, P., 2, 46, 50 Breslin, S., 13 Bright, M., 62 British Military Advisory and Training Teams (BMATT), 189 British Peace Support Teams (BPST), 189, 195(n6) Britt, T.W., 222 Brokesova, J., 112 Brown, C., 245, 252 Brussels Summit (1994), 155 Brussels Summit (2001), 234 Bryden, A., 11, 83, 172, 183 Buckley, E., 162 ‘Building a Better World’ (UK, 1999), 187 Bulgaria, 33–4, 156, 160, 169(n16), 213, 266 bullying, 103, 134(n5) Burk, J., 1, 6, 19, 27, 71, 95, 261 Burrell, S.A., 137, 139, 150

303

Burridge, B., 29 Bush, G.W., 2, 46 Butler, N., 22, 221 Buzan, B., 12, 13, 76, 137 Caforio, G., 52, 91, 92, 93, 99 Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND), 36 Campbell, D., 77 Canada, peacekeeping, 207 Cannizzaro, E., 214 Carr, E.H., 10 Carr, F., 148 Carreiras, H., 19, 104, 113, 122, 134, 135, 259 Carstairs, C., 31 Carter, A.B., 174 Cassese, A., 31 CCRF, see Civil Contingency Reaction Force (CCRF) CEAC, 113 central and eastern Europe (CEE), 29 Central Asia, 181, 187 CFSP, see common foreign and security policy (CFSP) Charter of Fundamental Rights (EU, 2000), 111 Chechnya, 59, 83, 150, 237 Cheeseman, G., 20, 41, 77, 79, 166, 170, 172, 173, 208, 254, 261, 266 Chemical Weapons Convention, 183 Chernoff, T., 148 Chiefs of Defence, 140–1 China, 176, 184 Chirac, J., 49 Chomsky, N., 205, 223 Churylov, M., 83–4 Civil Contingencies Act (UK, 2004), 239 Civil Contingency Reaction Force (CCRF), 236–7, 239 Civil Protection in Peacetime Act (UK, 1986), 239 civil servants, 33–4 civil society, as alternative source of information, 35 campaigns, 36 and conscription, 37 engagement of, 35–9 as forum/means for popular debate, 36

304

Index

civil society, as alternative source of information – continued and ignorance of military issues, 36–7 key elements of, 35 political activism of, 37, 39 and questioning of government, 36–7 Cizre, U., 19, 23 Clarke, M., 29, 162 Clemons, E., 201 Clinton, B., 2, 46 Club for Security, Defence and the Protection of the Society and State (BOOSS), 123 Cohn, C., 19, 104 Colbey, R., 112 Cold War, 1, 2, 3, 5, 9, 21, 41, 54, 56, 59, 76, 95, 96–7, 160, 176, 181, 191, 196, 200, 203, 209, 242 Collier, D., 13 combat immunity, 219–20 Combat Stress, 111 Committee for Women in NATO Forces (CWINF), 113 common foreign and security policy (CFSP), 139 Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty, 183 Congo, 142 Connaughton, R., 198, 200–1, 204, 216 Connell, R.W., 104 conscription, 37, 38, 40(n6, n7), 262–3 centrality of, 42 ending of, 50, 72(n14), 73(n20), 169(n21), 266 and ethnic minorities, 118 and gender, 114, 135(n17) and Italy, 92, 99(n6) and late modern model, 65 and NATO, 162–4, 169(n26) post-communist states, 54 and post-neutral model, 66–7 re-introduction of, 77–8 reduction in, 84, 99(n3) retention of, 158 and security missions, 216, 225(n28) and socialisation of soldiers, 98(n1) and Territorial Defence, 54, 56–7, 61–2

Constitutional Treaty, 140 Cook, R., 144 cooperation, see military cooperation and allies of convenience COPS, see Political and Security Committee (COPS) COREPER, 140 Cornish, P., 142, 147 cosmopolitan militaries, 170, 172, 180, 186, 190–1, 192, 193, 254, 261 Cottey, A., 1, 3, 4, 9, 18, 19–20, 22, 24, 31, 33, 36, 42, 43, 44, 63, 75–6, 77, 79, 80, 95, 149, 157, 158, 159, 171, 173–6, 184, 187, 189, 192, 194, 212, 270 Council of Ministers (EU), 140 counter-terrorism, 248–9 and agreement on common definition, 238 and armed forces, 237 experience of terrorists, 235 fluidity between categories, 237–8 and integration of armed forces/ internal security arrangements, 238–9 and intermediate forces, 235–6 and Special Forces, 236–7, 251–2(n7–n9) and use of air force/naval support, 239 and use of legislation, 239 Croatia, 84 and NATO, 152, 156, 160, 266 promotion in, 60 and territorial defence, 56 Cronin, A.K., 1, 41, 48, 96 Cyprus, 140, 145, 168(n8) Czech Republic, 189 defence expenditure in, 162 equality/diversity agenda in, 121–5 and international missions, 56 and NATO, 154–5, 160, 266 and training, 59–60 Czechoslovakia, 30, 34, 36 Daalder, I., 12, 205 DAF, see Defence Assistance Fund (DAF)

Index Dandeker, C., 6, 18, 95, 101, 102, 103, 104, 110, 114, 129, 132, 135, 136, 200, 216, 226, 256, 263 Danet, D., 51 Danish Defence Agreement, 73(n19) Davies, H., 112 DCI, see Defence Capabilities Initiative (DCI) de Wilde, J., 12, 13 defence, see security communities, amalgamated Defence Assistance Fund (DAF), 189 defence budget, 30, 34 Defence Capabilities Initiative (DCI), 48, 161–2, defence diplomacy, 94–5, 187, 188, 222, 250 defence funding, 1, 2, 3 defence policy, 32, 33–4 Defence Sales Exports Organisation (DESO), 190 della Porta, D., 228, 229, 233 democracy, 16, 176–8, 179 democratic control, background, 19–21 checks/balances in, 23–4 and concept of governance, 23–4 and defence/foreign policy, 23, 40(n4) diversity of, 20–1 framework for considering, 21–4 holistic approach, 20 and military autonomy/ interference, 21 and military interventions, 22–3 and need for consensus/legitimacy, 24 and political nature of military, 21–2 segregation/confusion over, 19–20 subjective/objective, 21 technical issues, 23 democratic governance and accountability, 27, 39 of armed forces, 24–7 bureaucracy of, 25 and civil society engagement, 35–9 and civilianisation of uniformed posts, 34, 35 and implementation of defence policy, 32–5 legislation, 25

305

and legislative oversight, 27–32 parliamentary/prime ministerial structures, 25–6 policy/operational issues, 25 presidential systems, 26 principles, 25 semi-presidential systems, 26–7 structures, 25–7 Dempsey, G., 220 Denmark, 265 and defence, 139–40 and international security mission, 90, 99(n5) and late modern model, 62, 73(n19) law and order in, 234–5 ‘Objectives, Tasks and Organisations’, 90 and peacekeeping, 204, 205–6, 207 and re-connected militaries, 89–91 Desch, M., 22 DESO, see Defence Sales Exports Organisation (DESO) Deutsch, K., 137, 139, 150 Di Blase, A., 200 ‘Doctrine of International Community’ (UK), 187 Domestic Military Assistance, 78–9 and ossified legitimacy, 85 and re-connected militaries, 88 domestic roles, background, 226–8 challenges/perceptions, 247–51 and civil liberties, 226 and coping with natural/man-made disasters/emergencies (MACC), 245–7 and coping with natural/ man-man-made disasters/ emergencies (MACC), 227 and counter-terrorism, 248–9 diversity of experience, 227 and hiving off of tasks, 250–1 and homeland security, 226 key determinants, 227–8 and maintenance of law and order (MACP), 227, 228–41 and management of external/ internal boundaries, 226 and militarisation of society, 226

306

Index

domestic roles, background – continued and provision of essential services (MAGD), 227, 241–5 and use of armed forces, 249–50 and working with civilians, 250 Donnelly, C., 5, 164 Dorman, A., 2, 46, 48, 93, 173, 194, 262 Dover, R., 13, 29 DRC, 206 Duffield, M., 20, 198 Duke, S., 141 Dunay, P., 2, 32, 34, 59, 60 Dunn, J., 131, 257 Durward, R., 202, 208, 212 Dyer, C., 218–19 EAPC, see Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council (EAPC) East Asia, 181 Eberhart, R., 250 ECAP, see European Capabilities Action Plan (ECAP) Ecole Supérieur de Guerre (France), 174 Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), 179, 186, 208 ECOWAS, see Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) Edmunds, T., 1, 3, 4, 9, 18, 19–20, 22, 24, 31, 33, 36, 42, 43, 44, 63, 69, 75–6, 77, 80, 153, 155, 157, 158, 159, 270 Eggenburger, R., 65, 222 Egypt, 181 Ehrenreich, B., 104 Ehrenzeller, B., 28 ELA, see Revolutionary People’s Struggle (ELA) Elliott, L., 20, 41, 77, 79, 166, 170, 172, 173, 208, 254, 261, 266 Elshtain, J., 19 Emergency Powers Acts (UK), 239 employment, 133 and Czech Republic, 124–5 Germany–Netherlands comparison, 119–20 and Ukraine, 126–8

Enloe, C., 104 Equal Opportunities Commission, 113 Equal Treatment Directive (EU, 1976), 111 ESDP, see European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP) Estonia, 56, 160, 266 ETA, see Euskadi ta Askatasuna (ETA) ethnic minorities, 6, 103, 104, 113 and Czech Republic, 123 recruitment of, 51, 118, 135(n19) and Ukraine, 128 EU battle groups, 4, 140, 141–2, 144, 168(n6), 267, 270(n9) EU Security Strategy, 144 EU Stability and Growth Pact, 92–3, 99(n7) Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council (EAPC), 149–50, 151 Euro-Atlantic region, 149, 266 informal commitment, 149–50 interaction between states, 150 military obligations, 149 and mutual identification/collective identity, 150–1 Europe and collapse of communism, 3 contrast with US, 2–3, 5 east/west difference, 3 influence on military reform, 4 military-political-social environment, 6 and NATO, 3–5 European Capabilities Action Plan (ECAP), 48, 144 European Charter on Military Law, 222 European Commission, 140 European Convention on Human Rights, 25, 219, 249 European Council, 144 European Court of Human Rights (ECHR), 110 European Court of Justice (ECJ), 110, 135(n12) European Defence Agency, 144 European Rapid Reaction Force, 48 European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP), 4, 139, 141, 142, 145

Index European Union (EU), 4, 110, 179, 264, 266 and collective decision-making, 141 and common foreign/security policy, 140 defence commitment of, 139–40 and defence cooperation, 137, 138–42, 143, 144–5, 146, 147–52 European Arrest Warrant, 234 and formal/informal interaction, 140–2 Joint Action, 234 Justice/Home Affairs policies, 233 membership of, 88 and military security issues, 142 and mutual identification/collective identity, 142 and non-military crisis management, 141 and Petersberg tasks, 141, 168(n3) and structure/reform of armed forces, 144–5 Euskadi ta Askatasuna (ETA), 235 Evans-Pritchard, A., 234, 238 Everts, S., 142 Exercise Saif Sereea II, 190 Expeditionary Warfare model, 2, 4, 138, 163, 217, 258, 259, 262, 263, 268–9, 270(n10) challenges of, 52–3 command and control in, 52 deployment outside national boundaries, 47 deployment patterns, 51–2 description, 44, 46 development of, 48–50 and expertise, 50 and force transformation, 47–8 institutional form, 48 and power projection/war-fighting, 68 and promotion, 52 and recruitment, 50–1 and retention, 51 and training/re-skilling, 50 and war-fighting capability, 50 Faria, F., 212, 213, 214, 215 Farrell, T., 255 Feaver, P., 21

307

Fetherston, A.B., 198, 217 Ficarrotta, J.C., 112 Fillieule, O., 8 Finer, S., 21–2, 23 Finland, 205 commitment to territorial defence, 61–2 conscription in, 55 contract system in, 58 and counter-terrorism, 240 and international missions, 56 and MAGD, 243 and NATO, 156, 158, 160 and peacekeeping, 204, 217 size of military force in, 56 and territorial defence model, 54 Finnemore, M., 166, 200, 204 Fitzsimmonds, J.R., 48, 268 Flekenstein, B., 117, 123 Fluri, P., 11, 172 Flynn, G.Q., 37 force transformation, attitudinal change, 48 concept development/ experimentation, 48 ‘joint-ness’, 48 network centric warfare, 47–8 Sensor-Decision-Maker Effectiveness, 48 forces–society relationship, 129 and analytical realism, 10 background, 100–2 challenges to forces right/need to be different, 120, 131–3 and changing environment, 6–7 and civilianisation of military jobs, 102 and collapse of communism, 3 comparative approach to, 12–13 constructivist approach, 13–14 convergence/divergence, 100–33 cultural/organisational values, 6 and decline of deference, 103–4 and defence expenditure, 1, 3 empirical studies on, 9–10 and employment rights, 103 and end of Cold War, 2, 3 equality/diversity agenda, 103, 132–3, 136(n25)

308

Index

forces–society relationship – continued and EU, 4 factors for change, 102–4, 109–15 and functional/ends-oriented mind-set, 101 and gender, 103, 104, 109–10, 134(n2, n6–n11) as if positivism approach, 13 and institutional change, 113–14 and legislation, 110–13, 129, 131, 135(n13) and moral standards, 103 and move from authoritarian to liberal regimes, 7 multi-disciplinary approach, 11, 15–16 and national, regional, local coordination, 8 and NATO, 3–5 and new technologies, 5–6 object of focus, 102 and operational effectiveness, 114–15 patterns of similarity/difference, 115 and politics, 253 and popular protests, 103, 134(n3) Postmodern approach, 14–15, 16–17, 255–69 public debates concerning, 133 as qualitatively different, 1 and raison d’être of military, 253, 269(n1) recruitment issues, 104, 109–10 relationship with society, 6–7 research into, 9–15 self-referential debates on, 11–12 Shared Gatekeeper Militaries, 121–5 strategic environment/economic circumstances, 103 strong gatekeeper militaries, 125–8 and terrorist attacks, 7–8 thematic/comparative approach to, 254, 270(n2) transformation of, 9 and use of national armed forces, 8 Weakened Gatekeeper Militaries, 116–20

Forster, A., 1, 3, 4, 9, 18, 19–20, 22, 24, 29, 31, 33, 36, 42, 43, 44, 63, 75–6, 77, 79, 80, 95, 139, 140, 153, 157, 158, 159, 161, 171–5, 184, 187, 189, 192, 194, 270 France, 30, 31 conscription in, 50, 51 cooperation with former colonies, 174 and counter-terrorism, 235, 239, 251(n7) defence spending, 162 and expeditionary warfare, 48, 49–50 law and order in, 229–30, 232, 235 and MAGD, 243 and maintien de l’ordre, 229 and military cooperation, 185–6 military expenditure in, 52–3 and multinational forces, 267 and NATO, 151, 163, 168(n13) peacekeeping, 205, 213, 214, 224(n11) France, C., 228, 229, 231, 240, 244, 246, 252 Freedman, L., 5, 41 Frisvold, S., 62 FSU states, 56, 59, 60 Gamble, A., 137 Gazdag, F., 242, 243 Gazzini, T., 147, 179, 197, 200, 202, 205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 210, 214, 220, 223 Gelleher, E., 35 gender, 6, 257, 259–60 and conscription, 114, 135(n17) and Czech Republic, 121–2 and female participation, 104, 109 Germany-Netherlands comparison, 116–17 and military masculinities, 104 policies/representation of women in forces, 105–8 and recruitment, 104, 109–10, 134(n6–n11), 135(n12, n16) recruitment issues, 103, 134(n2, n6–n11), 135(n12) and recruitment of women, 51

Index and technology, 109 and Ukraine, 128 and women’s participation, 114, 132–3, 136(n25) and women’s rights, 113 General Affairs and External Relations Council (EU), 140 Geneva Conventions, 25 Genoa G8 meeting (2001), 234 Georgia, 59, 150, 160, 184, 208, 243, 266 Germany, 26, 28, 37 and the Bundesgrenzschutzgesetz, 229, 230 and counter-terrorism, 236 equality/diversity agenda in, 116–20 and late modern model, 62 law and order in, 229, 230 and multinational forces, 267 and peacekeeping, 204 peacekeeping, 206, 213, 214 reforms in, 62 Ghana, 194–5(n5) Ghurkas, 52 Giegerich, B., 48, 50, 51, 87, 196, 208 Ginifer, 270 Global Crisis Management Strategy (EU), 210 Gogolewska, A., 88, 89 Goldman, E.O., 5, 41 Gordon, S., 179, 203, 208 Gormley, D.M., 5, 41 Gothenburg summit (2001), 234, 251(n5) Gourevitch, P., 202, 213 Gow, J., 83, 200, 216 Graham, 251 Grant, C., 48 Gray, C., 207, 224 Gray, T., 174 Greece, 145, 168(n8), 202 conscription in, 57 and counter-terrorism, 237 defence expenditure in, 59 defence spending, 162 military expenditure in, 54–5 and NATO, 265 peacekeeping, 206 size of force, 56 and territorial defence, 56

309

Greenwood, D., 28, 30 Gregory, S., 174 Greimel, H., 220 Griffin, S., 179, 196, 199, 201, 202, 206, 210, 264 guided munitions, 41 Guillaume, M., 220 Güney, A., 237 Guthrie, C., 46, 101, 217 Hague, R.M., 13 Haltiner, K., 37, 42, 66, 84, 86, 87, 89, 113, 257, 263 Hamilton, M., 219 Hänggi, H., 40 Hanon, J.-P., 228, 229, 233 Hansen, A., 19 Harknett, R.J., 41 Harrop, M., 13 Headline Goal 2010 initiative, 48 Helsinki European Council (1999), 4, 144 Helsinki Headline Goal 2010, 144 Helveg Petersen, N., 205 Hendrickson, D., 172 Heper, M., 237 Herranen, H., 55, 62 Herspring, D., 56, 57, 60, 84 Herz, J., 76 Heymann, P.B., 1, 41, 96 Higate, P.R., 104, 133 Hill, N., 111 Hills, A., 6, 79, 198, 218, 220 Hirt, E., 84, 86, 257 Howard, M., 25 Howorth, J., 139, 141 Hrvatska Demokratska Zajednica (HDZ), 84 human rights, 6, 113, 179, 218 Human Rights Act, 25 Human Rights Watch, 218 humanitarian intervention, 2, 20, 41, 50, 141, 179, 198, 199, 204–5, 206, 223(n2), 260–2 Hungary, 34, 160 defence spending, 162 and NATO, 154–5, 266 and peacekeeping, 204 and territorial defence, 56 Huntington, S., 10, 18, 21, 42, 176

310

Index

IAEA, see International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) Iceland, 169(n26) IFOR, 202, 220 Ignatieff, M., 205 Imperial Defence College (UK), 174 India, 181 Infantes, K., 148 Institutional model, 100 International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), 188 International Gay and Lesbian Association, 113 International Monetary Fund (IMF), 234 internationalisation, 266–9 Interoperability Objectives, 153 intervention, see humanitarian intervention; peacekeeping Iraq, 8, 36, 51, 88, 90, 94, 103, 109, 159, 179, 197, 206, 210, 214, 237, 264 Iribarnegaray, D., 202 ISAF, 206 Iskra, D., 113 Italy and conscription, 92, 99(n6) conscription in, 78 and counter-terrorism, 236 law and order in, 229, 232, 234 and MAGD, 242 peacekeeping, 206 and renewed legitimacy, 91–3 Jachtenfuchs, M., 14 Jackson, M., 46, 51 Jacobs, B., 250 Jaime-Jiménez, O., 235 Janowitz, M., 5, 10, 18, 21, 42, 75, 77 Japan, 188 Jasper, W.F., 226 Jefferson, T., 94, 231 Jehn, C., 37, 40, 51, 57, 104 Jelušif, L., 246, 247 Jennings, C., 221 Jobard, F., 8 Johansson, E., 217, 218, 219, 220 Joint Vision 2010, 2, 46 Jones, G., 112

Kagan, R., 2, 3, 142 Kaldor, M., 16, 20, 150, 170 Kamp, H., 62, 63 Kampfner, J., 20 Kann, R.A., 137, 139, 150 Kanter, R.M., 136 Karkoszka, A., 155, 159, 162 Kazakhstan, 182, 184, 188 Kazenstein, P., 145 Keeler, J., 139 Kennedy-Pipe, C., 19 Kenya, 189, 190 Keridis, D., 237 Kessler, M.-C., 32 KFOR, 183 Kievenaar Study (Romania), 157 Kimmel, A., 31 Kinzer, N.S., 110 Kirk, L., 8, 240 Kline, P., 117, 119–20 Koenig-Archibugi, M., 27, 28, 29, 30, 32 Koenig, T., 169 Kohler-Koch, B., 212 Koonings, K., 171 Kopaf, E., 54 Kosovo, 87, 159, 179, 196, 201–2, 205, 206, 264 Kosovo Force, 88 Kotnik-Dvojmof, I., 54, 60 Kowalewski, M., 235, 245 Krahmann, E., 137, 171, 221 Kratochwil, F.V., 137 Krebs, R.R., 74, 78, 91, 98, 101 Kreppel, A., 163 Krohn Devold, K., 56 Kruijt, D., 171 Kuhlmann, J., 117, 119–20 Kümmel, G., 104, 111, 113, 116, 218 Kurdistan Workers Party (PKK), 237 Kurds, 237 Kyrghyz Republic, 182 La Confédération Européenne des Anciens Combattants (CEAC), 112 Lake, D., 137, 139 Langille, H.P., 267 Langlois, E., 243 Large, D.C., 119 Larsson, G., 217, 218, 219, 220

Index Lasswell, H., 226 Latawski, P., 26, 31, 58, 59, 89 Late Modern model, 68, 163, 258, 259, 263 and conscription, 65 description of, 46–7 as dual mission, 62 and international security missions, 63 and peace support missions, 63 professionalisation of, 64–5 rank system/authority in, 64 recruitment in, 63 and use of volunteers, 63–4 Latvia, 56, 157, 160, 191 Laurence, T., 199, 201–2, 203 law and order, 227 and civil disobedience, 233 and civil police, 230–2 common features, 232–3 cooperative approach to, 232 Gendarmerie, 229–30, 231, 235, 238, 243 and human rights, 233 and intermediate forces, 229–30, 248 and internal security/public peace, 229 and internationalisation of public disorder, 233–4, 251(n5) liberal democratic challenge, 233 and maintenance of public tranquility, 229 and militarised police, 229 and minimum force/proportional to threat posed, 233 priority of, over safety of citizens, 228 and procurement of specialised equipment, 231–2 and targeted measures, 229, 251(n2) and terrorist attacks, 234–5 varied response to, 232 Lawday, D., 8 Laws, J.L., 136 Leatherman, J., 149 Lee, E., 111, 135, 218 legislative oversight and access/ confidentiality of information, 31 and accountability, 27 arena/decision-making functions, 31–2

311

capacity/willingness to exercise scrutiny power, 29–32, 40(n4, n5) and defence budgets, 30 effective, 27–8 formal powers, 28 German system, 28 major roles, 27 and military experience/expertise, 30–1 and position on defence, 29 and primary legislation, 30 UK system, 28–9 legitimacy, see roles/legitimacy, background Libya, 176 Linz, J., 24, 35 Lithuania, 56, 157, 160, 191, 266 Lustgarten, L., 30, 32 Luttwak, E., 6, 97, 202 MACC, see military assistance to the civil community (MACC) Macedonia, 56, 156, 160, 196, 264, 266 McKenna, J.J., 43, 50, 51, 53, 163 Mackie, T., 12, 13, 18, 254 MAGD, see military assistance to government departments (MAGD) Mahnken, T.G., 48, 268 Maior, G.C., 18 Mair, P., 12 Malta, 140 Maman, D., 18 Mandelbaum, M., 149 Mann, M., 13, 77 Manners, I., 142 MAPs, see Membership Action Plans (MAPs) Marcus, J., 262 Marcussen, M., 142 Marsh, D., 12, 13, 18, 254 Martin, L., 136, 237 Mason, D., 6, 135, 136 Maxwell, F., 99, 243 Mediterranean Partnership, 151 Membership Action Plans (MAPs), 153, 154–5, 156, 159, 169(n15), 266 Menon, A., 139

312

Index

Michta, A., 26, 54 Middle East, 184 military aid to the civil power (MACP), 17, 79, 93, 227 counter-terrorist functions, 235–41 and emergency powers/states of emergency, 240 and intermediate forces, 239–40 law and order functions, 228–35 as resource of political executive, 240–1 military assistance to government departments (MAGD), 79, 94, 99(n9) and agricultural tasks, 243 and civil construction tasks, 242 exceptional occurrences, 243–5 and industrial disputes, 244–5, 252(n16–n18) nature/use of, 245 routine tasks, 241–3, 252(n14, n15) military assistance to the civil community (MACC), 17, 79, 94, 99–100(n2) and catastrophic events, 246–7 key differences, 246 as part of civil defence, 245–6 Military Complaints Regulation, 119, 135(n19) military cooperation and allies of convenience, 181–2 aspects of strategic engagement, 175 background, 170–4 bilateral, 174 cosmopolitan, 170, 172, 192, 193 critics of, 194 definition of, 171 and former/potential enemies, 175–6 and great powers, 183–5 multinational, 174 national approaches to, 185–93 new roles, 173, 174–80 and patterns of engagement, 180–1 and peacetime interaction, 171 political links, 171 and promotion of liberal democratic values, 176–8 purpose of, 171 and regional partners, 182–3 types of, 171, 172–3

Military Diplomacy, 79 and ossified legitimacy, 85–7 and re-connected militaries, 88, 90–1 Military Discipline Code (Germany), 119 military law and Czech republic, 124 Germany–Netherlands comparison, 119 military reform, see professionalisation Miller, C., 52 Milne, S., 231 Milosevic, S., 84 Mineisterstvo Vnutrennykh Sprav (MVS), 85 Ministry for Responding to Emergency Situations and Consequences of Chernobyl Catastrophe (MChs), 85 Ministry of Emergency Situations (Ukraine), 85 Missile Technology Control Regime, 183 Missiroli, A., 197, 210 Mitchell, B., 133 Mitterrand, President, 51 Mladic, R., 152 Moldova, 56, 158, 229, 232 Montenegro, 85, 160 morality and Czech Republic, 124 Germany–Netherlands comparison, 118–19 More, A., 62 Morgan, D.H.J., 104 Morgan, P.M., 137, 139, 147 Morgan, R., 148–9 Morgenthau, H., 10, 76 Morocco, 150 Mörth, U., 212 Moskos, C., 8, 12, 14–15, 17, 68, 73, 75, 100, 101, 111, 132, 171, 254, 255, 258, 260, 262, 268, 269, 270 Multinational Interoperability Council, 48, 72(n6) multinationalism, 264–6, 267–8 Murray, D.J., 31 Mychajlyszyn, M., 31 9/11, see September 2001 NAC, see North Atlantic Council (NAC)

Index Namibia, 189 Nathan, A., 40 nation building, 68, 77–8, 87, 96 National Security, 76–7, 96 and ossified legitimacy, 83–5 and re-connected militaries, 87–8 National Security Strategy (US), 2, 46 NATO, see North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) NATO Mediterranean Dialogue, 149, 150–1 NATO Response Force, 48 NATO-Russia Council, 183 Naval Task Group 2000, 190 NCOs, 56–60, 113 N’Diaye, B., 11, 183 Nelson, D., 5, 74, 164 Netherlands, 62, 174 equality/diversity agenda in, 116–20 law and order in, 234 peacekeeping, 207 network centric operations, 41 Neumann, W., 13 Nielson, P.M., 91 Nigeria, 182 Noailles, I., 17, 229 Nogues, T., 229, 238 Norgaard, A., 14 Norois, 226, 230, 241, 252 North Africa, 182 North Atlantic Alliance, 151, 169(n14) North Atlantic Council (NAC), 155, 169(n15), 214 North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO), 48, 59, 83, 85, 95, 110, 179, 186, 191, 264, 266 bilateral agreements, 178 and buying of equipment, 160, 169(n23) changes in approach, 138 and civilian control, 166–7 and conscription, 162–4 and cooperation, 174 and decision-making, 148, 168(n9) and defence cooperation, 137, 138–42, 143, 144–5, 146, 147–52 and defence expenditure, 156–7, 169(n16–n20) defence expenditure, 162

313

effects-based approach, 4 entry into, 88 formal/informal interaction, 147–8 impact of, 138 influence of, 138, 266–7, 270(n7) and joint military activities, 158 and member states, 160–7 Membership Action Plans (MAP), 4 membership of, 137, 145, 168(n1), 169(n23) and military organisation/reform, 158–9 and mutual defence commitment, 145, 147 and mutual identification/collective identity, 148–9 and new partner/aspiring member states, 152–60 normative reform, 4–5 operational reform, 3–4 and peacekeeping missions, 164–6, 178, 196–7, 206, 209–14, PfP framework, 152–4, 156, 168(n1), 177–8, 183, 266 Planning and Review Process (PARP), 4 as pole of attraction/agent of change, 4–5 and professionalism, 167 as regional organisation, 209 and role specialisation, 166 support for, 88 North Korea, 181 Northern Ireland, 93–4, 156, 158, 160, 204, 205, 217, 229, 231, 232, 235, 237, 251(n2) Norway, 54, 188 commitment to territorial defence, 61 conscription in, 55 contract system in, 58 and counter-terrorism, 239 and MACC, 236 peacekeeping, 207 size of force, 56 NRF, 48, 164 Nuciari, M., 91, 92, 99 Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty, 183 Nybakk, M., 61

314

Index

‘Objectives, Tasks and Organisations’ (Denmark), 90 Occupational model, 100 O’Hanlon, M.E., 205 Oliver, M., 110, 114 Olonisakin, F., 11, 183 Oman, 190 Operation Allied Force (1999), 206, 214 Operation Althea, 264 Operation Artémis, 142, 212, 213, 215 Operation Concordia (2003), 142, 212, 213, 264 Operation Deliberate Force (1995), 207 Operation Display Deterrence, 147 Operation Enduring Freedom, 210, 215, 225(n27) Operation Forza Paris, 92 Operation Telic (2003–2004), 32, 48, 206, 210 Operation Veritas (2002), 206 Operation Vespri Siciliani, 92 Orange Revolution (2004), 23 Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), 87, 141, 146, 149, 155, 176, 212 OSCE, see Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) ossified legitimacy and armed forces as symbol of national unity, 84 and continuation of traditional roles, 83 and delivery of National Security, 83–4 and Domestic Military Assistance, 85 and failure to develop new tasks, 86 and Military Diplomacy, 85 and outreach activities, 86–7 and reasons for collapse in legitimacy, 84–5, 99(n4) and Switzerland, 86–7 Page, E., 33 Pakistan, 181, 182 Panebianco, A., 31 Pantev, P., 34, 37 Paris Agreement (1990), 149 Partnership for Peace (PIP), 5, 149 Payne, A., 137

peace dividend, 1 Peace Support Operations, 56, 62 peacekeeping, 50, 68, 75, 141, 142, 254, 260–2, 270(n5) authorisation for, 222 authority for, 204, 223(n9, n10), 224(n11–n12) background, 196–9, 223(n3) and behaviour/morale, 217–18, 222 complexity of interventions, 200–1 and decision-making, 214–15 and dual UN/non-UN forces, 215 enhancing regional capabilities, 178 and exercise of veto, 214 explicit/implicit endorsement for, 207–9, 210, 224(n14–n16, n20) and force structures, 216 holy trinity of consent, impartiality, minimum use of force, 199 and impact on armed forces, 216–21 impact on retention/recruitment, 220–1 and impartiality, 203, 223 increase in, 196–7, 221–2 language of, 198 legal basis of, 219–20 legitimising intervention, 203–9 and managing transition, 199–200 and military cooperation, 179 and NATO, 164–6 nature/frequency of exceptionalism, 207 and operational control, 215–16 and planning/deployment, 216 psychological implications, 218–19, 225(n30) and role of European regional organisations, 209–16 and securing appropriate mandate, 202–3 and training, 216, 217 and use of force/coercion, 201, 203 and use of private security services, 221 varieties of, 199–203 and war-fighting capabilities, 216–17 Westphalian viewpoint, 204–5

Index Peak, S., 245 Perlmutter, A., 23, 27, 43 Perry, W.J., 174 Petersberg tasks, 4, 141, 144, 168(n3), 196 PKK, see Kurdistan Workers Party (PKK) Plan Vigipirate (2003), 238 Planning and Review Process (PARP), 153, 154, 266 Poland, 31, 160 conscription in, 57 contract system in, 57 defence spending, 162 and NATO, 155, 266 peacekeeping, 205, 207 and re-connected militaries, 88–9 and territorial defence, 56 Political and Security Committee (COPS), 140 Pollack, M., 163 Portugal, 162, 174, 229, 232 Posen, B., 1, 41, 96 Post-Neutral model, 68, 258, 259, 263 and command/control, 67 and conscription/retention, 66–7 description, 47 expertise of, 66 and protection of national integrity of state, 65–6 reform challenges, 66–7 rigidity of structure, 66 and social commitment, 67 Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), 218 Postmodern model, 41, 68, 75, 101, 132, 171, 254–5, 270(n4) and challenging of dominant practices, 257–8 and conservativeness of military, 257 and creating/sustaining legitimacy, 263 debates concerning, 255 and eroding of military influence, 256 and expeditionary warfare, 262 and gender/sexual orientation, 259–60 and internal change, 258–60 and internationalisation, 266–9

315

and national security, 261 organisational changes, 255 patterns, 256 and peacekeeping/humanitarian roles, 260–2, 270(n5) and permeability of civilian/military spheres, 256–8 reasons for convergence, 257 and role of civilians, 260 and role of violence, 257, 258, 259 and soldier-statesman/ soldier-scholar changes, 259 and structure of armed forces, 262–3 and technical skills, 259 and territorial integrity, 260–1 and use of multinational forces, 264–6 Powell, V., 112 power projection model, see Expeditionary Warfare model Prague Summit (2002), 155, 164 pre-emptive operations, 6, 8 Pridham, G., 152 Prince, H., 113 professionalisation, 268 core factors, 43–4 and de-professionalisation, 84 definitions of, 42–3 and development of appropriate expertise, 71 expeditionary warfare, 44, 46, 47–53, 72(n5) framework for, 42–4 late modern, 46–7, 62–5, 72(n5) and mission redefinition/ reorientation of structures, 68 and NATO, 167 nature of reform, 68–9 and operational costs/budgets, 69 post-neutral, 47, 65–7 Postmodern thesis, 68–9, 73(n22) and promotion, 70–1 and recruitment, 70 and role/responsibilities of service personnel, 70 and shift in missions, 68 territorial defence, 46, 53–62 typology of, 44, 45, 46–67, 72(n4)

316

Index

Przeworski, A., 12 PTSD, see Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) Pye, L., 18 Quille, G., 144, 168 Ramsbotham, O., 204 Rasmussen, M.V., 48 Rayment, S., 245, 252 re-connected militaries, 87–8 and Denmark, 89–91 and Domestic Military Assistance, 88 and Military Diplomacy, 88, 90–1 and National Building, 87 and National Security, 87–8 and Poland, 88–9 recruitment and disabled, 110 and employment practices, 111–12 gender/sexual orientation issues, 104, 109–11, 112–13, 134(n6–n11), 135(n12, n15, n16) legislation affecting, 110–11, 135(n13) as representative, 110 Red Brigade, 235 Regime Defence, 78, 96 Reimer, H., 2, 42, 46, 48, 62 Reinares, F., 235 Reiner, R., 228, 229, 231, 232, 233, 241 renewed legitimacy and Domestic Military Assistance, 91, 92, 93–4 and Italy, 91–3 and Military Diplomacy, 91, 93, 94–5 and National Security, 91, 93 and United Kingdom, 93–5 Renforcement des Capacités Africaines Maintenant de la Paix (RECAMP), 186 Report on Neutrality in Practice (RNP), 205 Revolution in Military Affairs (RMA), 5, 41 and dual use technology, 5 and incorporation of civilian management techniques, 5 and military application of future civilian technologies, 5

Revolutionary Nuclei (RN), 235 Revolutionary People’s Struggle (ELA), 235 Risse-Kappen, T., 148 RN, see Revolutionary Nuclei (RN) Roberts, A., 207, 213, 224 Robertson, G., 197 Robins, J., 219, 220 roles/legitimacy, background, 74–6 changes in, 95–6 conceptualisation of, 80 constabulary concept, 75 debates concerning, 74–5 and domestic military assistance, 78–9 dynamism of, 98 and government expenditure, 97–8 and (in)security issues, 75–6 and military diplomacy, 79 and nation building, 77–8, 96 and national security, 76–7 nature of, 80, 83 ossified legitimacy, 83–7 overlap between functions, 79–80 patterns/trends, 83–95 re-connected militaries, 87–91 and regime defence, 78, 96 renewed legitimacy, 91–5 and state-armed forces connection, 97 and support for military operations, 97 typology of, 81–2 Romania, 56, 156, 157, 160, 266 Rosendahl Huber, A., 117, 118, 119, 120 Rosenhek, Z., 18 Ruddick, S., 19 Ruggie, J.G., 137 Rumsfeld, D., 2, 5, 46, 268 Russett, B., 176 Russia, 33, 54, 158, 184, 205, 213, 242, 243 contract system in, 57 law and order in, 232 promotion in, 60 understaffing in, 59 Russian Federation, 83, 156, 160, 237 Rwanda, 213 Ryan, A., 208

Index SAF, 87 Sapronas, R., 191 Sarotte, E., 28 Sarvaš, S., 29, 36 SAS, see Special Air Service (SAS) Saudi Arabia, 181, 190 Schengen Agreements, 233, 251(n4) Schneider, H.-J., 230 Schulz, G., 2, 42, 46, 48, 62 Schulz, H., 169 Seattle World Trade meetings (1999), 234 security, 68, 75–6, 96 challenges, 42 intelligence, 41 issues, 1 risk, 41 security communities, amalgamated, 138–9 and defence cooperation in Europe, 138–42, 143, 144–5, 146, 147–52 definition, 137–8 and Euro-Atlantic region, 149–51 in Europe, 138 and formal/informal political/ military interaction, 139 and impact of NATO, 152–67 and mutual identification/collective identity, 139 and nature of defence commitment, 139 pluralistic, 139 shared assumptions/attitudes, 151–2 variations in, 151 Segal, D., 14–15, 17, 73, 75, 101, 102, 110, 113, 132, 133, 171, 254, 255, 262, 268 Segal, M., 19, 104, 110, 113, 133, 220 Selden, Z., 37, 40, 51, 57, 104 September 2001, 1, 3, 6, 7, 41, 75, 77, 88, 94, 96, 181, 226, 238, 240, 247, 250 Serbia, 160 Serbia-Montenegro, 54, 60, 83, 84, 152, 156 sexual orientation, 6, 259–60 and Czech Republic, 123

317

Germany-Netherlands comparison, 117–18 and recruitment, 103, 104, 110, 112, 135(n15, n16) SFOR, 183, 202, 220 Shake, K., 48 SHAPE, 141 shared gatekeeper militaries, 256 and employment rights, 124–5 equality/diversity agendas, 121, 133 and ethnic minorities, 123 and gender, 121–2 and legislation, 124 and moral standards, 124 and sexual orientation, 123 Shaw, M., 102, 170 Shearer, D., 171 Sherr, J., 57, 60, 83, 84, 126, 128, 158 SHIRBRIG, see Stand-by High Readiness Brigade (SHIRBRIG) Shulman, M., 25 Sierra Leone, 183, 190, 203, 205, 215 Simon, J., 5, 164 Singer, P.W., 22 Skrastins, I., 54 Slim, H., 203 Sloan, S.R., 3, 142, 145, 161 Slovakia, 56, 60, 156, 160, 266 Slovenia, 160, 266 Smith, M.E., 95, 97, 196, 203 Smith, S., 13 Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (SFRY), 83 society, see forces–society relationship Soeters, J.L., 117, 118, 119, 120 Solana, J., 142 Sorensen, H., 37, 91 South Africa, 189 Southeast Asia, 181 Soviet republics, 33 Spain, 29, 174 and counter-terrorism, 235–6, 251(n6) law and order in, 229, 232 and NATO, 151, 168(n13) Spearin, C., 22 Special Air Service (SAS), 236, 251(n8) Spohr Readman, K., 7

318

Index

Stand-by High Readiness Brigade (SHIRBRIG), 90, 207–8, 224(n18, n20), 267, 270(n8) Stein, T., 204, 220 Stepan, A., 23, 24, 35, 40 Stoyanov, P., 34 Strachan, H., 21, 23, 37, 40, 93 Strategic Defence Review (UK, 1998), 2, 48, 94, 231 Strategic Doctrine (1999), 196, 264 strong gatekeeper militaries, 125, 256 and employment, 126–8 equality/diversity agenda, 126 and gender/ethnicity issues, 128 and health/safety issues, 127 and legislation, 126 Study on Enlargement (1995), 155 Sweden, 54, 156, 158, 160 contract system in, 58 law and order in, 234 and military cooperation, 191, 193 and peacekeeping, 204 peacekeeping, 207, 217 procurement decisions in, 55 size of force, 56 Swedish Defence Commission, 191 Switzerland, 156, 160 defence spending in, 84 and ossified legitimacy, 86–7 peacekeeping, 205 post-neutral model in, 65–7 Szayna, T., 152, 159, 162, 169 Szvircsev Tresch, T., 37, 42, 263 Tajikistan, 182, 184, 208 Tapfumaneyi, A.W., 189 Taylor, I., 189 technology, 5–6, 41–2, 109, 258 Terriff, T., 48, 137, 139, 140, 141, 145, 148 Territorial Defence model, 76, 77, 86, 158, 163, 169(n21), 259, 263 as all-volunteer force, 61 commitment to, 61, 73(n17) and conscription, 54, 56–7, 61–2 contract system in, 57–8 and defence reform, 55

description of, 46 and development of expertise, 56 diversity of, 55, 61 entry qualifications for, 56 and international security, 55–6 and levels of expenditure, 54–5 and peacemaking, 54 postcommunist states, 54, 72(n13) and professionalisation/ military reform, 61 promotion systems in, 60–1 and protection of home territory, 53–4 and quality of conscripts, 57–8 and recruitment, 56–7 and retention, 57 and role of NCO in, 59–60 and training/education, 56, 59 and understaffing, 59 variations in armed forces, 54 terror see also counter-terrorism; war on terror terrorism, 1, 7–8, 234–5 Teune, H., 12 three block concept, 262, 270(n6) Thym, D., 204 Timotie, M., 83, 84 Tobias, S., 110 Tomuschat, C., 28 Transatlantic Alliance, 148–9, 151 Transformation Planning Guidance (US, 2003), 48 Trapans, J., 155 Traynor, I., 221 Treaties of Rome (1957), 139 Treaty of European Union, 140 Trenin, D., 183 Tsebelis, G., 163 Tuchman Matthews, J., 76 Turkey, 145, 168(n8), 213 conscription in, 57 and counter-terrorism, 237 defence expenditure in, 59, 162 law and order in, 229, 232 military expenditure in, 54–5 size of force, 56 and territorial defence, 56 Turkmenistan, 182

Index UK Armed Forces Lesbian and Gay Association, 113 UK Joint Services Command and Staff College, 189 Ukraine, 54, 56, 84–5, 156, 188 contract system in, 57 equality/diversity agenda, 126–8 law and order in, 229, 232 and MAGD, 242, 243 and NATO, 150, 266 promotion in, 60 understaffing in, 59 Ulrich, M.-B., 43 UN Code of Conduct for Law Enforcement Officers, 233 UN Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDW), 110, 134(n11) UN Security Council (UNSC), 147, 179, 200, 202, 204, 206, 207, 210, 224(n13) United Kingdom (UK) and arms control, 187–8 and arms export programme, 190 and bilateral assistance/cooperation initiatives, 188–9 and conscription, 77–8 and cooperation with Empire, 174 and counter-terrorism, 93–4, 99(n8), 236–8 and creation of mobile forces, 2 and Defence Attachés, 188 and defence diplomacy, 94–5, 187, 188 defence spending, 162 and ethical foreign policy, 187 ethnic minorities in, 135(n19) Expeditionary Warfare model in, 46, 47, 48 law and order in, 229, 230–2 layered approach to armed forces, 93 legislature of, 28–9 and MACC, 94, 236 and MACP, 93–4 and MAGD, 94, 241, 244–5, 252(n15) and military cooperation, 186–91, 194(n3)

319

and military education/training, 189–90 military expenditure in, 52–3 and multinational forces, 267 and parliamentary expertise, 31 peacekeeping, 205–6, 213, 214 and peacekeeping, 217 problematic areas, 95 reduction in armed forces in, 3 and renewed legitimacy, 93–5 reserve force in, 51 spending in, 3 trade of force size for capabilities, 48–9 United Nations (UN), 87, 196, 200, 264 and Chapter VI/VII, 200–3, 209, 215, 216, 223(n5, n6) and peacekeeping, 209–16 United States (US), contrast with Europe, 2–3, 5 Expeditionary Warfare model in, 46 implementation of technology, 42 increased spending in, 3 intervention in Iraq, 206 military reform in, 2 UNPROFOR, 203, 208 Urbelis, V., 191 Urbonas, T., 191 Uzbekistan, 182 van Baarda, T.A., 218, 220 van der Meulen, J., 116, 117, 118, 119, 120 Van Doom, J., 37 van Doorn, J., 18 Van Hamm, P., 149 Vankovska, B., 71 Viggo JaKobsen, P., 90, 99, 217 violence, 16, 174, 257, 258, 259 Viotti, P.R., 31 Vitas, R., 191 Vlachová, M., 29, 36, 99, 121, 122, 123, 246 Volpi, F., 150 Volten, P., 50 Von Bredow, A., 41 Von Clausewitz, K., 80, 171 von Wogau, K., 4, 144, 267

320

Index

Waddington, P.A.J., 231, 232 Wæver, O., 12, 13, 77, 80, 137 Walker, T., 134 Wallace, W., 3, 4, 29, 48, 50, 51, 87, 139, 153, 168, 196, 208 Wallander, C., 148, 156 Waltz, K., 173 Walzer, M., 25 war on terror, 41, 75, 181, 182 Ware, R., 31 wars of choice, 8, 20–1, 257 Warsaw Pact, 95, 174 Warsaw Treaty Organisation, 59 Washington Treaty, 76, 145, 168(n7), 209 Watts, L., 18 weakened gatekeeper militaries, 256 and employment rights, 119–20 equality/diversity agendas, 116–17 and erosion of distinctiveness, 120 and ethnic minorities, 118 and military law, 119 and moral standards, 118–19 and sexual orientation, 117–18 Weller, M., 207 Wendt, A., 13 Wessel, R.A., 208 Western European Union (WEU), 139, 140, 215 Western Sahara, 150 WEU, see Western European Union (WEU)

Wheeler, N., 16, 170, 179, 205, 206, 207 White, N., 199 Wiberg, H., 71 Williams, D., 268 Williams, J., 14–15, 17, 18, 73, 75, 101, 131, 132, 171, 254, 255, 256, 258–62, 269 Williams, P., 179, 189, 196, 198, 199, 201, 202, 206, 210, 264 Winslow, D., 131, 257 Winter, P., 104, 230 Wöckener, H., 27 Woelfel, J.C., 110 women, see gender Women’s Network, 113 Wood, F.R., 111, 132 Woodhouse, T., 204 Woodward, R., 104 World Bank, 234 Yoder, J.D., 113 Yost, D., 147, 161 Yushchenko, V., 84 Zaccor, A.M., 54 Zagorcheva, D., 152, 156 Zalewski, M., 13, 18 Zangger Committee, 183 Zhelev, Z., 34 Zielonka, J., 142 Zimbabwe, 189 Zulean, M., 55, 59, 157 Zveržanovski, I., 83