Rethinking Security Governance: The Problem of Unintended Consequences (Contemporary Security Studies)

Rethinking Security Governance

This book explores the unintended consequences of security governance and how negative consequences can be limited. Security governance describes new modes of security policy that differ from traditional approaches to national and international security. While traditional security policy used to be the exclusive domain of states and aimed at military defense, security governance is performed by multiple actors and is intended to create a global environment of security for states, social groups, and individuals. By pooling the strength and expertise of states, international organizations, and private actors, security governance is seen to provide more effective and efficient means to cope with today’s security risks. Generally, security governance is assumed to be a good thing, and the most appropriate way of coping with contemporary security problems. This assumption has led scholars to neglect an important phenomenon: unintended consequences. While unintended consequences do not need to be negative, often they are. The CIA term “blowback,” for example, refers to the phenomenon that a long nurtured group may turn against its sponsor. Raising awareness about unwanted and even paradoxical policy outcomes and suggesting ways of avoiding damage or limiting their scale, this book will be of much interest to students of security governance, risk management, international security and IR. Christopher Daase is professor at the Goethe University Frankfurt and head of the program area International Organizations and International Law at the Peace Research Institute Frankfurt (PRIF/HSFK). Cornelius Friesendorf is lecturer at the Goethe University Frankfurt and research fellow at the Peace Research Institute Frankfurt (PRIF/HSFK).

Contemporary security studies Series Editors: James Gow and Rachel Kerr King’s College London

This series focuses on new research across the spectrum of international peace and security, in an era where each year throws up multiple examples of conflicts that present new security challenges in the world around them. NATO’s Secret Armies Operation Gladio and terrorism in Western Europe Daniele Ganser

The Political Economy of Peacebuilding in Post-­Dayton Bosnia Tim Donais

The US, NATO and Military Burden-­sharing Peter Kent Forster and Stephen J. Cimbala

The Distracted Eagle The rift between America and old Europe Peter H. Merkl

Russian Governance in the Twenty-­ first Century Geo-­strategy, geopolitics and new governance Irina Isakova

The Iraq War European perspectives on politics, strategy, and operations Edited by Jan Hallenberg and Håkan Karlsson

The Foreign Office and Finland 1938–1940 Diplomatic sideshow Craig Gerrard Rethinking the Nature of War Edited by Isabelle Duyvesteyn and Jan Angstrom Perception and Reality in the Modern Yugoslav Conflict Myth, falsehood and deceit 1991–1995 Brendan O’Shea

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Globalising Justice for Mass Atrocities A revolution in accountability Chandra Lekha Sriram Ethnic Conflict and Terrorism The origins and dynamics of civil wars Joseph L. Soeters Globalisation and the Future of Terrorism Patterns and predictions Brynjar Lia Nuclear Weapons and Strategy The evolution of American nuclear policy Stephen J. Cimbala Nasser and the Missile Age in the Middle East Owen L. Sirrs War as Risk Management Strategy and conflict in an age of globalised risks Yee-­Kuang Heng Military Nanotechnology Potential applications and preventive arms control Jurgen Altmann NATO and Weapons of Mass Destruction Regional alliance, global threats Eric R. Terzuolo Europeanisation of National Security Identity The EU and the changing security identities of the Nordic states Pernille Rieker

International Conflict Prevention and Peace-­building Sustaining the peace in post conflict societies Edited by T. David Mason and James D. Meernik Controlling the Weapons of War Politics, persuasion, and the prohibition of inhumanity Brian Rappert Changing Transatlantic Security Relations Do the US, the EU and Russia form a new strategic triangle? Edited by Jan Hallenberg and Håkan Karlsson Theoretical Roots of US Foreign Policy Machiavelli and American unilateralism Thomas M. Kane Corporate Soldiers and International Security The rise of private military companies Christopher Kinsey Transforming European Militaries Coalition operations and the technology gap Gordon Adams and Guy Ben-­Ari Globalization and Conflict National security in a “new” strategic era Edited by Robert G. Patman Military Forces in 21st Century Peace Operations No job for a soldier? James V. Arbuckle

The Political Road to War with Iraq Bush, 9/11 and the drive to overthrow Saddam Nick Ritchie and Paul Rogers Bosnian Security after Dayton New perspectives Edited by Michael A. Innes Kennedy, Johnson and NATO Britain, America and the Dynamics of Alliance, 1962–68 Andrew Priest Small Arms and Security New emerging international norms Denise Garcia The United States and Europe Beyond the neo-­conservative divide? Edited by John Baylis and Jon Roper Russia, NATO and Cooperative Security Bridging the gap Lionel Ponsard International Law and International Relations Bridging theory and practice Edited by Thomas J. Bierstecker, Peter Spiro, Chandra Lekha Sriram and Veronica Raffo Deterring International Terrorism and Rogue States US national security policy after 9/11 James H. Lebovic Vietnam in Iraq Tactics, lessons, legacies and ghosts Edited by John Dumbrell and David Ryan

Understanding Victory and Defeat in Contemporary War Edited by Jan Angstrom and Isabelle Duyvesteyn Propaganda and Information Warfare in the Twenty-­first Century Altered images and deception operations Scot Macdonald Governance in Post-­conflict Societies Rebuilding fragile states Edited by Derick W. Brinkerhoff European Security in the Twenty-­ first Century The challenge of multipolarity Adrian Hyde-­Price Ethics, Technology and the American Way of War Cruise missiles and US security policy Reuben E. Brigety II International Law and the Use of Armed Force The UN charter and the major powers Joel H. Westra Disease and Security Natural plagues and biological weapons in East Asia Christian Enermark Explaining War and Peace Case studies and necessary condition counterfactuals Jack Levy and Gary Goertz War, Image and Legitimacy Viewing contemporary conflict James Gow and Milena Michalski Information Strategy and Warfare A guide to theory and practice John Arquilla and Douglas A. Borer

Countering the Proliferation of Weapons of Mass Destruction NATO and EU options in the Mediterranean and the Middle East Thanos P. Dokos

Intra-­state Conflict, Governments and Security Dilemmas of deterrence and assurance Edited by Stephen M. Saideman and Marie-Joёlle J. Zahar

Security and the War on Terror Edited by Alex J. Bellamy, Roland Bleiker, Sara E. Davies and Richard Devetak

Democracy and Security Preferences, norms and policy-­making Edited by Matthew Evangelista, Harald Müller and Niklas Schörnig

The European Union and Strategy An emerging actor Edited by Jan Hallenberg and Kjell Engelbrekt

The Homeland Security Dilemma Fear, failure and the future of American security Frank P. Harvey

Causes and Consequences of International Conflict Data, methods and theory Edited by Glenn Palmer

Military Transformation and Strategy Revolutions in military affairs and small states Edited by Bernard Loo

Russian Energy Policy and Military Power Putin’s quest for greatness Pavel Baev

Peace Operations and International Criminal Justice Building peace after mass atrocities Majbritt Lyck

The Baltic Question during the Cold War Edited by John Hiden, Vahur Made, and David J. Smith

NATO, Security and Risk Management From Kosovo to Khandahar M.J. Williams

America, the EU and Strategic Culture Renegotiating the transatlantic bargain Asle Toje

Cyber-­conflict and Global Politics Edited by Athina Karatzogianni

Afghanistan, Arms and Conflict Post-­9/11 security and insurgency Michael Bhatia and Mark Sedra Punishment, Justice and International Relations Ethics and order after the Cold War Anthony F. Lang, Jr.

Globalisation and Defence in the Asia-­Pacific Arms across Asia Edited by Geoffrey Till, Emrys Chew and Joshua Ho Security Strategies and American World Order Lost power Birthe Hansen, Peter Toft and Anders Wivel

War, Torture and Terrorism Rethinking the rules of international security Edited by Anthony F. Lang, Jr. and Amanda Russell Beattie America and Iraq Policy making, intervention and regional politics Edited by David Ryan and Patrick Kiely European Security in a Global Context Internal and external dynamics Edited by Thierry Tardy Women and Political Violence Female combatants in ethno-­national conflict Miranda H. Alison Justice, Intervention and Force in International Relations Reassessing just war theory in the 21st century Kimberley A. Hudson Clinton’s Foreign Policy Between the Bushes, 1992–2000 John Dumbrell Aggression, Crime and International Security Moral, political and legal dimensions of international relations Page Wilson European Security Governance The European Union in a Westphalian world Charlotte Wagnsson, James Sperling and Jan Hallenberg Private Security and the Reconstruction of Iraq Christopher Kinsey

US Foreign Policy and Iran American–Iranian relations since the Islamic Revolution Donette Murray Legitimising the Use of Force in International Relations Kosovo, Iraq and the ethics of intervention Corneliu Bjola The EU and European Security Order Interfacing security actors Rikard Bengtsson US Counter-­terrorism Strategy and al-­Qaeda Signalling and the terrorist world-­view Joshua Alexander Geltzer Global Biosecurity Threats and responses Edited by Peter Katona, John P. Sullivan and Michael D. Intriligator US Hegemony and International Legitimacy Norms, power and followership in the wars on Iraq Lavina Lee Private Security Contractors and New Wars Risk, law and ethics Kateri Camola Russia’s Foreign Security Policy in the 21st Century Putin, Medvedev and beyond Marcel de Haas Rethinking Security Governance The problem of unintended consequences Edited by Christopher Daase and Cornelius Friesendorf

Rethinking Security Governance The problem of unintended consequences

Edited by Christopher Daase and Cornelius Friesendorf

First published 2010 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016 This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2010. To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk. Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2010 Christopher Daase and Cornelius Friesendorf for selection and editorial matter, individual contributors, their contributions. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN 0-203-85115-3 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN10: 0-415-48535-5 (hbk) ISBN10: 0-203-85115-3 (ebk) ISBN13: 978-0-415-48535-7 (hbk) ISBN13: 978-0-203-85115-9 (ebk)

Contents



List of illustrations Notes on contributors List of abbreviations



Introduction: security governance and the problem of unintended consequences

xi xii xiv

1

C hristopher D aase and C ornelius F riesendorf

  1 Strengthening autocracy: the World Bank and social reform in Egypt

21

F lorian K ohstall

  2 Security governance, complex peace support operations and the blurring of civil–military tasks S usan E

39

P enksa

  3 Unintended consequences of international statebuilding

62

U lrich S chneckener

  4 Unintended consequences of international security assistance: doing more harm than good? U rsula C

82

S chroeder

  5 Unintended criminalizing consequences of sanctions: lessons from the Balkans

102

P eter A ndreas

  6 Unintended consequences of measures to counter the financing of terrorism T homas J

B iersteker

127

x   Contents   7 Neither seen nor heard: the unintended consequences of counter-­trafficking and counter-­smuggling B enjamin S

137

B uckland

  8 Unintended consequences of targeted sanctions

157

M ikael E riksson

  9 The privatization of force and its consequences: unintended but not unpredictable

176

J ö rg F riedrichs

10 Conclusion: analyzing and avoiding unintended consequences of security governance

198

C ornelius F riesendorf and C hristopher D aase



Index

214

Illustrations

Figures 6.1 Relationship between operational costs and lethality of al-­Qaeda-related acts of terrorism 9.1 The reflective carp: part I 9.2 Modern statehood 9.3 Forms and degrees of privatization 9.4 The reflective carp: part II

130 176 178 181 192

Tables I.1 3.1 5.1 8.1

Dimensions of unintended consequences Statebuilding strategies Potential criminalizing consequences of sanctions Unintended consequences of targeted sanctions

9 66 104 162

Contributors

Peter Andreas is associate professor of political science and international studies at Brown University. He is also the director of the International Relations Program. His research interests intersect the study of political economy, security, and cross-­border crime. Thomas J. Biersteker holds the Curt Gasteyger Chair in International Security and Conflict Studies at the Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies in Geneva. In his research he focuses on international relations theory and economic aspects of contemporary global security issues. Benjamin S. Buckland is assistant editor of the Refugee Survey Quarterly, a consultant on governance and corruption issues at the Ethicos Group and has worked on trafficking and security sector reform at the Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control of Armed Forces (DCAF ) since 2007. His research interests include security governance, corruption, and migration. Christopher Daase is professor at the Goethe University Frankfurt and head of the program area International Organizations and International Law at the Peace Research Institute Frankfurt (PRIF/HSFK). He analyses international institutions, international relations theory, and security issues such as terrorism and insurgency. Mikael Eriksson is a researcher at the European University Institute in Florence. He is also a member of the Special Program on the Implementation of Targeted Sanctions at Uppsala University in Sweden. His research interests include: conflict prevention, conflict resolution, and peacebuilding. Jörg Friedrichs is a university lecturer at Oxford. He combines an empirical interest in changing uses of force, international security, and the socio-­political and socioeconomic impact of external resource shocks with a theoretical focus on international relations, political sociology, and global governance. Cornelius Friesendorf is lecturer at the Goethe University Frankfurt and research fellow at the Peace Research Institute Frankfurt (PRIF/HSFK). He analyses security sector reform in peace operations (with a focus on Bosnia, Kosovo, and Afghanistan) and strategies against serious crime.

Contributors   xiii Florian Kohstall teaches political science at the Institut d’Études Politiques in Aix-­en-Provence and is an associate researcher at IREMAM, France. He has specialized on higher education reform, governance and elections in the Arab world and edited L’Égypte dans l’année 2005, Cairo, CEDEJ, 2006. Susan E. Penksa is professor and Chair of Political Science at Westmont College in Santa Barbara, California. She is a 2007–2008 US Fulbright Scholar to Bosnia-­Herzegovina. Her research focuses on European foreign, security and defense policies, transatlantic security, and peace operations. Ulrich Schneckener is professor at the University of Osnabrück. Previously he was head of the research division on global issues at the German Institute for International and Security Affairs (SWP) in Berlin. His research interests are international security policy, statebuilding and peacebuilding, armed non­state groups, and terrorism. Ursula C. Schroeder is lecturer in International Relations at the Free University Berlin and holds a PhD from the European University Institute in Florence. Her current research interests focus on the horizontal transformation of the European security order, and on international transfers of the Westphalian state monopoly on violence through police and military reforms.

Abbreviations

ASEAN BiH CFT CIA CIMIC CMATT CoE CPA CTED DDR DEM DFID DIMA DOJ DPRK ECJ ECOSOC ECOWAS ECRE EGF ESDP ETEP EUFOR EULEX EUPM EUPOL EUPT FATF FCO FMF FRY GAO GDP

Association of South East Asian Nations Bosnia-­Herzegovina combating the financing of terrorism Central Intelligence Agency civil–military cooperation Coalition Military Training and Assistance Team Council of Europe Coalition Provisional Authority Counter Terrorism Executive Directorate disarmament, demobilization, reintegration Deutsche Mark Department for International Development Department of Immigration and Multicultural Affairs Department of Justice Democratic People’s Republic of Korea European Court of Justice United Nations Economic and Social Council Economic Community of West African States European Council on Refugees and Exiles European Gendarmerie Force European Security and Defence Policy Engineering and Technical Education Program European Forces in Bosnia-­Herzegovina European Union Rule of Law Mission in Kosovo European Union Police Mission European Union Police Mission EU Planning Team for Kosovo Financial Action Task Force Foreign and Commonwealth Office foreign military financing Former Republic of Yugoslavia Government Accountability Office gross domestic product

Abbreviations   xv GNP GWOT HEEP HEEPF HRW ICO IFOR ILO IMET IMF IOM IR KBR KFOR KLA KP LTTE MINUSTAH MOD MPRI MSU NATO NDP OCHA OECD-­DAC

gross national product Global War on Terror Higher Education Enhancement Program Higher Education Enhancement Program Fund Human Rights Watch International Civilian Office Implementation force International Labour Organization International Military Education and Training International Monetary Fund International Organization for Migration international relations Kellogg Brown and Root Kosovo Force Kosovo Liberation Army Kosovo Police Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam United Nations Stabilization Mission in Haiti Ministry of Defence Military Professional Resources Inc. multinational specialized units North Atlantic Treaty Organization National Democratic Party Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development­Development Assistance Committee OFAC Office of Foreign Asset Control OSCE Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe PMC private military company PMSC private military and security company PMU project management unit SAARC South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation SAMCOMM sanctions assistance missions communications center SCU Supreme Council for Universities SFOR Stabilization Force in Bosnia-­Herzegovina SIA Schengen Implementing Agreement SIEV suspected illegal entry vessel SSG Security sector governance SSR Security sector reform UK United Kingdom UN United Nations UNAMSIL United Nations Mission in Sierra Leone UNDP United Nations Development Programme UNGA United Nations General Assembly UNHCR United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees

xvi   Abbreviations UNICEF UNIOSIL UNITA UNMIK UNPROFOR UNSC UNSCR UNTAET US USAID WEU ZANU-­PF

United Nations Children’s Fund United Nations Integrated Office in Sierra Leone National Union for the Total Independence of Angola United Nations Mission in Kosovo United Nations Protection Force United Nations Security Council United Nations Security Council Resolution United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor United States United States Agency for International Development Western European Union Zimbabwe African National Union – Patriotic Front

Introduction Security governance and the problem of unintended consequences Christopher Daase and Cornelius Friesendorf

Introduction1 Many scholars and policymakers have turned to the concept of security governance in order to better understand international politics. The concept describes new modes of security policy that differ from traditional approaches to national and international security. While traditional security policy used to be the exclusive domain of states and aimed at military defense, security governance is performed by multiple actors and is intended to create a global environment of security for states, social groups, and individuals. By pooling the strength and expertise of states, international organizations, and private actors, security governance is seen to provide more effective and efficient means to cope with today’s security risks. It is far from certain, however, whether security governance will be able to keep that promise. The integration of various actor-­types in decision-­making and policy implementation creates new cooperation problems that can reduce efficiency. New procedures and practices often lack legitimacy, hampering policy effectiveness. The transformation of old institutions and the evolution of new ones create complicated governance networks that render the formulation and implementation of long-­term strategies elusive. Effects and effectiveness have become contingent to so many factors that it becomes increasingly difficult to attribute both success and failure to specific policy measures. In fact, well-­ intended policies are often haunted by unintended consequences. That unintended consequences are a perennial problem of social action, has long been recognized (Merton 1936). Indeed, we can never do one thing only. While unintended consequences do not need to be negative, often they are. The CIA term “blowback,” for example, refers to the phenomenon that a long nurtured group may turn against its sponsor. The rise of al Qaeda, which had benefited from US policies, is only one example. While there are many studies of myopic foreign policies, there are few empirical works on the unintended consequences of security governance. Moreover, no attempt has been made yet to conceptualize and theorize unintended consequences. Exploring unintended consequences of security governance thus fills an important research gap. Furthermore, it can also help make security governance more effective by raising

2   C. Daase and C. Friesendorf awareness about unwanted and even paradoxical policy outcomes and by suggesting ways of avoiding damage or limiting their scale. This chapter sets the scene for the book’s case studies. The first part distinguishes between security governance by government, without government and with government. The second part shows that scholars have neglected unintended consequences of security governance and international politics more generally. The third part distinguishes between different types of unintended consequences. Subsequently, we discuss ways of analyzing unintended consequences. The fifth part of this introductory chapter provides an overview of the book.

Security governance “Governance” has become a buzzword to describe new forms of policy coordination. Yet, there are many definitions of governance. Broadly defined, governance refers to the “processes and institutions, both formal and informal, that guide and restrain the collective activities of a group” (Keohane and Nye 2002: 202). A narrower definition refers to actors and their decision-­making style: “Governance denotes the structures and processes which enable a set of public and private actors to coordinate their independent needs and interests through the making and implementation of binding policy decisions in the absence of a central political authority” (Krahmann 2003: 11). Hence, whereas traditional government was hierarchical, governance is decentralized and horizontal (Czempiel and Rosenau 1992). International politics – and especially security policy – has always been decentralized and horizontal, however. What sets it apart from international, or rather global, security governance can be described with regard to four aspects: (a) the content of policy (what is to be regulated?), (b) the structure of agency (who are the relevant actors?), (c) the mode of cooperation (how is the policy carried out?), and (d) the structure of compliance (why do actors observe their obligations?). Traditionally, security policy referred to inter-­state relations mainly in the military domain. Security policy was chiefly concerned with defense against and deterrence of threats to the territorial integrity and political self-­determination of nation states. To the extent that economic, environmental and social aspects entered the picture, they were seen as matters of secondary importance. However, when the Soviet Union collapsed and the clear and present danger of superpower confrontation disappeared, new risks were perceived that ranged from nuclear proliferation and terrorism to organized crime, migration and environmental degradation. Thus, new problems to be regulated were added to the security policy portfolio. In addition, the concept of security was further extended by adding new referent objects, including societies and individuals (Buzan et al. 1998). By thus erasing the distinction between internal and external security and by integrating new security concerns, national security policy gave way to complex global security governance.

Introduction   3 In view of this new and ambitious security agenda, new actors had to be co-­ opted to share responsibilities. While security policy has traditionally been the prerogative of sovereign statehood, new security governance involves a plurality of actors bringing their particular expertise and social reach to bear. This reflects the insight that, as in low politics areas (such as welfare or the environment), the state can no longer develop and implement effective and efficient solutions – it has to collaborate with private actors. By involving private actors, especially NGOs and corporations, financial and knowledge resources can be mobilized. In addition, private actors can reach into social spheres that are often inaccessible for states and international organizations. Though it is unclear to what extent the state has lost its former monopoly in security affairs, one thing is certain: in security governance “the state is one actor [albeit a very important one] among various actors at multiple levels” (Caparini 2006: 269). If such “variable geometry” (Slaughter 1997: 195) is an essential feature of security governance, the question of ownership and accountability arises. For if the state is becoming nothing more than a broker in “shifting networks” (Mathews 1997) of multiple players, the traditional top-­down mode of policy formulation and implementation has to give way to new modes of horizontal policy coordination. Such coordination increasingly takes place in informal rather than formal fora, in multi-­level governance structures rather than traditional international organizations. Thus, established security organizations such as the UN or NATO are compelled to cooperate with one another and with organizations in the private sector. While security policy used to have a clear chain of command, security governance is marked by non-­linear, horizontal policy coordination. Why should actors cooperate, however, if no central authority exists that formulates and executes policy decisions and if no treaty ensures that actors feel legally bound by their commitments? Generally, traditional security policy relied on codified rules, explicit agreements and strict measures of verification (and sometimes enforcement) to secure compliance (Martin 1992). Security governance, in contrast, prefers less institutionalized forms of cooperation in which compliance is not ensured through narrowly defined self-­interest or fear of punishment, but through the shared belief and conviction to do the right thing. Thus, softer forms of regulation and self-­regulation such as “codes of conduct” have become more prominent in security affairs. To the extent that tasks previously fulfilled by nation-­states are transferred to new actors – below, above or besides the state – and new complex networks emerge to deal with past, current, and future problems, we may say that security governance as a new form of security policy is emerging. Structures of security governance can be described according to the role of national governments in these structures (Zürn 1998; Daase and Engert 2008): (a) Governance by government refers to institutionalized forms of cooperation between states (for example organizations or regimes); (b) governance without government refers to the self-­regulation of private actors without state interference (for example through codes of conduct); (c) governance with government

4   C. Daase and C. Friesendorf refers to joint action between state and non-­state actors (for example through public–private partnerships). Governance by government denotes a form of inter-­state cooperation that realists declared as non-­existent or irrelevant in the security field (Waltz 1979; Mearsheimer 1994/1995). But research on international institutions – organizations, regimes or conventions – has demonstrated that inter-­state collaboration and coordination is possible if actors consider their long-­term interests and build trust through more or less institutionalized behavior (Keohane 1989). Even in the security field, “international institutions have significant effects on state . . . policies, whether by affecting the options available, hard and soft power resources, or the norms governing international interactions” (Wallander et al. 1999: 10). Although there is no strict line between traditional security policy and new security governance, one could argue that institutions that remain instruments in the hands of power and security-­maximizing states are different from multi-­level governance structures that ultimately change security perceptions and preferences. UN peacekeeping can serve as an example: As long as peacekeeping remained a state-­controlled activity administered by the UN, it firmly belonged to national and international security policy. As soon as regional organizations became more involved and diffuse subcontracting and outsourcing procedures were introduced after the end of the Cold War, peacekeeping became a governance structure providing new opportunities for states to engage in all sorts of peace support missions (Daase 1999a). This has enhanced peacekeeping effectiveness in some places, but has weakened the overall integrity of peacekeeping norms and principles. The short-­term attempt to make peacekeeping more effective and efficient through regionalization may undercut effectiveness and efficiency in the long run. A second form of security governance is governance without government. Here, private actors such as NGOs and businesses conduct security-­related activities without the involvement of state agencies (Hall and Biersteker 2002). If multinational companies hire private security contractors to protect their property abroad, local security can improve. Sometimes, however, private security contractors undermine state authority and create new conflicts (Singer 2003). Another case of security governance without government is the self-­regulation of security-­related businesses through codes of conduct, for example to prevent illicit trade and the financing of civil wars. Private action can lead to laudable results. But in most cases the effectiveness and legitimacy of security governance without government remains questionable. Governments seem to be necessary to restrain and regulate private actors. For this reason, governance with government has become so common in recent years. The transnational nature of contemporary security issues calls for enhanced transnational cooperation. A state, even a powerful one, cannot mitigate climate change or terrorism on its own. But interstate cooperation is not sufficient. To prevent an unwanted effect or limit its consequences, states must draw on the resources of international organizations, NGOs, and private businesses. While governments often remain the central actors, they are no longer

Introduction   5 the only ones. Together with other actors, they constitute complex governance networks of public–private partnerships (Krahmann 2003). For building peace after war, for example, states and international organizations collaborate closely with NGOs and private businesses (Hänggi 2005).

Unintended consequences Unintended consequences are ubiquitous. Light cigarettes that make people smoke more, paperless offices that produce more paper, or antibiotics that breed new bacteria show that innovation can bite back (Tenner 1996). Daily life is full of unintended consequences. So is social life. Social scientists – and before that philosophers and economists – have long been grappling with this phenomenon. Most famously, Adam Smith invoked the metaphor of an “invisible hand” that regulates markets (Smith 1976 [1776]). Later, Friedrich von Hayek, Karl Popper and others argued for a liberal economic and political order, contrasting liberalism’s positive unintended consequences with the alleged inefficiencies and injustices created by socialist reform strategies. However, social theorists disagree over the alleged beneficial and detrimental consequences of liberalism and socialist reform, respectively. Indeed, social scientists have identified both positive and negative unintended consequences in all political systems (Boudon 1977; Elster 1990; Harris and Ogbonna 2002). International politics is fraught with unintended consequences, too. There is a huge body of literature criticizing particularly the United States for pursuing shortsighted and counterproductive foreign policies. In the 1950s, the CIA coined the term “blowback”; subsequent decades revealed the negative impact of the Agency’s pragmatism on the security of the United States or third parties (“collateral damage”). The fight against communism fueled the global trade in illicit drugs (McCoy 2003), strengthened dictatorships and non-­state armed groups, some of which turned against the United States (Chomsky 1992), and caused other negative externalities that affected countries around the world, including the United States (see for example Johnson 2000). These unintended consequences reflect the preponderant role of the United States in international affairs: the Bahamas or Luxemburg are less likely to cause unintended effects of a global nature. However, the United States does not have a monopoly over unwanted effects. The activities of any state, international organization, NGOs, or individual can trigger unintended consequences. International humanitarian aid can cause or exacerbate conflict by reinforcing relations of exploitation and by funding war factions (Loane and Moyroud 2001: 49). Structural adjustment programs may lead to economic growth, but also push people into poverty. State-­building, post-­conflict reconstruction and peace support operations are intended to foster security and create local ownership of political processes. But these efforts can also lead to cultures of dependency on international aid, “benign colonialism,” the misappropriation of funds by local and international actors, and the creation of long-­term international protectorates.

6   C. Daase and C. Friesendorf But interest in shortsighted and counterproductive foreign policies has not translated into a more systematic and theoretical exploration of unintended consequences by International Relations (IR) scholars. Foreign Policy Analysis explains foreign policies, not their consequences (Hill 2003: 294–295). The latter are merely seen as feedback effects for new foreign policies. Implementation research goes a step further, examining implementation as a variable intervening between foreign policies and outcomes (Smith and Clarke 1985; for a recent application, see Schroeder and Friesendorf 2009). Still, this research strand also tends to gloss over unintended consequences. Rational institutionalists and social constructivists predominantly explain dynamics in, not the consequences of, international politics. Moreover, to the extent that researchers do mention unintended consequences, there is a tendency to simply assume links between causes and effects, and to neglect alternative explanations and black boxes (exceptions include Lischer 2003; Cortell and Peterson 2001). Jon Elster points at the under-­explored nature of unintended consequences: It is inherently satisfactory for the mind to discover that good sometimes leads to evil and evil to good; that less can be more and more can be less; or that individual rationality can bring about collective irrationality and vice versa. And it is easy to mistake the thrill of discovery for the thrill of explanation. (Elster 1990: 131 [italics in the original]) If IR scholarship more generally has not paid systematic attention to unintended consequences, the same holds true for students of security governance. The literature on security governance has grown significantly over recent years. Some studies examine security governance from a conceptual angle (Krahmann 2003). Others compare governance approaches in different countries (Kirchner and Sperling 2007). Moreover, security governance is a paradigm popular among policy-­ oriented scholars. Yet so far, students of security governance have not systematically focused on unintended consequences (some authors examine unintended consequences of security governance, even though they do not explicitly refer to the governance paradigm: see, among others, Anderson 1999; Aoi et al. 2007). Many authors have looked at problems of legitimacy and justice. Indeed, all three types of security governance outlined above raise issues of transparency and democratic accountability and oversight. Legitimacy has been troubling analysts of governance for a long time. The IMF and World Bank, for example, have been criticized for promoting a reckless liberal economic agenda without much supervision and accountability. The employment of private military companies (PMC) in conflict areas has been condemned as undermining state authority and human security. The adoption of informal policies to curb the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction is said to damage existing regimes and international law. Thus, a new research agenda has developed to assess the normative implications of new governance structures in international relations.

Introduction   7 Moreover, authors have questioned the alleged effectiveness and efficiency of security governance. While an impressive assortment of institutions has made some progress against human trafficking, anti-­trafficking efforts have also suffered from serious shortcomings. Despite billions of dollars invested into post-­ Dayton Bosnia-­Herzegovina, sustainable civil society structures that would help stabilize this fragile country are feeble. Governance efforts against money laundering have made some progress, but still face significant challenges. Cooperation problems between different actor types seem to severely hamper security governance. Also, due to the sheer number of security governance stakeholders and programs, it is difficult to blame any one institution for failure. Who is responsible for the resurgence of the Taliban in Afghanistan, many years after their ousting from power? Is it Washington’s reluctance to engage in nation-­ building, reliance on warlords, and prioritization of military over civilian means? Is it the reluctance of European NATO members to contribute more soldiers and police? Has the lack of coordination among and between NGOs and United Nations agencies undermined peace-­building efforts? And what about President Karzai’s tolerance of nepotism within his administration? Studying unintended consequences is not the same as studying problems of effectiveness, efficiency, and legitimacy. As Chiyuki Aoi et al. underscore, “unintended consequences need to be distinguished from a failure to achieve the intended consequences” (Aoi et al. 2007: 6). To be sure, there are links: Failed governance efforts have unintended consequences. Vice versa, unintended consequences can contribute to failure. But, unintended consequences can also backfire at policy initiators, contribute to success, or be anticipated by decision-­makers. Unintended consequences are not merely a marginal aspect of governance effectiveness, efficiency, and legitimacy; they are a research topic in their own right. The lack of attention paid to unintended consequences of security governance is partly a result of methodological problems (see below). Another reason is the common perception of security governance as being a good thing, and the most appropriate, or only, way of coping with contemporary security problems. Indeed, there may be no alternative to complex coalitions of various public and private actors, given the fact that many contemporary problems are of a transnational nature, and that non-­state actors rather than states are increasingly a security concern. But the mantra that more “multi-­stakeholder cooperation,” “cross-­cutting initiatives,” and “transnational networking” are needed (to use some of the buzzwords of governance discourses) has led advocates of governance to turn a blind eye to the problems of governance. After all, the notion of unintended consequences has a negative connotation, and how can something inherently positive yield negative effects? Scholars such as Anne-­Marie Slaughter advance a normative understanding of security governance (Slaughter 2004). This makes security governance appear very similar to the concept of “good governance” and normative conceptualizations of global governance. Such a view introduces a positive bias into the study of governance. In contrast, we look as security governance in procedural, descriptive terms, as a new mode of transnational policymaking and

8   C. Daase and C. Friesendorf implementation involving a variety of actors cooperating with one another in the absence of an overall hierarchy. Conceptualizing security governance in this way, we are agnostic about the positive and negative consequences of security governance.2 Yet admittedly, in contrast to the positive bias marking analyses of security governance elsewhere, this book probably has a negative bias: When conceptualizing this book, we assumed that security governance can yield unintended consequences, and that these consequences are often negative (from the point of view of policy initiators, third parties, and/or both). This supposition seems warranted empirically. We have asked authors to examine (positive and negative) unintended consequences of security governance. The results presented in this book confirm that many, although not all, of these consequences are highly problematic. We argue that unintended consequences are a likely outcome of security governance. There are two reasons for this. First, security governance addresses security risks (Daase 2002). The military standoff of the Cold War is relatively easy to grasp in comparison to the contemporary security environment in which a large variety of state, para-­state, and non-­state actors intermingle in a variety of issue-­areas. Security governance “stakeholders” act under the condition of significant uncertainty regarding the impact of their action on other actors and the problem they are trying to address (see Cioffi-­Revilla 1998). The outcomes of security governance are unpredictable and full of surprises – often of the negative kind. Security governance is thus ambivalent: It has the potential to reduce the likelihood of damage occurring, or mitigate the impact of a damaging effect. But it may also exacerbate the problem that is to be solved, or create new problems. Second, security governance outcomes are uncertain because of the large number of institutions participating in governance efforts. Particularly governance with government – the type of governance that most contributors to this volume analyze – involves a larger number of actors than traditional diplomacy, even of the multinational type. The more actors are incorporated into problem-­ solving structures, the greater is the likelihood that individual and institutional preferences, perceptions, and standard operating procedures diverge (see Webber et al. 2004: 8). Equally, if not more important, the more actors are to be regulated, the more likely it is that some of those to be regulated evade attempts of (coercive or non-­coercive) regulation. Hence, security governance is convoluted and, indeed, messy, with consequences difficult to gauge beforehand – especially when decisions have to be taken fast and under the condition of a lack of, or contradictory, information. Efforts to understand security governance must be sensitive to unintended consequences. Also, any attempt to improve security governance must take into account the possibility of unintended consequences. Analyzing such consequences is not only a fascinating intellectual undertaking. It is also warranted politically, to protect states and societies from the negative fallout of – often benignly motivated – international policies.

Introduction   9

Types of unintended consequences An unintended consequence can be defined as an “effect of purposive social action which is different from what was wanted at the moment of carrying out the act, and the want of which was a reason for carrying it out” (Baert 1991: 201). Hence, unintended consequences are about a gap between intentions and outcomes. We use the term “unintended consequence” because this term is more specific than the term “side effect,” which leaves open the question of whether an effect was intended or unintended. Moreover, who can say which effect was a main effect and which one a side effect? (Jervis 1997: 10). We also prefer the term “unintended consequence” over the term “paradoxical effect” because the latter term refers to unintended consequences of the blowback type only. Speaking of unintended consequences leaves open the possibility of positive consequences. Table I.1 depicts those dimensions of unintended consequences that seem most relevant to the study of security governance. The first dimension looks at who feels the impact of an effect. The effect can have an impact on the initiator of a policy, other actors, or both. As part of the “war on terror,” the United States promotes new anti-­terror measures around the world. Citizens often do not see possible positive effects such as fewer terrorist attacks. Instead, they experience missed flights, the erosion of civil liberties, and – in many cases – human rights abuses (we assume that these are unintended consequences of counter-­terrorism). These effects can backfire at the United States by fueling anti-­ Americanism and by undermining the US democracy discourse. Moreover, pathologies of the “war on terror” such as the practice of torture help radicals to legitimize their fight against the West (see Rashid 2009: chapter 14). Short-­term gains, such as information on terror networks, may be outweighed by the long-­term cost of lost credibility. Other actors experience the effects of the “war on terror” even more strongly than the United States. Most obviously, innocent citizens can get caught up in counter-­terrorism operations. Many unintended consequences affect both policy initiators and third parties. But it is unlikely that a policy initiator and other actors feel unintended consequences in the same way and at the same time; unintended consequences tend to be spatially and temporally asymmetric. Table I.1  Dimensions of unintended consequences What the effect refers to

Value attached to effect

Relationship between effect and initial intention

Effect has an impact on:    Policy initiator and/or other      The effect actors see the effect as: Policy initiator

Desirable

Other actors (including Undesirable the target of the initiative) Source: adapted from Baert 1991.

Fulfills the initial intention of the policy initiator Frustrates the initial intention of the initiator

10   C. Daase and C. Friesendorf The second dimension refers to the value attached to an effect. The policy initiator and/or other actors (including the targets of security governance efforts) may see the effect as desirable or undesirable (or even as neutral, a possibility we do not discuss). International sanctions can have desirable side effects from the point of view of sending states (the states imposing the sanctions), for example when the sanctions curtail not only the financial and political power of the target state, but also strengthen trade relations to friendly nations. However, sanctions may also enable the target government to rally people around the flag, or criminalize states and societies, with long-­term consequences for later stabilization and peacebuilding efforts (Byman and Waxman 2002: 105–114; Peter Andreas’ chapter in this volume). The third dimension pertains to the relationship between the effect and the initial intention. Some unintended consequences fulfill intentions. The death of members of the United Nations Protection Force in Bosnia, resulting not least from a weak UN mandate, contributed to a shift to more robust peace enforcement, which, together with other factors, led to the Dayton Agreement. Some unintended consequences of counter-­terrorism may reduce the risk of terrorism: To the extent that European governments socially integrate disgruntled Muslim communities, and assuming that a lack of social integration is a cause of terrorism, fewer attacks may be committed. Unintended consequences can also frustrate policy objectives. Following 9/11, the US-­led Operation “Enduring Freedom” pushed al Qaeda out of Afghanistan into Pakistani tribal areas, destabilizing an already volatile region. More generally, counter-­terrorism has forced al Qaeda to decentralize, thus frustrating counter-­terrorism objectives (Hoffmann 2006). Another example is humanitarian aid that helps some people while at the same time exacerbating and prolonging wars (Anderson 1999). Some combinations of these dimensions are compatible, others contradictory. An actor will not, for example, perceive a consequence as desirable when it frustrates the actor’s intentions – under the condition of rationality and utility-­ maximization. Vice versa, an actor will regard an unintended consequence as desirable if it helps the actor to fulfill the initial objectives. Many unintended consequences do not fall into neat categories, however. It is not always clear whether and when unintended consequences impact on policy initiators or others, and whether such consequences are positive or negative. This is not least because actors are not unified entities. The Iraq war has benefited PMCs, but not the American taxpayer.

Analyzing unintended consequences Analyzing unintended consequences is tricky due to the fuzziness of the notion of “intention.” Scholars cannot look into people’s heads in order to know what they really want (moreover, often actors themselves do not clearly know what they want). Decision-­makers can easily rationalize their behavior a posteriori and deny that an effect is an unintended consequence of bad decisions or bad implementation. It is therefore challenging to ascertain modes of knowledgeability and

Introduction   11 awareness. There are several such modes: An actor may anticipate an effect, anticipate but not expect the effect, or expect the effect (Baert 1991). Studying degrees and modes of intention renders explanations of unintended consequences more complete. Whether or not scholars decide to focus on intentions depends on the research question and on the availability of information, including access to policymakers to find out about their “revealed preferences.” This book takes a practical approach: It uses the yardsticks of policy initiators and implementers when labeling an effect resulting from the policy an unintended consequence. If researchers apply their own yardsticks, they risk labeling an effect unintended even though it might have been part of the original plan. Examining actors’ stated intentions allows for holding them accountable. To refer to one of the case studies in this book, if the World Bank purports to strengthen democracy yet pursues reform policies that strengthen autocracy, World Bank policies yield unintended consequences. Above we argued that IR scholars have neglected unintended consequences. One important reason for this is the discipline’s difficulty of acknowledging complexity and contingency. Positivism has become a straightjacket for understanding and explaining unintended consequences and other enigmatic phenomena (Friesendorf 2007: chapter 1). A deterministic concept of causes and effects has been dominating the social sciences for a long time. Positivism and the quest for prediction and social laws continue to exert strong influence on IR especially in the United States (for criticism, see Elman and Elman 1997: 6; Smith 2004: 502–504; Jervis 1997). To establish a law, one has to show that given certain conditions, a specific cause always leads to a specific effect. Social phenomena based on such a law are explained by showing that the cause occurs together with the effect, that is, that the cause can be subsumed under a general law (see Hempel 1942, 1965). Positivists espouse “manipulability thinking” and a “statistical worldview,” (McKeown 1999) which is incompatible with the exigencies of analyzing change (on the difficulties of analyzing change, see Daase 1999b: 16–18; Holsti 1998; Itzkowitz 1996: 230). Analyzing unintended consequences means analyzing change. Things are different after an effect occurred than before. During the Cold War, many scholars and decision-­makers associated change with dangerous instability. The end of the Cold War (and the failure of IR to foresee it) has led many scholars to criticize predictive theorizing. But analyses of change have often been limited to the invention of new taxonomies and terms that describe change, but that do not explain change (there are exceptions, of course). On institutional change, see Wallander and Keohane (1999), Cortell and Peterson (2001), and Hellmann and Müller (2003: 377). Positivist explanation and prediction is variable-­based research. Yet positing dependent, independent, and intervening variables obstructs attempts to explain unintended consequences for three reasons. First, variable-­based research implies that an assumed cause is independent from an assumed effect, and that the cause temporarily precedes the effect. But with unintended consequences, numerous “variables” interact with one another in complex ways. Linear causality, “still

12   C. Daase and C. Friesendorf the ideal of much of our theoretical and empirical work, might not be good enough to explain events that move in vicious feedback circles, jumps, chaos-­ like trajectories or law-­exempt singularities” (Hellmann and Müller 2003: 377). Complexity poses a challenge to attempts to construct research designs – especially parsimonious ones – that control for explanatory and explaining factors. Moreover, it becomes difficult to assess the relative explanatory weight of “variables” (straws weigh the same, but a last straw can indeed break a camel’s back). And it may not be possible to operationalize factors, for example because of a lack of data. Second, variables must vary. But many unintended consequences are enabled by background conditions that may be fairly constant. For example, US pressure on drug producing countries, drug traffickers, and coca and poppy farmers has contributed to the geographic displacement of the illicit drug industry. The non-­ monopolistic, flexible nature of the drug industry has facilitated this process (Friesendorf 2007). The drug industry’s flexibility is not an independent variable of displacement, but a background condition that renders possible the unintended consequence of industry displacement. Analyzing unintended consequences thus means shifting from predictive to constitutive theorizing (Wendt 1998). Third, contingent factors may contribute to unintended consequences. These contingent factors often appear randomly, and cannot be deduced from history or common sense. Would World War I have occurred all the same if Gavrilo Princip’s bullets had missed Archduke Ferdinand? Whether Western powers will defeat insurgents in Afghanistan depends on Pakistan’s policies in the tribal areas; the arrest of Taliban leaders; the price of opium poppy on world markets; the evolution of the Indo-­Pakistani conflict; domestic pressure on European NATO countries to withdraw troops; and many other factors. Human beings are a main source of uncertainty; their behavior is often erratic and unpredictable (Jervis 2001: 397). Given that “it is actors and not variables who do the acting” (Hedström and Swedberg 1998: 24), and that contingency increases as more individuals and institutions interact, the outcomes of security governance cannot be predicted. Yet the main weakness of positivist, predictive, variable-­based theorizing is the superficial nature of explanations it provides. Positivism largely ignores the structure linking causes and effects, especially when this structure cannot be directly observed (Hedström and Swedberg 1998: 9). Discovering correlations between assumed causes and effects is not good enough. Explaining means showing how a cause leads to an effect. Barometers are sensitive to weather changes. But to explain varying barometer readings, we need to explain the impact of air pressure on mercury. Democracies do not seem to fight each other. But saying that democratic domestic structures explain peace among democracies is unsatisfactory. It needs to be shown, for example, how parliaments and civil society groups scrutinize executives and thereby reduce the likelihood of war. Saying that smoking kills is a superficial statement. To explain why many smokers die prematurely, the effects of nicotine on lungs and other body parts need to be revealed.

Introduction   13 Explaining unintended consequences of security governance thus requires tolerance of, or even embracing, ontologies, epistemologies and methodologies that are not easily compatible with the deterministic tenets of positivism. In the conclusion, we argue that mechanism-­based research is well suited for coping with complexity and contingency. Before hypothesizing on mechanisms, empirical groundwork is needed. We have not asked the authors of the empirical chapters to “test” any explanations, since there are none so far. Instead, this book adopts an inductive approach: In the conclusion we will extrapolate some general, tentative lessons about the causation of unintended consequences from the case studies, listing some of the conditions and mechanisms that seem to make the occurrence of unintended consequences likely. In addition, referring to Table I.1 above, we discuss who is affected by unintended consequences, whether such consequences are regarded as desirable, and whether they help fulfill or frustrate security governance objectives. This way, we hope to lay the foundations for a more fine-­grained exploration of security governance outcomes.

The structure of the book This book covers a variety of issues that involve a wide spectrum of state and non-­state actors. Given that relatively little is known about the effects of security governance, the book takes a heuristic approach. It examines questions such as: What are the consequences of security governance? Are they negative or positive, and for whom? Are consequences intended or unintended? How can unintended consequences be explained? And how can negative unintended consequences be avoided? This volume goes beyond an analysis of hypothetical unintended consequences. Scholars, to the extent that they write about unintended consequences at all, tend to point out the potential externalities of various policy options. What is needed, however, is to analyze observable, real events and processes, and how these can be causally linked to policy efforts. This volume attempts to trace problematic outcomes that have actually occurred or that continue to occur, instead of speculating about the future or theorizing with scant reference to empirical cases. This approach does not preclude inferring from the past for the future, of course. Indeed, a better understanding of unintended consequences in the past is a precondition for their future avoidance. All of the contributions to this volume examine forms of international intervention. The chapters can be placed into two groups. The first set of chapters discusses the consequences of security assistance and reform efforts in authoritarian, fragile, or war-­torn countries (Kohstall, Penksa, Schneckener and Schroeder). The second set focuses on the consequences of efforts to regulate both state and non-­state actors through sanctions and a partial privatization of security (Andreas, Biersteker, Buckland, Eriksson, and Friedrichs). Florian Kohstall examines the problematic involvement of international donor agencies in authoritarian states, drawing on the example of Egypt. Donors try to

14   C. Daase and C. Friesendorf promote economic development and democratization, but also want to avoid the potentially dangerous destabilization of regimes. These three objectives of development, democratization, and stability are not always compatible. This chapter examines unintended consequences of development aid in an area of “soft” security governance. In the late 1990s, the World Bank supported the Egyptian government in preparing a higher education reform by providing reform leaders with expertise and making financial support conditional upon progress in “good governance.” The World Bank was successful in anchoring a comprehensive education reform strategy. However, its ability to promote political reform has so far been limited, given that close allies of the president’s son Gamal Mubarak recycled the reform program for the purpose of dynastic succession. The chapter traces the process of World Bank involvement in the preparation of the reform program and reflects on how knowledge is turned into authoritarian power. Susan E. Penksa shows that modern peace operations tend to blur civil and ­military tasks. Since the end of the Cold War, distinctions between policing and military operations, external and internal security, and military and humanitarian/ development work are increasingly difficult to maintain. This trend is particularly prevalent in post-­conflict peace operations. When wars end, international military forces are usually the first ones to be deployed in significant numbers. Soldiers are often unwilling or unable to control riots, fight organized crime, protect returning refugees, arrest suspect war criminals, and engage in economic reconstruction projects of limited military utility. Yet various factors push soldiers into the realms of policing and reconstruction. This chapter examines the changing dynamics of international military-­police functions by analyzing NATO and EU operations in Bosnia-­Herzegovina and Kosovo. It explains complex security governance mechanisms on the civil–military interface by referring to the exigencies of peace operations and the need to prevent a security gap; the role of individuals with their own threat perceptions and interpretation of mandates; different national traditions; and the extent to which institutional learning occurs in organizations and among individuals. Thus, the chapter looks at the military provision of law enforcement tasks as an unintended consequence of modern peace operations. Ulrich Schneckener discusses unintended consequences of international statebuilding. Statebuilding is one of the central tasks facing the international community in the early twenty-­first century. Unlike in former times, when statebuilding was about the creation of new states, it now refers to designing and strengthening state structures and institutions. The chapter outlines four ideal-­ type strategies discussed and pursued internationally (liberalization first, security first, institutionalization first, civil society first) and analyses unintended consequences of each of these strategies. Subsequently, the author identifies factors at the field and headquarters levels that can yield unintended consequences. The chapter thus suggests that unintended consequences are a frequent feature of statebuilding activities and hard to avoid. Therefore, external actors have to find ways to cope and to manage these consequences and their impact. Ursula C. Schroeder shows that in response to state failure and collapse, efforts to reconstruct stable state monopolies on violence in war-­torn regions

Introduction   15 have gained prominence. But what are the effects of international assistance to security sectors in crisis or transition? A large number of external actors invest significant resources. But instead of leading to desired outcomes, security assistance programs implemented under conditions of uncertainty and instability have produced consequences intended by no-­one or sometimes even running counter to initial aims. This chapter contributes to systematizing the unintended consequences of security assistance programs. Distinguishing between the agenda setting, policy formulation, policy implementation and policy termination phases of international assistance, several outcomes that may contradict initial goals are identified. The chapter illustrates each type with reference to US and UK security assistance strategies in the fields of defense and police reform in Iraq and Afghanistan. The second set of chapters scrutinizes the consequences of international attempts to regulate public and private actors through sanctions and partially privatized “solutions.” Peter Andreas opens the section by looking at economic sanctions. While scholars and policymakers have focused on the effectiveness and humanitarian consequences of sanctions, criminalization as a consequence of sanctions has received relatively little attention. Andreas identifies and categorizes criminalizing effects of sanctions across place and time. The example of Yugoslavia serves as an empirical illustration of this analytical framework. The case underscores how sanctions have criminalized the state, economy, and societal actors, and forged unholy alliances between policymakers and organized crime groups. These alliances often outlive the end of sanctions, with repercussions for efforts to stabilize countries and promote the rule of law. Thomas J. Biersteker analyzes measures against terrorist financing, which have become an important element in the “war on terror” and which include sanctions not only against states, but also against individuals and civil society organizations. Efforts of financial re-­regulation involve governments, international organizations, and private actors such as banks as well as individuals and networks suspected of financing terrorism. Measures against terrorist financing have had several unintended consequences, both negative and positive. Hence, the chapter underlines that unintended consequences of security governance can be beneficial as well, usefully counterbalancing the negative bias inherent in the literature on unintended consequences. Benjamin S. Buckland, focusing on human trafficking, underlines the impact of partially privatized migration control on the human rights of migrants. Trafficking in human beings is an issue that has risen inexorably in stature over the past decade. While statistics for numbers of people trafficked remain hard to come by, the security governance structures built to deal with it are massive and growing. The author argues that the migration-­oriented counter-­trafficking strategies pursued thus far have had unintended consequences, not only for human rights and refugee protection more generally, but for trafficked people themselves. The proliferation of carrier sanctions, overseas immigration officers, and the outsourcing of visa processing (to take just three examples) have been promoted as part of a comprehensive anti-­trafficking strategy (and even

16   C. Daase and C. Friesendorf recommended by many NGOs and IOs). However, they have had, at best, a neutral effect and, at worst, contributed to the problem they seek to solve. Mikael Eriksson examines unintended consequences of targeted sanctions. Sanctions are often understood as a last step before resorting to military options. Yet as numerous studies have shown, sanctions often do not reach their intended objectives and have numerous problematic effects. Targeted sanctions are a new instrument used by the international community for tackling a wide range of security-­related problems involving, among others, “rogue states.” While targeted sanctions are better than non-­discriminatory sanctions, they are equally prone to causing unintended consequences. This chapter explicates the genesis, evolution, and impact of unintended consequences of targeted sanctions, referring to recent cases where targeted sanctions have been implemented or are being implemented. The author thus empirically reveals the problems of this new security governance tool. Jörg Friedrichs systematically sheds light on the crucial security governance issue of privatized force. The author argues that contrary to conventional wisdom, force can be divested from the state not only towards the market but also towards people. He posits three ideal types where force is concentrated in the hands of political, economic, or societal actors and that represent, respectively, Max Weber’s monopoly of force, the commodification of force, and community self-­help. Drawing on several examples, the chapter shows that the privatization of force, whether to the market or to people, drastically transforms the fabric of political, economic, and social relations. This transformation includes some deeply ironic effects: States permitting the privatization of force unwittingly erode their most fundamental raison d’être, that is, the provision of public security. Firms producing and consuming security as a tradable commodity undermine the social and political foundations of the markets on which firms ultimately rest. And social groups relying on community self-­help contribute to an anarchic situation where the quest for existential security is bound to remain elusive. In the conclusion, we discuss the problem of unintended consequences of security governance. In the light of the empirical evidence provided by the case studies, we explore who is affected by unintended consequences, whether such consequences are desirable or not, and whether they help fulfill or frustrate intentions. Also, we cautiously discuss issues of knowledgeability, as some of the chapter authors touch on the tricky issue of intention. Moreover, the conclusion discusses similarities and differences in the causal paths leading to unintended consequences, in order to move closer to explanatory theory. Furthermore, since unintended consequences seem to go hand in hand with security governance efforts, the question is how to limit negative fallout, and thus render security governance more effective, efficient, and legitimate. We argue that while there is no viable alternative paradigm to security governance, complexity means that it is difficult to avoid negative unintended consequences. However, we suggest some ways that might help to reduce the likelihood of unintended consequences or their negative impact once such consequences have become apparent.

Introduction   17

Notes 1 A previous version of this introductory chapter was presented at the ECPR General Conference in Pisa, 6–8 September 2007. We thank the audience for a lively discussion. We are also grateful to two anonymous reviewers of Routledge for their insightful and constructive criticism of the underlying idea of this book and of several chapters. Thanks are also due to Lisa Blaydes and David Law for their comments, and especially to Benjamin S. Buckland for his help and advice in arranging the chapters and providing feedback on the manuscript. Last, but certainly not least, we would like to thank the chapter authors for offering to invest time and energy into this project, and for their patience in seeing the book nearing completion. 2 We thank Ursula C. Schroeder for her comments on this point.

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1 Strengthening autocracy The World Bank and social reform in Egypt Florian Kohstall

Introduction For Gamal Mubarak, the son of Egypt’s President Hosni Mubarak, the 2006 annual congress of the ruling National Democratic Party (NDP) was an opportunity to present himself and his advisors as the upcoming leadership team of Egypt. His speech was widely echoed in the national and international press, due to his controversial remarks about Egypt’s nuclear ambitions. By raising an issue of national security, Gamal Mubarak wanted to make sure that he was seen as the only “presidential” member of the congress (Al Ahram Weekly 2006). Subsequent assurances by the United States that it would support Egypt in developing a nuclear program triggered a debate on the coordination of Gamal’s initiatives with the United States and his growing influence in Egyptian political life. Over the last ten years, the question of dynastic power transfer (tawrith al sulta) turned out to be the distinctive feature of Egyptian politics. In 2005, Article 76 of the constitution was amended, allowing competitive presidential elections for the first time. The so-­called reform trio, composed of Finance Minister Youssef Boutros-­Ghali, Foreign Trade and Industry Minister Rasheed Mohamed Rasheed and Investment Minister Mahmoud Mohieddin, proposed various economic reforms such as a reduction in tariffs and taxes. Under the condition of increased international pressure for democratization in the Middle East, those political and economic reforms helped to improve Egypt’s image in the eyes of the international community. Still, they may do more than merely foster the shift to a market economy or enhance political pluralism; they are also likely to enable Gamal Mubarak to smoothly succeed his father (Hassabo 2006). While it is difficult to predict the outcome of the politics of succession, the rise of Gamal Mubarak raises the question of the international community’s role in Egypt’s ongoing “transition process.” Dynastic succession would be an unmistakable setback for the promoters of democracy. Since the revolution of 1952, the country has been ruled by three authoritarian leaders and, since 1981, by Hosni Mubarak. In a region where the personalization of political power and economic wealth is a distinctive feature of authoritarianism (Camau and Geisser 2003), rulers tend to hand over power to family members. Even though younger

22   F. Kohstall people often present themselves as “modernizers,” it would be audacious to expect democratic change from a member of the ruling family. This chapter examines the role of the international community in this “transition process” by analyzing an area of “soft” security governance. In the late 1990s, the World Bank helped the Egyptian government to prepare a higher education reform program. Higher education reform is an example of economic and social reforms that aim to modernize Egypt’s economy and improve living conditions in the Middle East’s most populated country. The reform is only part of a wider security governance agenda that aims to create better socio-­economic conditions in the region; however, some of its promoters view it as the most crucial element.1 The training of young people figures prominently in international attempts to stabilize the Southern Mediterranean, such as the EU’s Barcelona process, the US sponsored Middle East Partnership Initiative, and the Broader Middle East and North Africa Initiative approved by the G8 in 2004. Also, while the World Bank is only one of several donors supporting this reform, it can be considered as the donor community’s most powerful organization, playing an important role, among others, in the Egyptian reform process. Analyzing this role thus sheds light on unintended consequences of development aid more generally. This chapter focuses on two instruments of development aid that guide many international donor programs: the transfer of expertise and the empowerment of the third sector (this term here includes the private sector and civil society organizations). Both instruments have been introduced to avoid well-­known negative effects of development aid. While their impact remains partly obscure, analyzing Egypt’s higher education reform process illustrates that these instruments are not exempt from producing unintended consequences of development aid. The first part of the chapter discusses negative effects of development aid and assesses the international community’s “new” development agenda. The second part looks at the World Bank’s involvement in Egypt’s higher education reform and assesses the two aforementioned instruments of expertise transfer and third sector empowerment. In a third step, I show how this particular set of development aid can produce unintended consequences and why it is difficult to prevent these consequences from occurring.

Assessing unintended consequences of development aid The international community has a strong impact on Egypt’s reform agenda. Since the Camp David peace agreement in 1978, Egypt has been the second largest recipient of US development aid, topped only by Israel. Most of this aid is used to modernize the military. While economic assistance has decreased in recent years, its provider, the US development agency, USAID, remains Egypt’s most important donor organization.2 The European Union signed an association agreement with Egypt in June 2001 and provides aid to make Egypt’s economy fit for this association process.3 Other bilateral donors, such as Germany, Japan and Italy also have a strong interest in stabilizing Egypt, due to the country’s

Social reform in Egypt   23 strategically important position. International donors in Egypt are involved in areas ranging from intellectual property rights to migration, from irrigation projects to fighting terrorism. To cite Timothy Mitchell, Egypt is subject to the “rule of experts” (Mitchell 2002). With regard to political change and democratization, the limited effects of donor involvement in Egypt have been studied mainly during the phase of structural adjustment.4 It has generally been acknowledged that economic liberalization has not lead to democratization. The privatization of state businesses was followed by the rise of a crony capitalist stratum, strengthening the authoritarian regime (Gobe 1999). Phases of seeming political liberalization like the introduction of multiparty elections have been succeeded by waves of de-­liberalization (Kienle 2001). Studies that focus on democracy promotion by foreign actors such as the German Stiftungen underline the donor’s ability to contribute to the emergence of a small “liberal-­thinking elite,” yet limited impact on the ruling regime’s structure (Carapico 2002). Béatrice Hibou, in her study of the World Bank’s strategy to promote democracy in authoritarian regimes, refers to two “unintended consequences”: First, “the reinforcement of incumbent regimes” results from the World Bank’s inability to strengthen civil society and dismantle regime structures and institutions. Moreover, the World Bank’s development policies contribute to the emergence of shadow networks, thus reinforcing the “informal” and subterranean branches of the state. Second, she posits the “de-­legitimization and privatization of government” through the priority for liberal reforms and the neglect of public policy and social affairs (Hibou 2002). According to Hibou, the World Bank neglects local particularities when “imposing” its agenda, fails to support civil society through its direct dealings with government agencies, and omits social concerns when pushing for market-­driven economies. While all of these problems of the World Bank’s development policies have been observed in different countries and regions, it is not clear what is “unintended” about these consequences, which, according to Hibou, reflect a “neo-­ liberal development agenda.” After all, the World Bank is not only interested in democratization, but also in economic globalization and political stability. It is doubtful whether this agenda allows for a more effective empowerment of civil society, given the agenda’s in-­built contradictions and trade-­offs. A narrower focus on reform programs that aim to strengthen social cohesion and empower civil society is a more promising path for highlighting unintended consequences of development assistance that go beyond the inconsistency of donor policies. In order to reveal the link between persistent autocracy and international donor policies, one must not only take into account the donor’s strategy, but also the domestic political setting. Speaking of unintended consequences only makes sense when policy objectives are not only cheap talk (this does not preclude these objectives from reflecting vested interests, institutional logics, and international constraints). Therefore, one has to take the World Bank’s objectives as granted. Yet the crucial question is whether the World Bank can entirely control the reform processes it initiates. This chapter shows that the World Bank’s

24   F. Kohstall development agenda is constantly faced with uncertain political changes on the domestic level in “target” countries that produce unintended consequences of World Bank involvement in these countries.

The new development agenda: knowledge transfer, good governance and security International donor agencies have “learned” from the mediocre, and sometimes disastrous, effects of structural adjustment programs. Starting in the 1990, more emphasis has been placed on social reforms and the empowerment of non-­state actors. The World Bank, as the leading international agency for the design of development aid, launched a new approach under the presidency of James D. Wolfensohn (1995–2005). The Strategic Compact adopted in 1996 presented social reforms as a new element in order to improve the World Bank’s portfolio and to foster cooperation with recipient countries. The 1999 Comprehensive Development Framework defends a holistic long-­term vision: the country in the lead, both “owning” and directing the development agenda, with stronger partnerships among governments, donors, civil society, the private sector and other development stakeholders (Pincus and Winters 2002). “Ownership” and “civil society” have become key ingredients of the World Bank’s international reform jargon, advocating not only economic and social reforms but also political change. While the World Bank is not necessarily interested in democratizing the authoritarian regimes of the Middle East in a way the Bush administration has wanted it to (Senior World Bank Analyst, interview, Washington, DC, 2006), the World Bank aims at creating conditions that allow it to implement its reform agenda in an efficient and transparent way. The integration of national stakeholders, including non-­state actors, into decision-­making is considered a condition for, and a goal of, bank support (Santiso 2001). This is part of a wider “governance agenda” intended to incorporate more actors into problem solving, reduce the risk of corruption, and make development programs more efficient (World Bank 1996). The agenda is widely accepted by other organizations of the donor community, such as the United Nations Development Program (UNDP) and the European Union. Finally, the World Bank advocates democracy, not for its own sake but as a political system that provides efficiency and transparency. One should not overestimate these changes in the World Bank’s agenda. A new focus on “civil society” and the potential victims of structural adjustment may be nothing more than a step “from one truth to the next” (Guilhot 2000), i.e. from financial austerity to the empowerment of the third sector. Moreover, the new agenda also aims to increase the World Bank’s portfolio and the number of actors towards whom the economic reform agenda can be directed (Gaudin 2002). These caveats notwithstanding, the new focus on non-­state actors has concrete consequences. The World Bank has not only shifted to more investment in social reforms, such as education, health and micro-­credit lending.5 More important, when dealing with governments or civil society, the World Bank invests a lot of resources in expertise. Analytical work, the preparation of statist-

Social reform in Egypt   25 ics, the training of policy-­makers and the organization of workshops to compare international reform experiences are now the basis of any lending strategy. Expertise is a key element of the World Bank’s cooperation with client countries, besides the allocation of financial resources. Moreover, the World Bank, which since 1999 has been defining itself as a “knowledge bank,” provides a cognitive map for reform. Its research departments produce numerous reports and recommendations for nearly every problem development policy-­makers face (Toye and Toye 2005). Thus, cooperation with non-­state actors and the diffusion of knowledge are two crucial instruments of the “new” development agenda, which in turn is part of a wider (but softer) international democratization agenda. The implementation of projects in various fields now builds on these two instruments. Higher education reform is one issue that emerges on the development agenda, alongside social reforms. For a long time considered a luxury for developing countries, university reform has become a crucial element for training upcoming (democratic) leaders, promoting a market economy, and incorporating developing countries into the emergent knowledge society. The World Bank sees governance as the cornerstone of successful reform and argues that program strategies should take into account various stakeholders and private sector needs. Moreover, reform efforts should draw on best practices from other countries (World Bank 1994). Higher education reform, as only one component of the World Bank’s reform agenda, is a promising case for analyzing how the two aforementioned instruments promoted by the World Bank affect the authoritarian setting. More broadly, higher education is an example of security governance in an area of “soft” security. Better education may increase food security, reduce birth rates, and improve economic performance. It is also widely held that better education decreases people’s vulnerability to extremist ideas that may turn them into terrorists. Last but not least, by improving people’s opportunities, education reform is hoped to reduce illegal immigration from the poorer southern countries in the Mediterranean to the richer North.

Egypt’s higher education reform In the 1990s, the Egyptian government adopted a strategy for reforming the country’s education system. It involved negotiations with the World Bank, USAID and the European Union in order to set up a comprehensive framework to reform primary, secondary and higher education. Two bank credits were awarded to initiate a primary education reform in 1996 and a secondary education reform in 1999. In February 2000, a national conference convened to adopt a program for higher education reform. In March 2002, two years later, the World Bank agreed to provide a US$50 million loan to support the Higher Education Enhancement Program (HEEP). The program comprises six reform projects intended to make the education system more efficient and provide quality education in accordance with labor markets needs (World Bank 2002).

26   F. Kohstall Together with other international donor agencies, the World Bank played a pivotal role in putting higher education reform back on the agenda. HEEP is the first tangible reform project after a long debate over the crisis of the university system. The Egyptian higher education sector comprises 15 public universities, the religious university of Al Azhar, five private universities, six “foreign” universities and 51 middle and higher technical institutes. With around two million students, it is the biggest higher education system in the Arab World. Overcrowding has always been a problem for Egyptian universities, yet it assumed enormous proportions in the 1990s, when the number of students tripled. Due to badly maintained facilities, reflecting an insufficient increase in governmental funding, the quality of teaching declined. Besides overcrowding, security considerations facilitated reform. In the early 1990s, President Mubarak and various government officials started to label education a “matter of national security.” Under the threat of Islamist fundamentalism, investment in education was made a top priority. In the 1990s, Islamist groups carried out numerous attacks against state institutions and the Egyptian tourist industry. A conclusion commonly reached by leading Egyptian social scientists and development specialists was that militant fundamentalism had been drafting its cadres mainly from the poorest regions in Egypt, where most residents live below the poverty line and the presence of the state is minimal in terms of services (sanitation, health, education). (Sayed 2006) While other stages of the education pyramid such as primary and secondary education are more obviously linked to security concerns than higher education, the latter is an important component of the education system. The government’s interest in reforming the education system dovetailed with the interest of international donor agencies to channel development aid toward higher education. The World Bank’s report: Higher Education: The Lessons of Experience (World Bank 1994) is a cornerstone of international attempts to reform universities in developing countries. Before, the World Bank had primarily been focused on primary and secondary education. It now included higher education in its strategy. The World Bank shared the view of other donor organizations and the Egyptian government that education is a security issue. As Sayed shows, development agencies like USAID directed their efforts to the south, a region where Islamist radicals were supposedly recruited (Sayed 2006). While preparing its education reform strategy, the World Bank successfully pushed the Egyptian government to address higher education as part of a comprehensive reform. Before the HEEP was initiated, the government’s policy had been piecemeal. In the 1980s, there had been a broad debate over access, teaching conditions, private lessons, and the diversification of higher education institutions through the creation of private universities. But no structural reform was undertaken, due to a lack of funding, tight state control over the university

Social reform in Egypt   27 system, and resistance from professors (Farag 1992). In the 1990s, once higher education reform was put on the agenda, the government had to walk on a tightrope. One the one hand, it hesitated to question paradigms inherited from the Nasser period, such as the constitutionally guaranteed right to free education. At the same time, it faced the fact that private universities and foreign universities had been built on the outskirts of Cairo that charge tuition fees of around US$2,500 a year. These universities meet the demand of a growing Egyptian middle class eager for a degree from a prestigious institution in Egypt. The government, in reforming education, thus had to work within a new context of partly privatized education. The reform strategy prepared with the World Bank was a way to end this deadlock. HEEP consists of six projects that aim to improve the quality of public universities.6 HEEP’s guiding principle is to prepare Egyptian students for the labor market and to adapt the higher education system to a global knowledge society (HEEP 2009). Market orientation is not new in itself, but the strong affirmation of this principle in a program that addresses the public education sector is unprecedented. After all, Egypt’s government has always tried to expand access to higher education in order to fulfill its promise of equality. Since the year 2000, this objective geared toward quantity has been partially replaced by a policy emphasizing quality. The six HEEP projects concentrate on faculty training, the improvement of teaching quality, the diversification of higher education institutions, and the modernization of the administration. The importance of nationwide quality assurance and even international benchmarking has been acknowledged, as is reflected in plans to set up the National Agency for Quality Assurance and Evaluation.7 HEEP slows down the government’s desire to create more universities.8 Instead, it aims at improving standards in existing universities and at reducing pressure on the public university system by upgrading the infrastructure of technical colleges. Apart from this shift towards quality, we can also observe a change in the policy instruments used by the government. Contrary to previous reforms, the ministry uses a “bottom up” approach that encourages faculties and institutes to design their own reform proposals. All projects under the HEEP umbrella work as grant-­based projects. Funding is given to members of the university on a competitive basis. This implies a view on the part of reformers that universities cannot be reformed from the top (without staff, teachers and students) but only by creating incentives for these stakeholders. Committees are formed on all levels (ministry, university, and faculty) in order to facilitate reform. Moreover, workshop and training courses are organized in order to involve more personnel in the reform process. Thus, the World Bank has been relatively successful in pushing the Egyptian government towards policy change. With the World Bank’s support, the government drew up a comprehensive strategy. The government also focused more on the quality of education. Finally, it used the instruments provided by the World Bank such as grant-­based projects in order to implement the reform. But while policy change was relatively easy to achieve, changes that would affect Egypt’s

28   F. Kohstall authoritarian polity are not evident. The World Bank’s involvement had a rather limited effect in terms of political reform and the promotion of good governance, as an examination of the reform’s decision-­making process and of the reform’s key-­players makes clear. Obviously, one can hardly expect the World Bank to democratize Egypt by reforming the country’s educational system. However, the World Bank’s clearly stated goal is to strengthen civil society by enabling NGOs to participate in defining and implementing economic and social reform programs. The World Bank’s problems in achieving this goal result from political dynamics within client states and also its fairly “pragmatic” way of cooperating with authoritarian regimes, such as the one in Egypt.

The limits of participation If the “bottom up approach” is an important characteristic of the reform program, its impact on Egypt’s political setting is limited. In 1998, Minister for Higher Education Moufid Shehab officially initiated the (ongoing) reform process by creating the National Committee to reach a consensus on the main reform objectives. The committee had 25 members from different public and private universities, professors of different disciplines, former ministers, members of Parliament and representatives from the private sector. It held hearings with faculty, students, administrative staff, journalists and businessmen. A National Conference attended by 1,200 participants then adopted the results of the committee’s work in February 2000. It issued an action plan and a schedule for reform. The comprehensive program, adopted by the World Bank two years later, was based on the conference proceedings (Supreme Council of Universities [Egypt] 2000). The National Committee and National Conference were means to open up the decision-­making process to domestic stakeholders and to devise the “bottom-­up approach” for implementing the reform. The committee was also created to comply with the World Bank’s demands for a “participatory approach” and “good governance.” Moufid Shehab’s decision to set up the committee was a direct response to the World Bank’s political conditionality (Member of the National Committee, Interview, Cairo, March 2005). When the World Bank adopted the loan for the program in 2002, it judged the process “highly participatory” with an unprecedented degree of consultation and participation (World Bank 2002). Still, World Bank conditions were so soft that relatively few stakeholders were included in the process. What was supposed to be an example of “best practice” became a network that strengthened the higher education minister’s position within the cabinet. Participation in the committee was limited to elites within academia. The 25 members represented different governmental institutions – such as the Ministry of Higher Education and deputies from the lower and upper houses of Parliament, both dominated by the ruling party NDP. The different institutions (public and private universities and technical colleges) and disciplines of the higher education system were represented by 11 members, though they turned out to be

Social reform in Egypt   29 mainly university presidents, who are directly nominated by the minister. The private sector, another important stakeholder for reform, was represented by only four businessmen of important industrial conglomerates like Bishara Group of Textile and Garments and RAGAB Group that have strong links to the state.9 Thus, Shehab selected influential political and economic officials, as well as university and a few private sector representatives. This amounted to the creation of a “blue ribbon commission” that did not really represent the third sector, as the body included neither opposition figures nor members from civil society. In fact, the committee included none of Egypt’s legal opposition parties.10 Moreover, none of the members represented any of the universities’ grass-­root organizations, such as teacher or student clubs.11 Representatives participated as experts without any organizational backing. Those who ranked lower in the universities’ hierarchy only participated at the margins of the education reform process. Decision-­making was highly centralized. When the committee organized hearings to inform assistant professors and students about reform objectives, most decisions had already been taken. The results were then presented at the National Conference. After long introductory speeches from the prime minister and the minister for higher education, the participants adopted the program without substantial discussion. Everybody agreed with the committee’s recommendations, without, however, knowing whether the project could be implemented (Member of the National Committee, Interview, Cairo, September 2006). Once the National Conference adopted the project, the committee stopped convening, without being dissolved. Thus, little negotiation and the absence of a monitoring mechanism marked the National Committee and its conference. By only complying formally with World Bank’s demands, the committee reproduced Egypt’s dominant pattern of limited pluralism, in a modernized variant.12 Far from empowering the third sector, it included state institutions and representatives of the higher education sector that were affiliated with the state and the ruling NDP. To be sure, the committee opened up the decision process for the entrepreneur, an emerging actor in the political arena. But the fact that Egypt is a quasi one-­party system in which political pluralism is reduced to a minimum, limited opportunities for integrating organizations that compete with the NDP. Having created a committee and organized a conference on higher education helped the state to demonstrate its commitment to higher education reform, and to mobilize universities and the private sector for necessary change. By creating the committee, the minister succeeded in putting higher education reform on the government’s agenda, and to receive World Bank funding for the program. But the committee did not foster significantly more pluralist decision-­making; it did not challenge the authoritarian legacy of policy-­making. An inner circle of decision-­makers retained control over education governance.

Training domestic policy-­makers The promotion of the “participatory approach” and its translation in the domestic authoritarian setting is an important element in the World Bank’s cooperation

30   F. Kohstall with the Egyptian government. Another element concerns the training of domestic policy-­makers. While the Committee’s composition clashed with the World Bank’s declared objective to empower the third sector, the transfer of expertise allowed new reform leaders to emerge. These leaders did not necessarily represent the third sector. But they could have created a “critical mass” – if they had not been rapidly integrated into existing decision-­making structures. Training is a particularly important mechanism of the World Bank’s strategy, intended, among others, to forge alliances of reformists. During program preparation, the World Bank diffuses its normative discourse for university reform through its reports and country representatives. It also provides technical support to assess the needs of the higher education system and to build on examples of “best practice.” The preparation of HEEP relied upon a pilot program for the reform of engineering faculties (Engineering and Technical Education Program – ETEP) that had been implemented in Egypt from 1992 to 1997. Through this earlier program, the World Bank had pursued its objective of improving the quality of education by providing grants to departments on a competitive basis. The departments then presented proposals for reforming the curriculum, and winners received funding from the World Bank. Using this mechanism, the World Bank entered into direct contact with professors, providing them with expertise and funding. When the World Bank started to prepare the HEEP together with the ministry, these co-­opted professors helped the World Bank to implement the reform program and promote quality education in all faculties. In a further training step, the World Bank organized an international symposium in 1999 for the members of the National Committee during which “best practices” in education reform projects undertaken in various countries were presented. Moreover, the World Bank provided the government with detailed reports on higher education in Egypt (Supreme Council of Universities [Egypt] 1999b). Subsequently, government officials were sent on study tours to learn from “best practice” countries such as Australia and New Zealand. Policymakers who had access to such expertise and training benefited from their cooperation with the World Bank: they emerged as multipliers of policy ideas, a group of reformers resembling an advocacy coalition for quality in higher education (Keck and Sikkink 1998). Yet these reformers not only forged strong links with the World Bank and an international university reform network, but also with the Egyptian government. They cared as much about their own political careers as about the reform. A brief look at some of the key-­players of the reform reveals that domestic policymakers trained by the World Bank and other international organizations were quickly co-­opted by the authoritarian state. These policy-­makers include “long-­term reformers” such as Mohsen Elmahdy Said, but also “newcomers” such as Nadia Badrawi. Mohsen Elmahdy Said, a professor of engineering at Cairo University, played a crucial role in preparing the reform. Before participating in the ETEP, Said was a consultant to USAID and the World Bank. Within this ETEP he specialized on quality assurance and prepared a policy paper entitled “Higher Education

Social reform in Egypt   31 in Egypt.” This paper presents an innovative approach for ensuring high quality education and proper funding, relying a lot on bank recommendations. When Elmahdy Said joined the National Committee, he commended this policy paper as a roadmap for reform. Due to his know-­how and experiences with the World Bank, he became an indispensable interface between the World Bank and the Egyptian administration. Once the committee had prepared the program, he was promoted to the position of director of the project management unit (PMU) (see below). Another example is Galal Abdel Hamid Abdallah, also professor at the Faculty of Engineering and former dean at the University of Tanta. After participating in the ETEP program, he was nominated Secretary-­General of the Supreme Council for Universities (SCU), which coordinates Egypt’s policies on public universities. In 2003, he became director of the Higher Education Enhancement Program Fund (HEEPF ), one of the six HEEP key projects monitored by the PMU. The career of Hani Mahfouz Helal is probably the most striking example of how domestic policy-­makers with an international background are integrated into state institutions. Professor of engineering as his colleagues Mohsen Elmahdy Said and Abdel Hamid Abdallah, he became the coordinator of Tempus Egypt in 2002.14 In this position, Hani Helal also joined the PMU. In January 2006, Helal was named Minister of Higher Education and succeeded Amr Salama (2004–2005) and Moufid Shehab (1997–2004), the initiator of HEEP. Of all three ministers since the beginning of the reform, he knew most about international cooperation and how to attract international funding to keep the reform going. But he received little backing from Egyptian universities, not least because, in contrast to his predecessors, he had never been president of any of Egypt’s public universities. In addition to these three personalities, there are other policymakers for whom international cooperation and development aid translated into more domestic power. To be sure, the rise of individuals in the Egyptian political system is not linked to HEEP and the World Bank’s involvement alone; transnational networks played a role, too. Mohsen Elmahdy Said, Abdel Hamid Abdallah and Hani Helal hold degrees from foreign universities, and they had participated in the ETEP or worked for international organizations before becoming key drivers of education reform. While these reformers changed governmental policies, they were unable to preserve their autonomy towards Egypt’s authoritarian institutions. The World Bank set up the PMU in 2002 as an autonomous platform for reform within the Egyptian Ministry for Higher Education. It is the monitoring unit for the six aforementioned HEEP projects, and its members represent the Egyptian government as well as the World Bank and other donors supporting HEEP.15 While the Unit is to provide a platform for change, its impact on Egypt’s higher education bureaucracy is limited, as it fully depends on the Ministry for Higher Education. Instead of reforming this bureaucracy, it adds another layer to it. It is thus no surprise that the PMU is susceptible to political inference. 13

32   F. Kohstall It is also notable that the PMU is not only composed of internationally trained reform leaders, but also of individuals with no experience in transnational cooperation. These individuals have political clout and are therefore members of the reform network, yet they do not really promote domestic change. Nadia Badrawi joined the PMU in 2004. Professor of Pediatrics at Cairo University, she quickly acquired expertise in education reform and became involved in an international network that focuses on quality assurance in higher education.16 Yet in contrast to other reform leaders, Nadia Badrawi, when joining the PMU, had neither worked on previous reforms nor within any international organization. Her involvement in the reform process is rather due to her brother’s position within the ruling NDP. As a close ally of Gamal Mubarak, Hossam Badrawi had transformed higher education reform from a rather technocratic into a political process. His sister’s relatively late entry into higher education reform is both a cause and a consequence of Egyptian policymakers’ successful attempts to transform a World Bank reform program into a tool for political purposes.

When the ruling elite recycled HEEP The dynamics examined above can be considered limited effects of the World Bank’s engagement in the reform process. The World Bank’s attempt to create “good governance” by democratizing Egypt’s political institutions has led to the creation of a committee, yet one that is rather exclusive. Moreover, World Bank training has allowed new domestic figures to emerge; yet these enjoy little autonomy. International development agencies normally know that domestic politics can stifle the impact of their programs. Yet in the case of the World Bank’s desire to reform education in Egypt, uncertainty not only limited policy impact, but produced unintended consequences. As shown above, in the mid-­1990s the World Bank and the Egyptian Ministry for Higher Education began to prepare HEEP. Until 2002, Mubarak’s NDP did not play a significant role in this process. HEEP was based on a pilot program for the reform of the faculties of engineering. This pilot program allowed the World Bank to train university professors destined to become future reform leaders. At the same time, HEEP was prepared on the level of the Ministry for Higher Education. The minister implemented the World Bank’s governance agenda, primarily by organizing the National Committee and the National Conference. At this point, the reform was still mainly a technocratic process. Yet then the NDP became involved, by creating its own Policy Committee, headed by the president’s son. The Policy Committee quickly became Gamal Mubarak’s most important instrument to present himself as the party’s main driver of reform and as a suitable successor to his father. The committee’s objective has been to provide the ruling NDP party with a programmatic platform. The committee presented a number of political, economic, and social reforms at the five NDP Congresses between 2003 and 2007. While the NDP tried hard to present these reforms as their own invention, in most parts they were recycled from already existing programs prepared with international donor support.

Social reform in Egypt   33 The World Bank-­sponsored higher education reform program, HEEP, is one of the reform issues that the NDP and Gamal Mubarak’s Policy Committee has promoted in order to add credibility to the NDP and the president’s son. At the 2004 Congress, Hossam Badrawi – head of the subcommittee for education in the above-­mentioned Policy Committee – presented a number of policy papers on educational reform (National Democratic Party 2002). These papers reflect both HEEP’s focus on improving quality and the government’s traditional policy of increasing access to higher education. They build on decisions of the National Committee and National Conference, proposing, for example, the creation of a national agency for accreditation and quality assurance. In promoting such reform steps, Hossam Badrawi drew on expertise provided by the World Bank. While he had not participated in the 1990s debate over education, he made education reform his main priority after winning a parliamentary seat in the 2000 election. Together with Gamal Mubarak, and recycling reform ideas provided by the World Bank, Badrawi initiated a new debate on the reform program – two years after the National Conference had already adopted it. The NDP recycled the reform process in two ways. First, Hossam Badrawi drew mainly on the National Committee’s work and the World Bank’s expertise in order to present himself as a reformer. Second, the NDP adopted the “participatory approach” recommended by the World Bank and implemented under the tutelage of the ministry. Badrawi staffed his committee with nearly 100 members, mainly from universities but also from the political arena. In this way, he demonstrated that the NDP, not the Ministry, was in control of the reform process.17 Badrawi argued that the reform as prepared by the National Committee did not work since it lacked political support (Hossam Badrawi, head of the NDP’s policy subcommittee on education, Interview, Cairo, April 2003). However, a member of the National Committee deplores that the NDP used the education reform only for political purposes (Member of the National Committee, Interview, Cairo, September 2006). Hence, a new elite has instrumentalized higher education reform in order to strengthen the NDP as the center of governance. In the 1990s, more competitive elections had challenged the hegemonic position of the NDP. It was not so much the (fragmented) opposition parties that put the NDP under pressure, but “independent candidates,”18 mostly businessmen, who are not nominated by the party. Another type of “independent candidates” is affiliated to the forbidden, although tolerated, Muslim Brotherhood. In the 2000 parliamentary elections, the NDP failed to secure its usual two-­third majority (only after the “independents” had joined the party after the elections did the NDP have a two-­third majority). As a consequence, the NDP decided to create the Policy Committee to equip itself with a programmatic platform. The effects of externally sponsored reform projects such as education reform in Egypt are ambiguous. On the one hand, most Egyptians perceive them as a neo-­liberal package imposed from outside. They do not believe in these programs and mistrust Gamal Mubarak and his allies. On the other hand, reform projects have helped to marginalize the “old guard” of the NDP, which is

34   F. Kohstall opposed to Gamal Mubarak’s “new guard” in the struggle for succession. Indeed, the reform programs are the only visible instrument of the “new guard” to promote new thinking within the party. The language of consensus, committees and PowerPoint presentations has enabled reformers to dominate each NDP Congress since 2002. In terms of public awareness, the way the NDP recycled the World Bank’s reform proved to be highly successful. Within a short time, Badrawi became the indispensable voice for education reform, integrating the existing network composed by experts of international organizations and reformers within the Ministry of Higher Education. For example, when his sister Nadia Badrawi became director of QAAP, Hossam Badrawi managed to establish a direct link to the PMU and the donor organizations that were funding HEEP. After having been defeated in the parliamentary elections in November 2005, he gloriously reappeared at the 2006 NDP Congress, presenting another set of social reforms. This example reveals that democratic legitimacy does not necessarily decide over a politician’s success. Instead, politicians can leverage outside pressure for reform for their own political interests in the domestic arena, by presenting themselves as modernizers. Despite the unpopularity of reformers and their programs, the number of reform initiatives imported into Egypt from outside has been growing. In the 2006 and 2007 NDP Congress, the Policy Committee presented a wide-­ranging health reform program. This reform item, which is also supported by the World Bank, had been on the government’s agenda since 1998, and now was again publicly promoted, this time by Hossam Badrawi and Gamal Mubarak’s Policy Committee. The World Bank representatives and reformers such as the afore-­ mentioned Mohsen Elmahdy Said and Abdel Hamid Abdallah may not relish NDP involvement in the reform process. But they are unable to push the reform forward without the NDP, especially at a time when the question of succession dominates political life in Egypt.

Conclusion: unintended consequences of development aid The World Bank’s involvement in Egypt’s higher education reform reveals the limited impact of the international community’s new development agenda. In authoritarian Egypt, the promotion of reform has only partially been successful. The World Bank managed to anchor a comprehensive reform strategy for higher education in the government’s agenda. As soon as the higher education reform program received funding from the World Bank and other development agencies, the ruling party began to control the program. Gamal Mubarak, Egypt’s emergent leader, used the World Bank’s expertise in his efforts to present the NDP as the hub of governance in important social and economic realms, with the aim of enhancing the NDP’s domestic standing. In the same vein, the way the higher education minister selected reform stakeholders did not challenge the regime’s limited pluralism: He selected individuals without any political backing, except from Egypt’s ruling National Democratic Party. The World

Social reform in Egypt   35 Bank trained domestic policymakers and helped to create a reform alliance. However, members of this alliance quickly became part of existing state structures and hybrid institutions such as the PMU. Thus, the World Bank’s initial objective to empower the third sector by providing expertise to businesses and NGOs has strengthened autocracy. The international community has to take into account the possibility that seemingly technocratic reform projects are used for purposes other than modernizing Egypt. This poses a problem for international donors such as the World Bank. On the one hand, donors should avoid a situation whereby international funding and expertise reinforces non-­transparent, authoritarian domestic political structures; efforts should be made to avoid unintended consequences. On the other hand, international donors depend on high-­level political support for implementing controversial reforms such as higher education reform. Indeed, the fact that Gamal Mubarak and Hossam Badrawi captured the reform process accelerated this process. More generally, international donors will find it difficult to manipulate domestic structures in the way they want, and to avoid a situation whereby their involvement leads to unintended consequences. Moreover, once these unintended consequences become apparent, donors can hardly withdraw their support from “their” reform projects. After all, withdrawal of support would indicate that donors are unable to reach their objectives, and it would undermine the objective of modernizing Egypt. Thus, international donors pour funding and expertise into projects that may lead to policy change, but not polity change and, indeed, may undermine democratization. Internationally sponsored higher education reform in Egypt is thus an illuminating example of the path-­dependent causation of unintended consequences: Domestic policymakers have used development aid to promote their own interests. To put it in a nutshell: World Bank support for higher education reform in Egypt has contributed to the emergence of a new ruling elite and improved this elite’s standing in the dynastic succession process. Contrary to its intention to foster democratization, the World Bank has thus contributed to autocracy. Do the World Bank and other international donors care about such unintended consequences and the persistence of autocracy in the Middle East? From the narrow perspective of pushing through reform programs, donors might value policy change higher than polity change. But at which point does this preference order change? The tipping point may be reached when authoritarianism impedes policy change. Autocracies can be effective modernizers, as the Tunisian example illustrates. But the autocratic Tunisian state controls a population of only ten million people, whereas Egypt currently counts 72 million people. The Egyptian regime is walking on a tightrope in its adjustment process. Its capacity to push through unpopular reform measures is rather limited in sectors such as education where the forbidden opposition is influential. This chapter should thus not be read as a success story of World Bank involvement in a reform process. After all, the implementation of higher education reform in Egypt is lagging behind, and opposition against some of its aspects within Egypt is growing. More importantly, while the World Bank to some extent succeeded in

36   F. Kohstall exporting its education policy agenda, domestic policymakers managed to utilize World Bank support for their own domestic purposes, thus perverting the “good governance” concept. This is more than problematic; the instrumentalization of development aid by domestic players may not be paying off for international donors in the long run. After all, pseudo-­stability does not only hinder the sustainable implementation of reform projects, but can also produce transnational consequences ranging from irregular migration to political unrest. The unintended consequence of reinforced authoritarianism, as examined in this chapter, raises questions about the international strategy of promoting development through the transfer of knowledge and the empowerment of the third sector. The new development agenda is problematic because it is unclear whether expertise can be channeled to the right NGOs and other domestic drivers of change. In a system where dissenting political organizations are marginalized and fragmented, empowering the third sector and reform leaders may be promising. But this strategy is unlikely to succeed when internationally supported individuals and groups try to leverage international expertise for changing both policies and polities, yet lack the domestic power to do so. Knowledge can be useless without the institutional channels and informal networks needed to promote change. International support for the third sector in Egypt and elsewhere is therefore a necessary, but not sufficient recipe for affecting change. While transnational networks, such as the one focusing on higher education reform, allow new leaders to emerge, well-­established domestic power structures constrain the autonomy of these leaders, co-­opt them, and thus prevent them from challenging authoritarian legacies.

Notes   1 “Higher education is the most important asset we have. . . I believe these programs can actually reduce friction between countries and cultures,” says, for example, the president of a US university that is exporting its programs to the Middle East. (New York Times, 18 February 2008).   2 In fiscal year 2005, US aid amounts to US$1.8 billion, around 1.3 billion in military assistance and 500 million in economic assistance. While estimates on the amount of international funding differ, information from the Egyptian Ministry for Development Cooperation shows that the European Investment Bank replaced USAID in 2005 as the main donor.   3 The European Union’s aid program amounts to US$730 million for the period 2007–2010.   4 In 1991, the government adopted a structural adjustment program monitored by the International Monetary Fund (IMF ).   5 For a good account on the way such a “program for the poor” can serve to diffuse a reform agenda driven by economic interests, see Elyachar (2002).   6 The six projects focus on the improvement of technical education; information technology; the creation of a national system for evaluation, quality assurance and benchmarking; the reform of faculties of education; faculty staff training; and the encouragement and support of reform initiatives from faculty and institutes. For details on HEEP and the six projects see HEEP website, online, available at: www. heep.edu.eg.

Social reform in Egypt   37   7 President Mubarak announced the creation of this agency in September 2004.   8 While the government wants to increase access and construct more universities, no new public university has been built since 1994. Due to resource constraints, only three branches of universities have been converted into full universities in 2005.   9 For the composition of the committee see: Supreme Council of Universities (Egypt), 1999a. 10 Egypt’s legal opposition is made up of a dozen small parties. Only the liberal Neo-­ Wafd, the nationalist Nasserists and the leftist Tagammu’ party have been represented in Parliament. The Islamist Muslim Brotherhood is officially banned, but uses “independent” candidates to run in elections. 11 Teacher unions and student clubs are controlled by the state, and their activities have been “frozen.” These organizations were important ideological forces in the 1970s and 1980s. The state has taken control of these institutions after they were taken over by candidates from the Islamist Muslim Brotherhood. These institutions’ politicization is indicated by this take-­over, as well as the facts that professors form small clubs and mobilize support on issues such as university autonomy or the presence of security forces on campuses. 12 Following Juan Linz, limited pluralism is one of the four characteristics of an authoritarian regime (Camau and Geisser 2003). 13 The paper was later published in Damtew and Altbach (2003). 14 Tempus is the European Union’s program for cooperation among universities. Since 2002, it also fosters cooperation with universities in the MENA (Middle East and North Africa) region. 15 The Ford Foundation became involved in training four faculties on quality management standards; the European Union Tempus initiative became part of HEEP; the German Academic Exchange Service, in July 2006, organized a conference on higher education and research management; the French Mission for university and scientific cooperation is regularly requested to provide expertise in order to support technical colleagues and the creation of centers of excellence. 16 She is a “co-­opted” board member of the International Network for Quality Assurance Agencies in Higher Education (INQAAHE), an NGO based in Ireland whose purpose is to help the dissemination of “best practices” on quality assurance in higher education. 17 One should note that H. Badrawi was also head of the education committee of the lower house of Parliament. 18 Even these candidates cannot be considered independent, as they have regularly joined the NDP after elections.

Bibliography Camau, Michel and Geisser, Vincent (2003) Le syndrome autoritaire: Politique en Tunisie de Bourguiba à Ben Ali, Paris: Presses de Science Po. Carapico, Sheila (2002) “Foreign Aid for Promoting Democracy in the Arab World,” Middle East Journal, 56(3): 379–395. Damtew, Teferra and Altbach, Philip G. (eds.) (2003) African Higher Education: An International Reference Handbook, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Elyachar, Julia (2002) “Empowerment Money: The World Bank, Non-­Governmental Organizations and the Value of Popular Culture in Egypt,” Public Culture, 14(3): 493–513. Farag, Iman (1992) “L’Université égyptienne: Enjeux de modes de mobilisation,” Monde arabe Maghreb-­Machrek, 27, 65–83. Gaudin, Jean-­Pierre (2002) Pourquoi la gouvernance?, Paris: Presses de Sciences Po.

38   F. Kohstall Gobe, Eric (1999) Les hommes d’affaires égyptiens: démocratisation et secteur privé dans l’Égypte de l’infitah, Paris: Karthala. Guilhot, Nicolas (2000) “D’une vérité à l’autre, les politiques de la Banque mondiale,” Le Monde Diplomatique, 20–21. Hassabo, Chaymaa (2006) “Moubarak ‘sans cravate’, un Moubarak ‘démocratique’?,” in F. Kohstall (ed.) L’Égypte dans l’année 2005, Cairo: CEDEJ. HEEP (2009) About HEEP. Online, available at: www heep.edu.eg/about-­heep htm (accessed 12 July 2009). Hibou, Béatrice (2002) “The World Bank: Missionary Deeds (and Misdeeds),” in P.J. Schraeder (ed.) Exporting Democracy: Rhetoric vs. Reality, Boulder, CO and London: Lynne Rienner. Keck, Margaret E. and Sikkink, Kathryn (1998) Activist beyond Borders: Advocacy Networks in International Politics, Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press. Kienle, Eberhard (2001) A Grand Delusion: Democracy and Economic Reform in Egypt, London: IB Tauris. Mitchell, Timothy (2002) Rule of Experts: Egypt, Techno-­politics, Modernity, Berkeley, Los Angeles: University of California Press. National Democratic Party (2002) NDP Document Education Reform, Cairo: NDP document, September. Pincus, Jonathan R. and Winters, Jeffrey A. (2002) Reinventing the World Bank, Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press. “Presidential, Not President” (2006) Al Ahram Weekly, 21–22 August: 2. Santiso, Carlos (2001) “International Cooperation for Democracy and Good Governance: Moving Towards a Second Generation,” European Journal of Development Research, 13(1): 154–180. Sayed, Fatma H. (2006) Transforming Education in Egypt: Western Influence and Domestic Policy Reform, Cairo and New York: American University in Cairo Press. Supreme Council of Universities (Egypt) (1999a) “Higher Education Enhancement Program – International Symposium – Excerpts,” vol. I, Cairo. Supreme Council of Universities (1999b) “Higher Education Enhancement Program – International Symposium – Monographs,” vol. 2, Cairo. Supreme Council of Universities (2000) “Document of the National Conference of Higher Education,” Cairo. Toye, John and Toye, Richard (2005) The World Bank as a Knowledge Agency, New York: United Nations Research Institute for Social Development. World Bank (1994) Higher Education: The Lessons of Experience, Washington, DC: World Bank. World Bank (1996) Governance: The World Bank Experience, Washington, DC: World Bank. World Bank (2002) Project Appraisal Document on a Proposed Loan in the Amount of US$50 to the Arab Republic of Egypt for a Higher Education Enhancement Project, Washington, DC: World Bank.

2 Security governance, complex peace support operations and the blurring of civil–military tasks Susan E. Penksa

Introduction To confront global insecurity, states require an augmentation of police power and expertise, a transformation of military forces and doctrine, and improved civil– military coordination for complex peace operations.1 Guaranteeing security requires that states and organizations utilize multiple instruments, often in a comprehensive, non-­sequential process involving complex civilian, military, intelligence, judicial and police capabilities. International organizations, such as the UN, NATO and the EU, intervene to bolster failing states, to prevent conflict or to cease hostilities. More than the threat of interstate warfare and the attendant need to protect the territorial integrity of state borders, asymmetrical threats such as transnational crime, terrorism, poverty and internal conflict and violence erode state security. Most states are not well prepared to address transnational threats, or sufficiently resourced to deploy multi-­dimensional, comprehensive post-­conflict operations. This is especially germane to post-­conflict peacebuilding, where states must facilitate and sustain peace and stability in countries ravaged by war, conflict or humanitarian crises.2 While states know how to wage war, securing the peace is fraught with dilemmas, tradeoffs and unanticipated outcomes. Military forces of the twenty-­first century respond to humanitarian catastrophes, provide protection for refugees and internally displaced peoples, monitor peace agreements, demobilize militias, train nascent security forces in disparate cultures, and fight transnational terrorist networks. Such responses increase the fluidity between military and law enforcement functions. As Zaalberg demonstrates, The most crucial civil–military relationship in most peace operations proved to be between soldiers and policemen, either from the local police forces or from an international civilian police force. It was in this area that the dividing lines between the military and civil spheres most frequently became blurred. (2006: 424) In fact, the modern construction of security threats has created a situation “in which military and intelligence agencies are increasingly utilized to confront acts

40   S.E. Penksa defined as criminal” (Andreas and Nadelmann 2006: 253). The military, with its hierarchical structure and long-­term tactical and strategic planning process, has an organizational advantage for operational planning. Paradoxically, however, the military instrument is a less effective tool for confronting international criminality.3 Military personnel are not trained to employ the minimum use of force or in community police methods. Unquestionably, today’s operations “need forces trained and equipped for roles that blend the requirements of combat and policing” (Stromseth et al. 2006: 149). Consequently, there is sometimes a tension between the norms of security system reform (SSR), focused on the separation of military from civilian police functions in domestic contexts, and the military provision of law enforcement tasks in complex peace support operations. What is the proper interface between international militaries and domestic and international police forces, specifically in regard to the division of responsibilities among security providers?4 The blurring of military and police tasks raises important questions about the type of law enforcement tasks that the military should engage in and under what circumstances.5 This chapter examines an unintended consequence of security governance – the blurring of military and police tasks in complex peace support operations. In the first section, the imperatives of civil–military cooperation and security system reform are analyzed. The second part of the chapter focuses on the role of the international military in complex peace operations. Then, the blurring of military and police tasks in the latter phases of complex peace support operations in Bosnia-­Herzegovina and Kosovo is examined comparatively using longitudinal data. The blurring is explained by the exigencies of complex peace operations and the need to prevent a security gap; the role of individuals with their own threat perceptions and interpretation of mandates; different national traditions; and the extent to which institutional learning occurs in organizations and among individuals.

Civil–military cooperation and security system reform Post-­conflict peacebuilding is non-­linear and holistic and necessitates comprehensive planning among multiple agencies, including military and civilian sectors. While the military expanded its role in civilian affairs in the aftermath of World War II, the end of the Cold War accelerated the participation of military forces in humanitarian action (Weiss 1999: 16). An imperative for modern peace support operations, civil–military cooperation (CIMIC) doctrine focuses on the relationship between the military and local governments and citizens, civilian input into military planning, and civil–military cooperation in the humanitarian, reconstruction and economic development sectors. CIMIC mechanisms for cooperation with civilian actors encompass information exchange, logistical support and “hearts and minds” actions to create a more effective space on the ground to achieve positive outcomes for intervention forces and local populations.6

Peace support operations   41 As a result of lessons identified from international interventions in the Balkans, Iraq and Afghanistan, international stakeholders increasingly emphasize the importance of civil–military cooperation and the incumbent task of designing and executing a “comprehensive approach” to crisis response and stabilization. At the April 2008 NATO Bucharest Summit, member states endorsed a new action plan for the development and implementation of NATO’s contribution to a comprehensive approach. NATO recognized the broad spectrum of civil and military instruments required for twenty-­first century crisis management and the need for systematized consultation and coordination among many different actors.7 Delivering a so-­called “comprehensive approach” is a herculean task for stakeholders. In the “postmodern military,” civilian and military spheres often are without clear delineation structurally or culturally (Moskos et al. 2000: 2).8 This is evident in CIMIC doctrines and implementation procedures that vary by institutional context and field location (Ehrhart 2007; Gross 2008). Civilians often criticize the military for its short-­term perspective focused on instant impact, rather than on the sustainability of reforms and projects. Military officials may dismiss such concerns and contend that although the military is not the ideal development organization, “the NGOs are not being shot at” (Boone 2008). Military and civilian communities largely agree on the need to improve information exchange and increase coordination, but there are still conceptual and methodological fissures over how to effectively deliver a multifaceted, integrated, and comprehensive policy for conflict stabilization.9 Moreover, “the consequences of civil–military cooperation are still not fully understood or easily managed” (Gordon 2007: 126). While the CIMIC literature emphasizes relationships between military forces and NGOs in the humanitarian and reconstruction sector, it often neglects the important interface between the international military and domestic and international police forces. This is not the case in the literature on security system reform (SSR), a central objective of post-­conflict peacebuilding and stabilization. SSR is a comprehensive, multi-­ sectoral agenda to modernize, restructure and democratize the security system (military, defense, police, intelligence, judicial, and penal institutions) of a failing or post-­conflict country.10 SSR norms emphasize civilian control of law and order functions and the separation of military forces from domestic law enforcement or security agencies. SSR projects stress the values of development, democracy promotion and good governance norms; the cross-­sectoral nature of the reform packages almost always addresses both security and democratic deficits (Bryden 2005: 266). The relationship of security and development is a premise of SSR, which focuses on the efficacy of creating an accountable, democratic security system as a precondition for poverty reduction. Despite the best intentions of practitioners, however, the agendas of SSR and democratization may conflict with each other; the policies in one sector may produce deleterious consequences to the respective reform agenda in other spheres (Bernabeu 2007:88).11 SSR programs vary depending on the national and regional context, the nature of external involvement and the specific context in which the reform agenda

42   S.E. Penksa emerges. While the “framing conditions” may dramatically differ, the common variable is that SSR is most often facilitated, led, and even, in some cases, imposed by external governments and organizations (Bryden and Hanggi 2005: 29). Both states and non-­governmental donors contribute to SSR projects “as few donors possess the capacity, resources or political will to oversee an entire SSR agenda” (Sedra 2006b: 327). Not surprisingly, there is a complex mode of horizontal policy coordination for security governance.12 The panoply of stakeholders in security governance increases the prospect that divergent agendas and interests will diminish stakeholder coordination, thus constraining the success of peace support operations. A high degree of organizational complexity in theater, when coupled with overlapping mandates among missions or unclear protocols for international military support of law enforcement, increases the likelihood that there will be a blurring of military and police tasks. SSR is a relatively new concept.13 While there are emerging polices and standards to guide international assistance, the effectiveness of programs is largely dependent on the leadership exercised by individual practitioners and organizations in the field; the willingness of the host government to buy into the reform agenda; the synchronicity of the reform program with national economic, political and cultural values; and the degree to which SSR measures are systematized and congruent with criminal justice reforms, democratic governance, and development programs. Policy-­makers and practitioners are confronted with questions about the best timing and sequencing for reform measures, what type of reforms to pursue and when, the conditions and mandates for international missions, and the strategies best employed – bottom up or top down. (Penksa 2009: 28) In sum, the ambitious objectives of SSR are difficult to realize and measure, sometimes creating a gap between policy and practice. Carothers (2006: 25) presents a cogent critique of the problem that afflicts most international donors and sponsors of SSR and rule of law reforms: they don’t learn from the lessons of the past, lessons which are often “too general or obvious, or both,” such as the often repeated mantra that reforms should be devised and implemented with “local ownership.” The question is not whether to consult with national and local officials, but how to cultivate local participation and long-­term buy-­in to the SSR and rule of law agenda. Trade-­offs and compromises are inevitable. Due to the organizational complexity of international security governance, a lead actor that is sufficiently empowered to coordinate actions among multiple stakeholders can yield increased success for international assistance. In Afghanistan, Kai Eide was appointed in March 2008 as a UN Special Representative to Afghanistan with the central task of enhancing coordination and policy coherence among the international stakeholders in Afghanistan.14 Major donors have

Peace support operations   43 recognized that the fragmented aid offered by the international community has decreased the impact of external assistance.15 Unfortunately, seven years had transpired before the international community acknowledged the problem in Afghanistan, when the same lesson was apparent years before – in Afghanistan as well as from the international interventions in Bosnia-­Herzegovina and Kosovo.16 Despite frequent calls by member states for improved coordination among stakeholders, most states and organizations demonstrate little willingness to be coordinated (Eide 2009).

The role of the international military in complex peace operations International military involvement in law enforcement assumes different forms in complex peace support operations. In Afghanistan, NATO troops have conducted counter-­insurgency and counter-­narcotics operations, further blurring the line between military and law enforcement tasks.17 United States’ military forces have trained Afghan police with mixed results and have been often criticized by countries with a strong tradition of community policing.18 In the Balkans, international military forces have arrested war criminals and arsonists, provided equipment, training and/or operational support to domestic police services, quelled riots and violent demonstrations; searched for and seized weapons; protected returning refugees; engaged in intelligence gathering and surveillance; and disrupted criminal actions through vehicle checkpoints and evidentiary searches.19 Traditionally, military forces are trained and equipped to fight and win wars. In order to effectively deploy and sustain complex peacebuilding operations, countries must design and implement new training procedures for complex transnational operations. Civilian and military personnel may both be necessary and specialized training and appropriate doctrine is required (Stromseth et al. 2006: 144). As a consequence of national variations in military cultures, civil–military relations and training methods, some military forces are better prepared to assume multidimensional roles in international peacekeeping operations and are more adept at straddling the divide between military and police functions.20 In countries where there is a breakdown of public order and a security vacuum, the military may need to support international police forces or provide law enforcement (Zaalberg 2006: 15). In the immediate aftermath of a conflict, the primary objective is to avoid a security gap, an endemic and persistent challenge in post-­ conflict environments. Dziedzic (2002: 8–15) identifies three different types of gaps (deployment, enforcement and institutional) that may threaten public order and security. Deployment gaps result from time lags in the arrival of international civil and military forces. Enforcement gaps stem from functional deficiencies that confront peace missions. Institutional gaps occur as a result of the incapacity of the host country to create the conditions for sustainable peace and security. In some cases, the international civilian police may be too few in number, unarmed, and unable to use lethal force if necessary (Taft 2008: 72).

44   S.E. Penksa Accordingly, the military is an important asset in complex peace support operations, especially to prevent a security gap in the early phases of a post-­ conflict mission and to deter potential spoilers of fragile peace agreements. International police forces are often slow to deploy, and may possess neither the appropriate mandate nor sufficient capabilities. In both Bosnia-­Herzegovina (BiH) and Kosovo, a security gap in the early months of the international interventions increased pressure on the international military forces to assume law enforcement tasks because they were better equipped and outnumbered the international police forces. By way of illustrations, the civilian police component of the UN mission in Kosovo still needed 60 percent of its personnel one year after its arrival in Kosovo (Stromseth et al. 2006: 148); and, the UN police mission in BiH was fully deployed in August 1996, eight months after NATO’s military force began its work in December 1995 (Zaalberg 2006: 15). Countries with a tradition of gendarmerie or constabulary forces possess a valuable resource for peace support operations because they can fill security gaps rapidly, if such units are available, and because they can operate under military or civilian command.21 Constabulary forces have the capacity for rapid response with greater firepower and force than typically deployed by civilian police, but with more restraint than provided by military infantry or armored units (Perito 2004: 5). Since constabulary forces are able to interface between conventional military forces and the international or local police authorities, they have become an important commodity in complex peace missions. As a result of an identified capabilities gap during NATO’s deployment in Bosnia-­Herzegovina, in August 1998 NATO created multinational specialized units (MSUs) constituted of constabulary forces. In deployments in Bosnia-­ Herzegovina, Albania, Kosovo and Iraq, the MSUs have functioned as both “police officers and soldiers.”22 The MSU forces operate within the gray area between international peace enforcement and domestic law enforcement, serving as a military force with general police capabilities. The primary purpose of the MSUs is to carry out special tasks in support of military units confronting non-­ conventional threats from civilians. MSU activities have included presence patrolling and information gathering, criminal analysis, public security and order, freedom of movement for internally displaced peoples and refugees, crowd and riot control, investigative activities related to counter terrorism and organized crime, and training for local police services.23 Building on the MSU concept in NATO, five EU member states established the European Gendarmerie Force (EGF ), a global crisis response instrument that provides a permanent, multinational structure for the prompt deployment of constabulary forces.24 Indisputably, the EGF project is a noteworthy improvement over temporary, ad hoc deployments. The multinational headquarters of the EGF offers a stable and reliable operational framework for the development of common doctrine and training, an identified need from previous constabulary deployments in the Balkans. Unfortunately, the international demand for constabulary forces far exceeds current availability. Police and constabulary forces are utilized both at home and

Peace support operations   45 abroad and are an overstretched and expensive resource. There are not enough personnel available for international deployment and some officers are often unwilling to relocate to an insecure location such as Afghanistan.25 In order for states to succeed in transnational policing and complex peace operations, sufficient numbers of international police and constabulary forces need to be recruited, trained and deployable. To date, there is simply not the political will to do so among leading state donors. In short, a blurring of tasks between military and police functions is partially explained as a functional consequence of modern peace operations. “The boundaries between the internal and external order of states have become blurred and, globally, there is a palpable convergence of military and police roles” (Sheptycki 2007: 35). The globalization of insecurity means that countries must adapt to a changed security environment of porous boundaries and complex threats. No one state or organization can unilaterally guarantee security in the postmodern era. The postmodern military of the twenty-­first century must contend with large-­ scale demands that often blur the traditional boundaries of civil and military affairs. Nevertheless, protracted military involvement in daily law enforcement is unwise because of the trade-­offs and dilemmas involved in violating the norms of democratic security governance, undermining the credibility of SSR, and increasing the dependency of domestic law enforcement on international military forces. International military engagement in domestic law enforcement is warranted when there is a security gap; otherwise, international police or civilian law enforcement agencies are the appropriate providers for internal security. Moreover, because constabulary forces are not trained in community policing methods, such units are most effective when they operate in support of civilian police (either domestic or international) and are utilized when the potential for large-­scale violence exceeds the capacity of traditional police power (Perito 2004: 5 and Zaalberg 2006: 327). Simply put, it is a matter of timing, sequencing, mandates, capabilities and the degree of instability. As SSR programs achieve their objectives, domestic law enforcement agencies should scale down their need for international assistance, with only the occasional recourse to international military support such as for intelligence, consequence management, and confidence patrolling. Improving the success of SSR programs, however, requires additionally deployable constabulary forces and international police; better training for both civilian and military personnel; comprehensive SSR and rule of law programs with advisers along the whole chain of law enforcement – including police, customs officials, judges, attorneys, and human rights specialists – and the deployment of peace operations with appropriate mandates. It is a matter of political will to allocate the necessary resources and, in the civilian sector, to increase the incentives for service – such as providing salaries that are financially competitive and commensurate with professional experience and field location. There is no significant divergence of opinion on these issues. What remains a puzzle is why there is a blurring of military and police tasks in complex peace

46   S.E. Penksa support operations when the early stages of the conflict have passed and the potential of a security gap is no longer as likely. In the next section, the case of Bosnia-­Herzegovina elucidates the forces that drive the blurring of military and police tasks in the latter phases of international intervention.

Lessons from EU operations in Bosnia-­Herzegovina: the past as prelude for Kosovo The EU Police Mission (EUPM) in Bosnia-­Herzegovina (BiH) was the first operation of the European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP).26 ESDP has matured since the first term of EUPM (2003–2005), when EU officials were divided about the execution of EUPM’s mandate and how to connect it to the broader European reform agenda (Penksa 2006).27 When the EU assumed control of the military mission in BiH in 2004, replacing NATO leadership with EUFOR, there was an interim period of adjustment between EUPM and EUFOR (both missions are ESDP operations led by the EU). EU member states and ESDP mission officials disagreed over the preferred strategies and modalities for assisting local authorities in the fight against organized crime.28 Prior to a revised mandate in 2006 for EUPM’s second term, there was no comprehensive approach among EU operations to address the problem of organized crime in BiH, let alone a strategy for the wider region. Both EUPM and EUFOR initially had mandates that permitted involvement by both missions in the fight against organized crime; thus, a consequence of the mandate overlap was that EUFOR engaged in law enforcement activities. Overlapping and mutually reinforcing factors explain EUFOR’s involvement in crime control and law enforcement. By 2005 in BiH, there was no longer a security breach and even organized crime rates had decreased. Friesendorf and Penksa (2008: 681, 684) find that the sectors of criminal activity targeted by the EU military force (EUFOR) in 2005 were not major problem areas “begging for, and amenable to, military solutions” and that three factors explain militarized law enforcement in BiH: “the role of individual decision-­makers (their interpretations of military mandates and roles, and their relationships with other decision-­makers), the evolution of regional institutions (NATO and the EU), and changing perceptions of crime and the ‘rule of law.’ ” EUFOR’s crime control operations resulted from the openness of the first EUFOR commander to seize the initiative in BiH. As a British soldier, Commander Leakey is from a national tradition in which there is an effective practice of civil–military cooperation. With close to 7,000 troops and an executive mandate, Commander Leakey saw an opportunity to assist BiH in the fight against organized crime through the provision of operational support and training to national law enforcement authorities, intelligence gathering, border patrolling, and crime prevention operations, such as vehicle checkpoints to prevent smuggling. EUFOR officials perceived a connection between organized crime and the support networks that protect war criminals. In the words of a EUFOR spokesperson, “the criminal gangs involved in the logging business are often the

Peace support operations   47 same gangs involved in harboring and protecting indicted war criminals. By tackling the loggers, we can also make progress in this area as well” (Hawton 2005). The activities of EUFOR most debated between EU and national officials concerned EUFOR’s crime prevention operations, activities that blurred the line between military and police tasks. EUFOR not only utilized its Integrated Police Unit (IPU) capacity, which supplied valuable constabulary expertise to EUFOR, but EUFOR also relied on regular troops which sometimes lacked the appropriate skill sets (Friesendorf and Penksa 2008: 684, 686).29 Some officials explained that EUFOR was in search of a means to distinguish itself from NATO, while others suggested that EUPM was “hiding behind its lack of an operational mandate and not being proactive enough,” thereby forcing EUFOR to fill a policing gap (Penksa 2006: 20). EUFOR’s law enforcement operations had both positive and negative outcomes for the recipient state. Its activism in its first year highlighted that EUFOR was a new and distinct mission from NATO’s SFOR mission even as EUFOR also sought to reassure BiH citizens that it would continue to maintain the safety and security of BiH, its primary mandated task. However, EUFOR had limited effect in disrupting criminal activities (e.g. it closed down an illegal logging operation that reopened elsewhere). Moreover, the blurring of responsibilities between the military and police operations of the EU produced the phenomenon of “militarized law enforcement” (Friesendorf and Penksa 2008) and raised questions about the impact and effectiveness of international military involvement in domestic law enforcement. To be fair, the EU did not conceptualize the dividing line between police and military work in 2004 as it was a newcomer to post-­conflict stabilization.30 The European Commission (2006) and Council of the European Union (2005) concept papers for security system reform were completed well after the mandates for EUPM and EUFOR were conceived. Moreover, the EU had linked the maintenance of a safe and secure environment in BiH to EUFOR’s reinforcement of the “comprehensive approach of the EU towards BiH”; Javier Solana, the EU’s foreign policy chief, had encouraged General Leakey to make EUFOR “new and distinct” from SFOR (Friesendorf and Penksa 2008: 682, 685). In effect, there was never a coherent security system strategy governing the reform process in BiH (Penksa 2009). In BiH, police reform was led first by the UN and then by the EU while the stakeholders in defense reform included the United States, the OSCE, and NATO. The security agenda in BiH was shaped by a multiplicity of actors and interests; a package of security reforms emerged in parallel, but without a coherent set of principles and absent a lead actor to manage the process. Since the apex of its activism in 2005, EUFOR’s involvement in crime control has decreased. EUPM and EUFOR agreed to a set of common operational guidelines to govern the relationship between the EU police and military missions with BiH law enforcement officials (Council of the European Union 2006). EUFOR’s participation in domestic law enforcement has evolved so that

48   S.E. Penksa EUFOR only provides essential operational support to local authorities when the action is endorsed by the EU Police Mission as legitimate and necessary. International military forces may still have direct contact with domestic law enforcement authorities; for example, if there is a time bound situation where the international military has intelligence necessary to secure a high profile and sensitive arrest or if it has capabilities that domestic agencies lack (Council of the European Union 2006), such as surveillance or telephone interception. In accord with SSR principles of the separation between military and police services, the international police mission is the bridge between the international military and local law enforcement agencies. In summary, EU leadership in BiH and subsequent EU planning for a mission in Kosovo indicate the continuation of learning in an increased institutionalized environment. Even though the EU is a relative novice in the field of crisis management, there is “a high density of interactions among security actors within the EU, both state and non-­state, and a high degree of institutionalization and routinization in dealing with security matters, which is not found elsewhere in the world” (Kirchner 2007: 9). Institutional learning occurs most easily when there is an efficiently elaborated organizational context for lessons to be identified and implemented. In BiH, the EU has become the leading stakeholder for security system reform. Once the lessons from EUFOR’s involvement in crime control were understood and put into effect, an important recalibration occurred between EUFOR and EUPM. Such lessons shaped EU planning for a mission in Kosovo.

Institutional learning and political constraints in Kosovo The international military–police interface in Kosovo 1999–2008 Since 1999, when Serbian army and police forces withdrew from Kosovo after 77 days of NATO air strikes, the UN administered civilian rule in Kosovo via the interim civil UN administration (UNMIK). The UN Security Council also authorized a NATO military force for Kosovo (KFOR) of 50,000 troops. After the war between NATO and Serbian forces ended on 9 June 1999, UNMIK and KFOR provided law and order in Kosovo while simultaneously creating and training new state-­level institutions, including the Kosovo Police (KP).31 Like in BiH, a blurring of military and police tasks occurred in Kosovo. In both cases of international military action in BiH and Kosovo, the gray area has concerned the military role in ensuring a “safe and secure environment,” the dominant responsibility mandated to the international military force. Similar to BiH in 1995, a security gap existed at the beginning of the intervention in Kosovo in 1999 when UNMIK and KFOR neither adequately guaranteed security nor provided for the rule of law. As Jones (Jones et al. 2005: 56) points out, in 1999 in Kosovo “all aspects of internal security and justice were essentially nonexistent. There was no rule of law, police and justice personnel, equipment or supplies.” Reminiscent of the UN and NATO intervention in BiH, the deployment of UNMIK police officers was delayed and most KFOR troops were

Peace support operations   49 inadequately trained for police tasks. The fast escalation of conflict on 17 March 2004 further accentuated the continued security gap in Kosovo. As a result, KFOR became the first responder to crowd and riot control. Kosovo citizens often have used army equipment (e.g. anti-­tank ammunition, grenades and bazookas) for their protests and normal police capabilities proved insufficient, such that KFOR’s choice was to intervene or to allow a rapidly deteriorating security situation to worsen. KFOR often took action because UNMIK lacked ammunition or heavy weapons or because UNMIK simply was reluctant to engage in crowd and riot control.32 NATO planned a peacekeeping operation for Kosovo; yet, it quickly “found itself exercising de facto military governance in the ensuing power vacuum” (Zaalberg 2006: 289). In principle, KFOR headquarters is in command of its task forces. In practice, this has not always been the reality. The five multinational command zones of KFOR have functioned according to their own national tradition, with wide variations in political priorities and national understandings about joint patrolling, operational methodology, and the necessity of military participation in domestic law enforcement.33 Some personnel have understood the blurring of police and military activity in peace operations as a functional necessity of the postmodern military, while others have resisted military participation in law enforcement, viewing police work as a distraction from the warrior ethos of the solider.34 KFOR is a multinational organization; its mandate is interpreted not just at headquarters level but also by national commanders. This explains the variation in field implementation. To some extent, KFOR task forces have harmonized their rules of engagement and KFOR troops now receive training for crowd and riot control. It is no longer as in 2004 when it was “shoot or do nothing” and German military caveats prevented the rescue of its own police forces.35 In light of the insufficient capabilities of both UNMIK and the newly created Kosovo Police, KFOR – and its MSUs – filled a security vacuum. Deployable throughout Kosovo, the MSUs have conducted presence patrolling and information gathering, crowd and riot control and close protection and have trained KFOR multinational task forces in CRC.36 To avoid operational conflict in theater, the MSUs have coordinated their activities with the multinational task forces of KFOR. With the approval of the KFOR commander, they also have trained Kosovo police officers, providing support and advice in the development of domestic law enforcement. The operational activism of the MSUs partially has depended on the willingness of KFOR commanders to utilize (and appreciate) MSU skill sets (Perito 2004: 326). However, “as experienced law enforcement professionals in their own countries, members of the various MSU contingents . . . were frustrated by their lack of police powers and routinely exceeded their authority,” which produced friction and misunderstandings among the MSUs, UN civilian police and local police (Perito 2004: 326). Given the amount of direct, normalized contact that has existed between KFOR and the Kosovo Police, KFOR has stretched the boundaries of its mandate, contributing to Kosovo’s dependency on the international military and to the phenomenon of militarized law enforcement.37 For example, KFOR

50   S.E. Penksa and the KP have conducted joint operations without the participation of UNMIK. Additionally, KFOR has led its own search operations. If KFOR received intelligence about a weapons cache, it has conducted an independent operation – often without notification to the international police mission – and then it has belatedly asked the Kosovo Police to participate in order to provide legal validation for KFOR’s seizure of weapons.38 To facilitate the reduction of Kosovo’s dependence on the international military, EU and NATO officials have agreed to a rapid and progressive scale down of KFOR actions in domestic law enforcement. Concomitantly, weaknesses within the KP, such as missing or deficient capabilities or resource shortfalls, will be identified and, hopefully, will facilitate necessary budget adjustments and encourage Kosovo solutions to domestic problems.39 In short, NATO and EU officials have concurred “it is time for NATO to get out of the policing business in Kosovo.”40 The rule of law will require further consolidation in Kosovo, especially to prevent a resurgent security vacuum. Kosovo’s political leaders must demonstrate greater political ownership of the reform agenda through improving coordination and information sharing among domestic law enforcement agencies,41 implementing the national strategy against organized crime, prioritizing justice sector reform, and deepening security sector reform – which includes improving the culture of cooperation between citizens and police and addressing the problem of corruption within domestic politics.42 Ultimately, Kosovo’s primary security challenge is the continued uncertainty regarding its status as an independent, democratic state, able to guarantee minority rights, and, the questions surrounding its future ability to join both NATO and the EU. While the major stakeholders (the EU, Serbia, Russia and the United States) have failed to reach agreement on a new UN Security Council resolution to resolve the indeterminate status of Kosovo, they have supported the deployment of a comprehensive EU rule of law mission to continue the reform program initiated by the UN. The stakes are high for the citizens of Kosovo, but also for the EU, which has a vested interest in a secure, prosperous and peaceful European neighborhood. Planning and deploying the EULEX mission in Kosovo On 10 April 2006, the European Council agreed to the establishment of an EU Planning Team (EUPT) for Kosovo to begin preparation and procurement procedures for a new comprehensive civilian ESDP mission in Kosovo (termed EULEX)43 in the sectors of police, justice and customs. EU and member state officials learned from the experience of EUPM in BiH when the mission’s effectiveness was limited by its mandate that narrowly focused on police reform. The challenges of EUPM underscored to the EU and member states the need to design comprehensive rule of law missions where the entire law enforcement chain is in the remit of a peace operation. EUPT began its planning for an eventual takeover from the UN mission in Kosovo (UNMIK), without the clarity of

Peace support operations   51 Kosovo’s final status, while UNMIK reduced its mission size well before the outcome of UN negotiations was crystallized. In short, the EU did not deviate from its initial planning assumptions of 2006, leaving the EU vulnerable to internal delays of the UN system and constrained by the political failure to implement the Ahtisaari Plan.44 Despite these political hurdles, the early conclusion of an EU fact-­finding mission for Kosovo, the rapid deployment of EUPT and its planning process indicate EU institutional maturation. ESDP is no longer in its infancy. There is now a cadre of EU and member state officials with knowledge of complex peace operations and ESDP mission experience, a cross-­fertilization of expertise from which EUPT/EULEX has benefited. There are now EU officials with field experience from previous ESDP missions in BiH, Macedonia and Indonesia. By illustration, the same EU officials who designed the recalibrated agreement between EUPM and EUFOR in BiH shaped the protocol between EULEX and KFOR regarding the cascade of responsibilities for responding to security incidents in Kosovo.45 Strong individual leadership benefits ESDP not only in Brussels and at the working level in the field, but at the top of the decision-­making chain. The first Head of Mission for EULEX, Yves de Kermabon, is a retired French general who served the UN and NATO in UNPROFOR, IFOR and KFOR. His knowledge of the Balkans, appreciative understanding of the sensitive interface between police and military cooperation in complex field operations, and experience working in both NATO and the UN are perceived as beneficial qualities to EULEX in its first term.46 Throughout the protracted period of negotiations between the UN and EULEX mission, Mr de Kermabon insisted that EULEX would maintain its autonomous chain of command and receive its operating instructions only from Brussels, not from New York. As a former UNPROFOR soldier where there was a “dual key” situation between NATO and the UN, Mr de Kermabon has avoided the same organizational conflict in Kosovo. Simply put, individuals make a difference in organizations. Without individual leadership and the willingness of individuals to apply the identified lessons of the past to current operations, institutional learning would not occur. EU and member state officials applied lessons from BiH to the mandate and implementation procedures for EUPT/EULEX. Proactively initiating cooperation with the European Commission, local officials, and other stakeholders, EUPT reduced the number of problems emblematic of a post-­conflict situation where numerous international stakeholders operate.47 EUPT systematically consulted with NGOs and civil society; the operation plan for EULEX includes an annex detailing cooperation objectives with both international and local NGOs, a lesson learned from BiH where civil society was belatedly consulted. As in BiH, EULEX has continued the successful methodology of co-­location through monitoring, mentoring and advising Kosovo counterparts. Even during the planning phase from 2006–2008, EUPT was operational with a small team (less than 100 personnel) focused on transferring skill sets and competencies to their Kosovo counterparts.

52   S.E. Penksa Initial planning achievements aside, EULEX is an ambitious operation for the EU – because of the size and type of mission and also because of unresolved regional and geopolitical conflicts.48 With over 2,000 personnel, EULEX is the largest civilian ESDP mission that the EU has deployed. Given the size of the mission, EULEX has struggled to expediently fill its personnel vacancies. Further complicating the EU’s administrative and personnel recruitment challenges is the integrated mandate of EULEX that includes the full remit of law enforcement actions – police, justice and customs – with executive authority to ensure that serious and/or politically sensitive crimes are properly investigated, prosecuted and enforced. Not only is EULEX the largest civilian mission deployed by the EU to date, but EULEX also is the first civilian ESDP mission with an executive mandate. EULEX will need to determine when it is necessary to exercise its executive authority, an issue that the EU has not faced in BiH since EUPM has no executive mandate. The internal challenges associated with the management of an ESDP operation of the size, type and scope of EULEX are compounded by external pressures of considerable weight. Stability in the Balkans necessitates finalizing the status of Kosovo for it to move forward with post-­conflict reforms. Because of divergent national interests, however, members of the international community have disagreed on the legitimacy and merits of granting Kosovo statehood. As of the date of writing, 22 of 27 EU member states have recognized Kosovo’s independence. Despite the lack of EU unanimity on the question of Kosovo’s status and in response to the need to replace the enervated UN administration with EU leadership, EU member states agreed to deploy the ESDP mission across the entire territory of Kosovo, without geographic or functional restriction. In the north of Kosovo, parallel Serbian government structures have challenged the authority of the nascent Kosovo state. To allow a de facto partition between the northern Mitrovica region of Kosovo and the rest of Kosovo invariably would emasculate the executive authority of EULEX. In response to Russian and Serbian opposition to Kosovo’s independence, the UN has remained in Kosovo with a truncated, reconfigured presence to preserve a fig leaf of UN control, thereby enabling the ESDP mission to function under the existing authority of UNSCR 1244 and as a “status neutral” operation. UNMIK has a limited role to monitor and report, facilitate external representation, facilitate dialogue between Pristina and Belgrade, and to conduct activities related to the “six point” arrangements outlined by the UN Secretary-­General in his reports of June and November 2008 (UNSC 2009: 5). Given these complex geopolitical and regional realities, EULEX officials have depoliticized the functional tasks of the mission, emphasizing the technical aspects of the EULEX mandate and of the reform process. Yet, as the case of SSR in BiH demonstrates, security sector and rule of law reforms are rarely apolitical and demand skillful leadership (Penksa 2009). EULEX mission officials – and the EU member states that provide strategic control and direction to the operation – may confront a critical test of political will as the mission exercises its executive authority and addresses entrenched aspects of organized crime and corruption.

Peace support operations   53 The international military–police interface in Kosovo 2008–2009 As the following analysis underlines, EULEX is operating in an intricate operational environment with many different stakeholders who hold competing national and organizational interests. The failure of the UN Security Council members to authorize a new UNSCR to govern an independent Kosovo has increased the decision-­making complexity in Kosovo and the operational challenges that confront EULEX. A large civilian ESDP mission in Kosovo requires effective cooperation among the UN, EU, NATO and the International Civilian Office (ICO).49 The basic issues are the same which confronted the EU military and police missions in BiH: the need to prevent a resumption of violence and a security gap; the role of international military forces when there is also an international police mission present; the criteria for KFOR’s provision for public order and security; the appropriate support functions of the military in crime control; and the circumstances which would allow a reduction by the international military. On 9 December 2008, EULEX assumed full operational responsibility in the area of rule of law, thus allowing UNMIK to complete its police operations after almost ten years of service (UNSC 2009: 4). The common operational guidelines adopted by EUPM and EUFOR in BiH were instructive for Kosovo, where EULEX is conceived as the appropriate bridge between KFOR and the Kosovo Police. In order to avoid a direct exchange between the Kosovo Police and the international military, the critical liaison is EULEX. If the KP requires military or operational support, the request is to go through EULEX. Using the modus operandi that has been developed and successfully applied in BiH between EUPM and EUFOR, EULEX and KFOR have agreed that the first responder to security incidents is the Kosovo Police with EULEX exercising its mandate to monitor, mentor and advise; the second responder is EULEX utilization of its constabulary forces (under its executive mandate) while the last responder to a security event is KFOR. Additionally, the EU and NATO have negotiated a standardized protocol for four fields of action: border patrol and crossings, exchange of information and intelligence, military support for police operations, and procedures to respond in case of civil disturbances/CRC,50 four sectors in which EULEX-­KFOR cooperation is vital in order to avoid a security gap.51 Despite the organizational complexity in theater, there has been an effective degree of cooperation between KFOR and EULEX, largely attributable to the commanders and individuals on the ground.52 On a consistent basis, EULEX and KFOR have conducted joint patrols, have participated in common training exercises for crowd and riot control and have exchanged information through appointed liaisons (including at the highest level of mission commanders).53 When the task force commanders of KFOR have rotated, EULEX has informed the new commanders about the responsibilities of the EULEX mission. Most importantly, during civil disturbance incidents in spring 2009, KFOR and EULEX successfully communicated and cooperated throughout the duration of the crises.

54   S.E. Penksa Concluding common procedures between international military and police forces is merely the first task – the next and most important step is to ensure the proper execution of the agreed protocols. While the successful cooperation between KFOR and EULEX is an achievement, there is still room for improvement, especially between the MSUs and EULEX. Both KFOR and EULEX have constabulary units, a source of potential confusion to national authorities since there are Italian carabinieri components deployed in both KFOR and EULEX.54 In spring 2009 there were still reports of KFOR multinational specialized units (MSUs) conducting search operations without advance cooperation either with EULEX or the Kosovo Police. In both BiH and Kosovo, an absence of clear mandates, common doctrine, and joint training programs has diminished the effective utilization of constabulary forces (Perito 2004: 327). In order to permit EULEX to serve as second responder, MSU operations need to be undertaken with EULEX knowledge and assent. With the advent of the EULEX mission, NATO and EU officials have stated without reservation that KFOR should be the responder of last resort to security breaches.55 The open question concerns how this principle will be applied in practice, i.e. when the threshold of insecurity is perceived as serious enough to warrant KFOR’s participation. In a number of security incidents in late 2008 and early 2009, NATO, EU, and UN officials noted, “the presence of KFOR was crucial in ensuring that the security situation did not deteriorate” (UNSC 2009: 3).56 Clearly, KFOR’s ability to serve as the responder of last resort is contingent upon the ability of EULEX to respond quickly, confidently, and effectively to security incidents. In a series of crowd control incidents in Mitrovica in April and May 2009, EULEX utilized tear gas to disperse Serbian protestors opposed to the rebuilding of Albanian homes, preempting the escalation of force and successfully managing the incidents without recourse to KFOR assistance.57 However, with current staffing levels, EU and NATO officials concede that it would be difficult for EULEX to manage simultaneously two security crises.58 In summary, the EULEX-­KFOR protocol is designed to remediate past ambiguities between the military and police components of a complex peace operation and represents a new standard operating procedure for international military support to domestic law enforcement agencies. Nevertheless, the formula requires a judgment call to be made by field commanders and officers from two organizations – the EU and NATO – with separate chains of decision-­making authority. Once again, the burden for institutional success – and for maintaining a clear chain of police authority – rests on individual leaders in the field.

Conclusion The blurring of police and military tasks is a spillover effect from the emergence of complex peace support operations. International military forces in complex peace support operations need readiness to address gaps in public security, especially in the first phases of an intervention. The greater the degree of insecurity

Peace support operations   55 and domestic incapacity, the more necessary it is for international military forces to engage in domestic law enforcement and to provide support functions. To diminish the prospect of militarized law enforcement in the latter phases of intervention, there is a need for post-­conflict forces that are composed of well-­trained police, customs, judicial, legal and human rights specialists; missions with clear and appropriate mandates; harmonized doctrine and training procedures; and agreed protocols for international military support to law enforcement. Further reflection is necessary on the respective roles for military and police forces participating in peace operations, beyond the necessary solution to establish more constabulary police forces able to operate at the intersection of police and military functions. While constabulary forces possess an important bridging capacity, they are still in short supply. There are fundamental, intrinsically ethical questions about the timing and conditions that warrant international support of domestic law enforcement, the appropriate command structure for constabulary forces, and the methods for decreasing military involvement in law enforcement when the international military forces significantly outnumber the police, domestic and international. As Goldsmith and Sheptycki (2007: 391) point out, the international community often generates “solutions” which produce new and unanticipated problems and outcomes. In Kosovo, the lack of an internationally accepted political settlement has constrained the EU. A new UNSCR for Kosovo did not materialize; the EU operates in a substantially more complex and politicized arena than it anticipated in 2006 when it began planning the EULEX mission. The only viable end state for Kosovo includes eventual EU membership; however, five EU member states, Serbia and Russia are among some of the key countries, which have prevented full normalization of EU–Kosovo relations. Despite the political complexities in Kosovo, security governance in the Balkans is far less demanding than in Afghanistan. In the former Yugoslavia, there is a greater degree of formal and tacit interaction among common values, principles, and goals. BiH and Kosovo share the prospect of future integration into the transatlantic community that is anchored by both the European Union and NATO, a source of leverage for a comprehensive reform agenda. This integrative potential is missing in Afghanistan where there is incomplete institutional consolidation, sub-­embryonic, nominal institutions of governance and even greater organizational competition and dysfunction among stakeholders. The reform of the justice sector in Afghanistan has lagged far behind the reform of the Afghan security services; thus, the sustainability of security system reform in Afghanistan will require increased attention paid to justice sector reform. To succeed in Afghanistan, stakeholders will need to move from rhetoric to action to deliver a comprehensive approach to crisis stabilization. Indubitably, there are enormous obstacles to long-­term stability in Afghanistan. However, donors and stakeholders in the international community have the potential to apply the lessons of the past to ongoing and future operations. As this analysis of BiH and Kosovo has demonstrated, individual decision-­makers shape and impact the potential for institutional learning. Strong political leadership is required,

56   S.E. Penksa including an organizational context in which to apply the lessons of the past to improve future policy and enhance cooperation. The alternative is for international interventionists with good intentions to unwittingly prolong or exacerbate insecurity for the very citizens they are assisting.

Notes   1 The author thanks the officials interviewed for this study (who spoke on the condition of anonymity), as well as Cornelius Friesendorf, Roy Ginsberg, Tobias Flessenkemper, Jason Flom and Mike Swan.   2 Transnational police activities encompass “post-­conflict peacekeeping, nation-­ building, tackling different kinds of transnational crime and responding to the threat of terrorism” (Goldsmith and Sheptycki 2007: 9).   3 This is especially the case for transnational crimes such as those sponsored by terrorist networks. Successful counter-­terrorism policy relies upon intelligence, communication, law enforcement and judicial resources.   4 See Goldsmith and Sheptycki (2007: 11) for a typology of the different forms of transnational policing, which include: liaison networks; personnel exchanges; foreign training programs; technical assistance programs; joint operations; intelligence sharing arrangements; peacekeeping; and capacity-­building programs.   5 Goldsmith and Sheptycki (2007: 10–11) write that, “policies of transnational policing often suggest a choice between or combination of missionary idealism, humanitarian assistance, and national self-­interest.”   6 Durch and Berkman (2006: 30) note, The old walls that initially segregated peace operations from war-­fighting clearly have been crumbling . . . peace operations and war-­fighting are increasingly viewed . . . as differing in degree more than in kind . . . [whereby key UN Security Council members] have reconceptualized peace operations as low-­intensity conflict with a hefty hearts-­and-minds annex.   7 For more information on NATO’s comprehensive approach, see NATO webpage. Online, available at: www.nato.int/cps/en/SID-­2ACD72B2–2ACFADED/natolive/ topics_51633 htm.   8 Moskos et al. (2000: 2–3) characterize the postmodern military by five major organizational changes and contend that the “missions of the armed forces will be structured in ways fundamentally different from the relative certainties of the Cold War.”   9 Author interviews with security and development practitioners in national capitals and field locations in Bosnia-­Herzegovina, Kosovo and Pakistan. 10 Post-­conflict stabilization and the necessity of reforming the security system is addressed by Ball (2004); Bellamy (2003); and Brzoska (2006). The OECD DAC Handbook on Security System Reform (SSR): Supporting Security and Justice (2007) is the definitive manual for SSR consulted by governments and NGOs. 11 Gordon (2007: 127) concludes that “the blurring of commercial, humanitarian, military, and political agendas has been reinforced and distorted by the global war on terror’s dangerous fusion of the security, failed state and humanitarian strategies. Undoubtedly this has and will continue to complicate CIMIC.” 12 See the introductory chapter in this volume. 13 Sedra (2006b: 323) identifies that the SSR concept was first introduced in a 1998 speech by the UK Secretary of State for International Development Clare Short, and subsequently used by governments across Europe. 14 SSR efforts in Afghanistan are analyzed by Murray (2007); Sedra (2006a); Sedra (2006b); and Tondini (2007).

Peace support operations   57 15 Author interviews, Member State Officials, Brussels, 2002–2008. 16 Author interviews, EU, NATO, UN, and Member State Officials, Brussels, Sarajevo and Pristina, 2002–2008. 17 NATO’s role in Afghanistan is assessed by Jones (2006); Paris (2006) and Sky (2007) while counter-­insurgency efforts in Afghanistan are examined by Ladwig (2007) and Lopez (2007). 18 Author interview, NATO Official, Brussels, June 2008. 19 Author interviews, NATO and Member State Officials, Brussels, Pristina, and Sarajevo, 2002–2008. 20 See Moskos et al. (2000). 21 The terms “constabulary” and “gendarmerie” are used interchangeably. 22 Author interview, MSU Officials, MSU Headquarters, Pristina, June 2009. 23 Ibid. 24 For more information on the activities and structure of the EGF, see EGF webpage. Online, available at: www.eurogendfor.org. 25 Civilian personnel secondments to Afghanistan have been a challenge for the EU and its member states, even more than for the EULEX mission to Kosovo. Author interviews, Brussels, EU and Member State Officials, 2007–2008. 26 For information on the operations conducted under ESDP since 2003, consult Council of the EU webpage. Online, available at: http://ue.eu.int/showPage.aspx?id=268&lang=EN. 27 For analysis of the UN and NATO missions in Bosnia-­Herzegovina, see Friesendorf and Penksa (2008); Celador (2005); Oakley et al. (2002); Osland (2004); Ritscher (2005); Vetschera and Damian (2006); and Zaalberg (2006). Police reform in BiH is analyzed by Aitchison (2007); Hansen (2004); and Penksa (2006). 28 Author interviews, EU and Member State Officials, Sarajevo and Brussels, 2005–2006. 29 See Friesendorf and Penksa (2008) for an extensive analysis of the IPU role in BiH. 30 Author interview, German EU Official, Brussels, June 2008. 31 For a historic overview of SSR efforts in Kosovo, see Bernabeu (2007); Cockell (2002); Heinemann-­Gruder and Grebenschikov (2006); Mockaitis (2004); and Wilson (2006). 32 Author interview, Council Secretariat Official, Brussels, May and September 2008. 33 Author interview, EUPT Official, Pristina, June 2008. 34 Author interviews, EU, NATO and Member State Officials, Brussels, 2005–2009. The national divisions among KFOR task forces are confirmed by Zaalberg (2006). 35 Author interview, NATO Official, Brussels, September 2008. 36 Author interviews, MSU and KFOR Officials, Pristina, 2008–2009. 37 Author interviews, EU and NATO Officials, Brussels and Pristina, 2006–2008. 38 Author interviews, EU and NATO Officials, Brussels and Pristina, 2008–2009. 39 Author interview, EUPT Official, Pristina, June 2008. 40 Author interviews, EU and NATO Officials, Brussels and Pristina, 2007–2008. 41 International stakeholders in Kosovo assert that the lack of coordination and information sharing among law enforcement agencies is a larger problem in Kosovo than elsewhere in the Balkans. 42 Author interview, Kosovo Minister of the Interior, Pristina, June 2008. 43 See the Council of the European Union (2008) “Joint Action that established EULEX”. For additional information about the EULEX operation, see the Council of the European Union website, online, available at: www.eulex-­kosovo.eu. 44 For the comprehensive status plan for Kosovo see United Nations Office of the Special Envoy for Kosovo webpage. Online, available at: www.unosek.org/unosek/ en/statusproposal html. 45 Author interviews, EUPM and EULEX Officials, Sarajevo and Pristina, 2005–2008. 46 Author interviews, EU and Member State Officials, Berlin, Brussels, London, Paris and Pristina, 2008–2009.

58   S.E. Penksa 47 For example, in the sector of law and order, EUPT/EULEX has chaired the Joint Rule of Law Coordination Board, based on the principle of local participation and ownership, whereby international stakeholders participate alongside Kosovo officials. 48 For an extensive assessment of the political and security situation in Kosovo, see the reports of the UNSC (2008–2009). 49 “Kosovo’s Declaration of Independence on 17 February 2008 expressly invited an international civilian presence, as it was envisaged in the Comprehensive Proposal for the Kosovo Status Settlement, drawn up by the Special Envoy of the UN Secretary-­ General for Kosovo” (online, available at: www.ico-­kos.org). The twin aims of the ICO are to ensure full implementation of Kosovo’s status settlement and to support Kosovo’s European integration. 50 KFOR has the primary responsibility for border patrol while the EULEX mandate is for patrol of border crossings. Intelligence collection is important to KFOR’s ability to maintain a safe and secure environment. Invariably, KFOR must determine which threats may pose a risk and, necessarily, what information and intelligence to share with EULEX colleagues. 51 Author interviews, EU, NATO and Member State Officials, Brussels, Pristina and Sarajevo, 2006–2008. 52 Due to the current political impasse between the NATO North Atlantic Council (NAC) and the EU’s Political and Security Committee (PSC), the commanders of KFOR and EULEX agreed to the EULEX-­KFOR protocols at the field level. Each commander signed a separate set of agreements. While official political cooperation between NATO and the EU is obstructed, officials from both organizations find pragmatic ways to cooperate, both in Brussels and in the field. 53 Author interviews, EU and NATO Officials, Brussels, May 2009. 54 The MSUs downsized when four of its national units were “rehatted” to the EULEX mission. 55 Author interviews, EU, NATO and Member State Officials, Brussels and Pristina, 2006–2008. 56 Author interviews, EU and NATO Officials, Brussels, May 2009. 57 Author interviews, EULEX and KFOR Officials, Pristina, June 2009. 58 Ibid.

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Peace support operations   61 Sky, E. (2007) “Increasing ISAF ’s Impact on Stability in Afghanistan,” Defense and Security Analysis, 23(1): 7–25. Stromseth, J., D. Wippman and R. Brooks (2006) Can Might make Rights?: Building the Rule of Law After Military Interventions, New York: Cambridge University Press. Taft, P. (2008) “Preparing Nations for Peace: Specialized Requirements for Complex Missions,” in D.C.F. Daniel, P. Taft and S. Wiharta (eds.) Peace Operations: Trends, Progress, and Prospects, Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press. Tondini, M. (2007) “Rebuilding the System of Justice in Afghanistan: A Preliminary Assessment,” Journal of Intervention and Statebuilding, 1(3): 333–354. United Nations Security Council (2008) “Report of the Secretary-­General on the United Nations Interim Administration Mission in Kosovo,” United Nations, 24 November. United Nations Security Council (2009) “Report of the Secretary-­General on the United Nations Interim Administration Mission in Kosovo,” United Nations, 17 March. Vetschera, H. and M. Damian (2006) “Security Sector Reform in Bosnia and Herzegovina: The Role of the International Community,” International Peacekeeping, 13(1): 28–42. Weiss, T.G. (1999) Military–Civilian Interactions: Intervening in Humanitarian Crises, Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield. Wilson, J.M. (2006) “Law and Order in an Emerging Democracy: Lessons from the Reconstruction of Kosovo’s Police and Justice Systems,” Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 605: 152–177. Zaalberg, T.W.B. (2006) Soldiers and Civil Power: Supporting or Substituting Civil Authorities in Modern Peace Operations, Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press.

3 Unintended consequences of international statebuilding Ulrich Schneckener

In international politics, the state has to fulfill a dual function with regard to political order. First, it has to organize and guarantee public order domestically. Second, all states together constitute the international system and global order. Ineffective, weak, failing or failed states – best conceptualized as different instances of fragile statehood – tend to undermine both functions and cause problems at the national, regional and global level. For students of development and transformation research, it is evident that many post-­colonial and post-­ communist states are unable to provide basic public functions and services vis-­à-vis their citizens and are incapable of assuming their responsibilities as members of the international community. However, until recently, the problem of fragile statehood has not figured prominently in security and strategic ana­ lysis, but was largely perceived as a problem of only local relevance or as an issue of development and humanitarian aid. Only occasionally, the international community staged military “humanitarian interventions,” as in Somalia 1992, Haiti 1994 or ex-­Yugoslavia in the 1990s. After 9/11, the debate on fragile statehood has shifted to a more security-­oriented approach. Thus, statebuilding has become a key activity of the international community (Rotberg 2003; Rotberg 2004; Fukuyama 2004; Chesterman 2005; Chesterman et al. 2005; Schneckener 2006; Call and Wyeth 2008). In contrast to earlier historical periods, statebuilding does not address the creation of new states, but instead the shaping and strengthening of states’ capacities to fulfill basic functions and to respond to the needs of their citizens. International statebuilding efforts differ significantly, ranging from aid and assistance to troop deployment and the establishment of transitional administrations. Since the mid-­1990s, the international community, mainly under the leadership of the United Nations, has conducted complex and costly statebuilding operations in Cambodia, Bosnia-­ Herzegovina, Kosovo, Afghanistan, Liberia, Sierra Leone, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Timor Leste and Haiti (Iraq is a special case due to the US-­led military invasion and occupation). In most of these cases external actors interfere deeply with state sovereignty, they take over (temporarily) a number of public services, including the provision of domestic security, and they set up rules and institutions. In other words, external actors step in with their own civilian and military personnel where state

International statebuilding   63 functions are lacking. This type of quasi-­protectorate not only entails a number of risks for the interveners but also requires a reliable provision of personal and financial resources by the international community. Moreover, the real challenge for international statebuilding is to prevent or to stop processes of state failure in many parts of the world. The demand, however, exceeds supply dramatically which simply means that the “Kosovo model” cannot be universalized – neither on empirical nor on normative grounds. The debate about concepts such as “neotrusteeships” or “shared sovereignty” therefore is missing the point (see: Fearon and Laitin 2004: 5–43; Krasner 2004: 85–120). The difficulties for external (mainly Western) statebuilders become even more pressing if one takes into account different levels of statebuilding, in particular the complex interactions between local and external actors, and the fact that different concepts and strategies are used. Both aspects lead inevitably to a number of unintended consequences and unanticipated (and often unwanted) outcomes that will be explored more closely in this chapter. The theorizing about unintended consequences of social actions has a long tradition in social and economic theory. Raymond Boudon, for example, pointed out that “perverse effects” are part of the “dynamic character of complex systems and cannot be avoided.” They are an important source for social change and they may be much more important in explaining these changes than the intended action taken in the first place (Boudon 1982: 7–11). Similarly, Robert Jervis saw “nonlinearity” as a key principle in understanding complex systems in which “a set of units or elements are interconnected so that changes in some elements or their relations produce changes in other parts of the system” and in which “most actions, no matter how well targeted, will have multiple effects” (Jervis 1997/1998: 570–574). With regard to statebuilding, one can indeed make the argument that developments on the ground are at least due to both intended actions and their unintended effects. The latter can be caused either by material effects of actions or by diverging perceptions and interpretations by different actors of these actions. All that may trigger unintended and often counterproductive consequences, which may cause the deterioration of the relationship between the actors involved even if all sides claim to have “good intentions.” From a methodological perspective, studying unintended consequences is not an easy undertaking. First, the issue of unintended effects needs to be distinguished analytically from policy failures or from the notion of “wrong policies.”1 In other words, the question here is not whether actions or policies are successful or whether they are appropriate to achieve certain goals. The focus is simply on the unintended effects they may have. Even successful actions usually have unintended implications. Second, there is a problem in analyzing the various effects of social actions since, as Jervis noted, “actions have unintended effects on the actor, others and the system as a whole” (Jervis 1997/1998: 578). And third, it is already difficult to establish causal links between actions and intended effects, but it seems even more difficult to do so when it comes to unintended consequences. The question arises: when do I know that an effect is unintended and how do I see it? This problem is further complicated by the fact that quite

64   U. Schneckener often actors declare post facto that the observed consequences were actually intended. This happens in particular with unintended, but positive effects; here political actors have an interest in claiming that these effects are the logical and well-­planned results of their policies. In the more likely cases of negative effects, however, actors usually start a “blame game” accusing others and their actions of responsibility for consequences nobody anticipated and nobody wanted, which again makes it difficult to identify a link between a single action by a single actor and its consequences. This chapter cannot solve these methodological questions; the aim, however, is to provide a framework for studying these processes in instances of international statebuilding where a large number of external actors engages in local affairs in order to stabilize, reform or rebuild state structures and institutions (for the more narrow field of peacekeeping see Chiyuki et al. 2007). The focus is indeed on policies and activities of external actors, their unintended consequences and the circumstances, which generally favor these consequences. Similar effects caused by actions of local actors are not part of the analysis. The chapter starts with the assumption that external actors explicitly or implicitly use various approaches for statebuilding, which can be attributed to different worldviews and concepts of political order. These approaches will be categorized as “liberalization first,” “security first,” “institutionalization first” and “civil society first.” Each of these strategies shows a number of specific unintended consequences when implemented in practice, since some approaches seem too broad and too ambitious, others seem too narrow and too one-­sided. However, these consequences are not inevitable but often depend on circumstances and conditions due to the fact that external statebuilders have to cope with the multi-­ level and multi-­agency nature of the whole undertaking. Some of these factors are related to the interplay between local and external actors at the field level, others due to problems among statebuilders themselves at the headquarter level. Finally, the chapter concludes that unintended consequences are a frequent feature of international statebuilding efforts and almost impossible to avoid. This should not lead to the conclusion to withdraw from zones of instability and conflict, but to search for ways of coping and managing these consequences, in other words, to become more self-­reflective and more flexible and more open to the outcome of the statebuilding process.

Strategies of international statebuilders Statebuilding aims at strengthening state structures and institutions as well as the capacity of the state to govern. International statebuilding activities, mainly undertaken by international organizations, transnational NGOs or third-­party states, may therefore aim at stabilizing and strengthening existing structures; at reforming and transforming existing structures; as well as, if necessary, at re-­ building and establishing structures which either were absent before or did not exist in this form. The latter variant is primarily related to post-­conflict societies in which most state institutions have broken down in the course of a violent

International statebuilding   65 c­ onflict. However, also in many other cases of fragile statehood the establishment of new institutions (e.g. an independent judiciary) may be necessary. Against this background, international statebuilding is conducted in very different forms since external actors – implicitly or explicitly – pursue different approaches, agendas and overall strategies. The assumptions underlying these strategies differ considerably when it comes to the role of the state, the behavior of local actors, the root causes of fragile statehood, the priorities for statebuilding, the required resources, the time-­frame allotted to statebuilding projects and programs as well as the ways of external involvement in local structures. In brief, these strategies result from diverging philosophies about the “good” political order. They can roughly be attributed to the main theories of international relations (see Table 3.1). Conceptually speaking, they are not mutually exclusive but are rather complementary; to a certain extent they are interdependent. In practice these approaches are usually pursued simultaneously, albeit with different foci, depending on the case at hand. At the same time, however, proponents of these strategies compete for scarce resources of bilateral and multilateral donors and for political attention. Therefore, these strategies cannot be neatly attributed to external actors or specific statebuilding operations. As a rule, most international organizations, multilateral donors and governments draw on various strategies or use a mix of strategies, because internally each strategy has its advocates in different administrative units such as ministries, departments, or – as in the case of the UN – specialized agencies. More often than not different actors within an international bureaucracy or a government with diverging strategic preferences and diverging policy backgrounds compete for limited resources. This functional differentiation gives rise to intra-­institutional competition over resources and policies and explains the frequently lamented lack of coherence. In general, four ideal-­type strategic orientations or paradigms can be distinguished.

Liberalization first This strategy still constitutes the dominant paradigm in development policy, even though individual actors such as the United States, the World Bank, the IMF, regional development banks, the European Union or bilateral donors emphasize different aspects when it comes to practical implementation. First and foremost, liberalization first is about the promotion of political and economic liberties; the strategy aims at democratization and the establishment of market economies (the so-­called Washington Consensus). In IR-­theoretical terms, this approach comes closest to the liberal assumption, which sees democratic market economies as guarantors of peace and stability – in their internal affairs as well as their external relations. This hypothesis is derived from the democratic peace theory, according to which democracies are less war-­prone than non-­ democracies, and above all do not wage war against each other. This approach is moreover informed by assumptions about the pacifying effects of free trade and

Priorities (examples)

Democratization, economic reform, privatization, integration into the world economy

Strengthening the state’s monopoly on force, strengthening the security apparatus, security sector reform

Strengthening political and administrative institutions, promoting the rule of law

Strengthening social cohesion, enhancing political participation, supporting NGOs, associations, parties

Strategy

Liberalization first

Security first

Institutionalization first

Civil society first

Table 3.1  Statebuilding strategies IR-theory

Medium- to long-term (10–20 years)

Medium- to long-term (10–20 years)

Social-constructivist approaches

Institutionalist approaches

Short- to medium-term Realist approaches (5–10 years)

Short- to medium-term Liberal approaches, in particular (5–10 years) democratic peace theory

Time horizon

International statebuilding   67 economic interdependence (peace by trade) (see: O’Neil and Russet 1999: 423–442; David 1999: 25–41). In the IR-­literature one also finds the label “neo-­ Wilsonianism,” following President Wilson’s idea of a liberal international order guaranteeing peace and security (Paris 2004: 40–54). Advocates of this strategy believe that weak states suffer from a lack of transparent, democratic governance structures and from a lack of economic freedom, which is reflected in pervasive rent-­seeking, limited access to international markets, technological backwardness and a low investment rate. Post-­conflict cases are therefore regarded and treated as special cases of transformation societies, which are transitioning from authoritarian rule to democracy. Consequently, the focus of this statebuilding strategy is on holding free and fair elections, guaranteeing political liberties and protecting private property, promoting good governance in terms of effective public administration and comprehensive economic reforms. The latter includes privatization and market liberalization in order to facilitate economic integration into global markets. The state is seen as a guarantor of basic liberties. According to pure theory, it shall confine itself to providing a reliable legal framework within which the market economy can thrive freely. Through the adoption of the Millennium Development Goals in 2000, the liberalization first approach has been broadened and put more emphasis on the welfare aspect of liberalization (post-­Washington Consensus). Particular attention was devoted to poverty reduction and the establishment of effective educational and public health systems. This volte-­face was triggered by the realization on the part of large donors that meeting basic human needs is a crucial precondition for realizing civil and economic liberties. A prominent example for liberalization first – at least on a conceptual level – is the Bush Administration’s foreign policy doctrine developed after 9/11, whose centerpiece is the promotion of freedom and democracy around the world.2 In the same vein, the National Security Strategy of March 2006 considers the creation and promotion of “effective democracies” to be key to countering a number of security challenges (see: White House 2006: 4–7). Hence, Secretary of State Rice underlined the need for “transformational diplomacy” aimed at the establishment and consolidation of democratic, well-­governed states which are responsive to the needs of their citizens and conduct themselves responsibly in the international system.3 Although Washington’s new strategic focus does not consistently translate into operative policies, it did leave a mark on US foreign policy: The Millennium Challenge Account, for instance, which was established in 2002, consciously distinguishes between “good performers” and “bad performers” in order to create incentives for democratization, good governance and economic reform.

Security first Advocates of this strategy, which maps on realist thinking in IR, propagate a less ambitious approach: In their view, external actors should focus on guaranteeing physical security, by (re-)establishing and strengthening the state’s monopoly on

68   U. Schneckener the use of force (Ottaway and Mair 2004; Marten 2004; Rubin 2008: 25–47). According to Amitai Etzioni, external actors should in particular avoid any kind of social engineering, be it framed as democratization or as nationbuilding efforts, for both normative and empirical reasons (Etzioni 2007). Instead, the security first agenda is based on the assumption that if the state is unable to perform the essential task of providing physical security, sustainable development in other areas of governance is impossible (“no development without security”). The primary focus is thus on the internal and external protective as well as coercive dimension of state sovereignty. Therefore, the demobilization – or at least containment – of armed non-­state actors, security sector reform, training of the armed forces, of border troops, the police and the judiciary (in particular with a view to improving the ability of prosecution agencies to effectively combat violence), the transformation of war economies into economies of peace, the fight against crime and the strengthening of the state’s ability to control its territory and its borders are considered critical to any statebuilding effort. Moreover, in the case of post-­conflict societies, separating the warring parties and eliminating the intra-­state security dilemma are considered as essential first steps in order to prevent the state from relapsing into conflict. In the case of ethno-­national conflicts that have already escalated, some authors therefore support partitioning territories and redrawing borders that may even include territorial secession, in order to permanently separate the warring factions (Kaufmann 1998: 120–156). Traditional United Nations peacekeeping missions epitomized the security first approach, because they aimed primarily at stabilizing the situation by separating the belligerent parties (“trip-­wire” function) and by monitoring a cease-­fire or a peace agreement. Yet this approach is not compatible anymore with the needs of today’s multidimensional UN missions. Hence, the security first strategy is primarily related to concepts for security sector reform, programs for the containment of small arms and light weapons proliferation as well as for the disarmament, demobilization and re-­integration of combatants (DDR programs), which have for instance been developed by the OECD-­DAC, UNDP or by major donors such as the United Kingdom (UNDP 2003; OECD-­DAC 2005; Department for International Development [DFID] 2005: 20–23).

Institutionalization first The primary focus of this strategy is on strengthening legitimate and effective institutions on the national as well as local level in order to enable these to deliver essential services. This approach is partly a reaction to the various failures of the liberalization first strategy. Despite their common dedication to the ideal of a democratic market economy, the two approaches differ with regard to the means of implementation. In particular for statebuilding in post-­conflict societies, the formula institutionalization before liberalization is deemed appropriate (Paris 2004: 179–211). The basic assumption made by adherents of this strategy (such as Francis Fukuyama) is that knowledge about organizational structures,

International statebuilding   69 about public administration and the creation of institutions is transferable, whilst other aspects – socio-­cultural factors (such as social norms) in particular – can hardly be influenced by external actors (Fukuyama 2004). Proponents of the institutionalization first approach share a belief in the socializing effects of political institutions, which – in the medium and long-­term – contribute to altering the behavior of local actors and furthering processes of collective learning, which in turn promote respect for public institutions, thereby strengthening their capacity to govern effectively. Their activities are therefore primarily directed at establishing and consolidating political institutions (parliaments, councils), promoting the rule of law (establishing constitutional courts, for instance), strengthening and reforming public administration (in particular tax-, customs- and fiscal authorities) and fighting corruption. Another core task is the creation of institutions and procedures for conflict management and dispute settlement, such as ombudsman offices, committees, arbitration panels, “councils of elders” or traditional courts. The legitimacy of such measures depends crucially on the involvement of all relevant societal groups in these institutions. Institutionalization first is thus compatible with informal or formalized power-­sharing models, which place a premium on the inclusion of all relevant actors, not least to prevent cleavages between minorities and the rest of the population. All-­party governments, proportional representation, quotas that ensure a fair distribution of offices, as well as veto rights are common measures to ensure equal representation (on power-­ sharing in multiethnic societies see: Reilly 2001; Schneckener 2002: 237–333; O’Flynn and Russell 2005). Other methods for political decision-­making that do not necessarily correspond to democratic standards but are nevertheless accepted as legitimate by the local population are traditional forms of rule, neo-­ patrimonial structures (patron–client relations) or procedures aimed at co-­opting and consulting societal groups. This approach is in line with the promotion or revitalization of existing institutions influenced by local traditions inasmuch as these contribute to the consolidation of statehood. Hence, proponents of this concept are not only skeptical regarding rapid economic liberalization, but also regarding the imposition of the classical model of a majority democracy (Westminster style), in particular in the context of multiethnic societies. In practice, bi- and multilateral donors pursue this approach especially with a view to reforming public administration and promoting the rule of law.

Civil society first This strategy, which figures prominently in the literature on peace research and development policy, puts civil society at the center of statebuilding efforts. In contrast to the three other strategies outlined above, this approach thus emphasizes the need for bottom-­up processes (Harvey 1998: 200–217; Debiel and Sticht 2005; Tongeren et al. 2005). It proceeds from the assumption that the state and its institutions must develop at the grassroots level and must be sustained by society as a whole. This approach is thus primarily about the development of a

70   U. Schneckener political culture and political norms that are supported by a broad majority. Yet this is exactly what is often lacking in weak states. Usually the gap between the ruling elites, the state apparatus and fragmented societal actors looms large. Adherents of the civil society first concept therefore believe it to be of prime importance to strengthen social cohesion, to improve opportunities for political participation, to support disadvantaged and marginalized groups as well as to promote the development of a (critical) public. They admonish governments to respect basic civil liberties and human rights such as freedom of the press and free speech, freedom of assembly and freedom of association. Moreover, they implement projects in the field of women’s and children’s rights, education, culture, and social work. Their objective is the mobilization of civil society forces (empowerment). In comparison to the other strategies, this approach places a stronger emphasis on enhancing the state’s input legitimacy; viewing the state primarily as a forum for participatory bargaining processes and discourses shaped by different segments of society. In the case of post-­conflict countries the promotion of civil society by external actors typically includes the delivery of basic humanitarian services, psychological support (such as providing trauma therapy to victims of war), the repatriation of refugees and displaced persons, the reintegration of child soldiers, methods of non-­violent conflict management as well as national reconciliation (victim–offender mediation, for instance). In practice, this usually entails supporting human rights groups, women’s associations and peace activists, churches, journalists, political parties, unions or local communities (Fischer 2006). More often than not external actors induce the creation of such NGOs; some NGOs are local spin-­offs of international NGOs or activist networks that have specialized in particular issue-­areas. Hence, in contrast to the other strategies presented in this article, advocates of the civil society first approach give more importance to the promotion of complementary or alternative structures sustained by non-­state actors, if only as temporary solutions until effective state structures are (back) in place to deliver services to large parts of the population.4

Unintended consequences of statebuilding strategies Each strategy entails unintended consequences and has potential adverse effects: The liberalization first program underestimates the destabilizing effects often associated with rapid democratization and the liberalization of markets (“shock therapy”). On the one hand, it is in the very nature of elections and electoral campaigns to reinforce polarization and tensions between segments of the society; this applies in particular to post-­conflict situations, but also to latent conflicts. Considering the almost inevitable unequal distribution of resources, the ruling elite usually enjoys exclusive access to the state media and has manifold opportunities for manipulation; hence, it is usually the power-­holders who benefit from such processes, because they can clothe their actions in the cloak of democratic legitimacy. In post-­conflict societies this often reinforces political

International statebuilding   71 cleavages and configurations of power, which emerged from the conflict, thus empowering those policy-­makers who were responsible for the escalation of violence in the first place. The 1996 elections in Bosnia, from which ethno-­ nationalistic parties emerged as dominant forces, provide a virtually paradigmatic example. Under such circumstances, moderate forces or new groupings do not really have a chance to influence the contours of the post-­conflict order. Moreover, the economic aspects of liberalization first, i.e. economic reform aimed at privatization and deregulation, usually serve the interests of the economic elite such as clans or oligarchs, thus deepening the socio-­economic divide. Privatization processes in particular are usually associated with corruption and forms of economic crime. This significantly hampers the establishment of tax-­ funded public institutions devoted to the common good. These effects are reinforced by liberalization efforts’ tendency toward de-­institutionalization. Existing institutions and structures are deemed ineffective; they are called into question or even eliminated by donors – witness the structural adjustment programs adopted by the international financial institutions in the 1980s and early 1990s. The US-­led Coalition Provisional Authority (2003–2004) in Iraq provides a textbook-­example of the destabilizing effects of liberalization first. The CPA ­prioritized rapid democratization and market liberalization over security.5 The security first approach, which is rather stability- than reform-­oriented, entails the risk of degrading into a security only approach and ultimately strengthening status quo forces. Although it can hardly be disputed that the provision of physical security is vital to the success of all other statebuilding activities, focusing on the state security apparatus may lead to the establishment and strengthening of authoritarian or semi-­authoritarian structures, which in turn would prove counterproductive in other areas of statebuilding. In extreme cases, the ruling elites obtain internationally funded, more effective instruments of political power, which allow them to block or reverse reforms, repress oppositional forces or even marginalize parts of the population. In some cases, state security forces could moreover feel encouraged to escalate festering or acute conflicts with armed non-­state actors – as happened after 9/11 in the context of US-­funded and trained anti-­terror units in Yemen or the Philippines. Advocates of the institutionalization first approach adopt a broader focus, emphasizing the need to create or enhance institutional capacity. Nonetheless, their strategy de facto tends to privilege actors whose main objective is to secure their power and pursue their particularistic interests, rather than to consolidate statehood in the long run. The elite-­oriented, top-­down perspective of this approach favors such tendencies. In particular the necessity inherent in this strategy to (temporarily) draw on pre- or non-­democratic procedures or institutions, respectively, may undermine or entirely frustrate the long-­term goal of democratization. The unintended consequence of this strategy could thus ultimately be the consolidation of authoritarian or clientelistic structures, whose representatives reject any type of reform-­oriented policy by making reference to tradition and/or religion and who ultimately continue to pursue their policies irrespective of institutional “facades.” Correspondingly, the gap between legally formalized

72   U. Schneckener procedures and factual politics would widen. In the long run, this would challenge the legitimacy of externally induced institutionalization and would exacerbate the population’s alienation from the state’s institutions (for a critique of the institutionalist approach, see: Lemay-­Hébert 2009: 21–45). The civil society first strategy is diametrically opposed to this approach. Proponents of civil society first assume that statebuilding is often doomed to fail because of insufficient civil society mobilization. However, this perspective ignores that most fragile states grapple with the weakness of public institutions vis-­à-vis private and societal actors. The state is sometimes constrained by non-­ state actors who increasingly assume its tasks and functions. Supporting NGOs and other civil society actors in such a situation of obvious state weakness risks strengthening just those parallel structures and thereby impeding the development of legitimate statehood. In addition, there are several fundamental difficulties with the implicit normative premises associated with the term civil society. One problem is to identify which actors exactly constitute “civil society” in any given case. Is the “West” trying to impose its own standards on non-­Western societies? This approach thus has an inherent tendency to go beyond a transformation of statehood and aims at a comprehensive restructuring of society. This will inevitably increase external interference into local structures and will require greater resource investment as well as raise serious legitimacy questions. Moreover, evidence abounds that NGOs – in particular those that are externally funded – can only to a very limited extent be regarded as authentic civil society actors. More often than not local populations perceive NGOs as “foreign elements” whose services are consumed but who are not accepted as legitimate representatives. Equally problematic is the orientation of most NGOs toward particularistic interests instead of the common good and their subordination to the objectives of external donors. Other issues are the imperative of fundraising, which dominates many activities, and the attractive salaries NGOs offer. They are usually higher than salaries offered by the state, which leads to a corresponding “brain drain” of local employees out of the public sector. Finally, there often exists a barrier to civil society engagement due to bureaucratic and non-­ transparent structures within NGOs. These effects are particularly striking in the case of post-­conflict societies in which NGOs virtually mushroom – witness Bosnia after 1996.6 A comparison of the approaches brings out another aspect: liberalization first and civil society first adopt a holistic perspective, which dictates a comprehensive (maximalist) agenda. Both approaches hence intrude deeply into state and societal structures. The other strategies, by contrast, can be reduced to a rather modest (minimalist) agenda and are hence more focused and less intrusive. Security first and institutionalization first can thus be assumed to be more susceptible to “second-­best solutions” or suboptimal results, respectively, whilst the other two strategies, due to their normative maximalist agendas, will be less amenable to compromise solutions. On the contrary, experience has shown that liberalization first and civil society first tend to successively broaden their agenda in the face of emerging problems, thereby step by step adjusting to the

International statebuilding   73 actual complexity of political and socio-­economic processes. As a result, despite their explicitly stated objective, namely achieving market liberalization/democratization or strengthening civil society, respectively, priorities in the statebuilding process shift or become blurred. The more modest variants of security first or institutionalization first, on the other hand, may reduce the likelihood of a conflict of goals. On the flipside, however, these approaches risk falling short of what may be necessary to consolidate statehood by focusing exclusively on the state’s core functions. These rest on rather shaky foundations if the economic and social environment continues to be highly unstable. Indeed, the danger of “mission creep” inheres in these two strategies as well: the more demanding approaches to security sector reform or to strengthening the rule of law are pursued, the greater the likelihood that issues of democratization and civil society control will become salient. Hence, despite the initial intention, in practice missions with a rather modest mandate (e.g. the so-­called light footprint approach for Afghanistan 2002) were quickly extended in scope, due to the realization that the security situation, the stability of political institutions, the quality of public administration and the rule of law as well as economic development all depend on each other.

Favoring unintended consequences: the challenge of multi-­ level politics The likelihood of unintended consequences as described above depends on a number of favorable conditions and on how external actors are able to deal with them. These conditions have to do with the multi-­level and multi-­agency nature of the whole undertaking. Analytically, international statebuilding involves at least four different layers of interaction – all of which have an impact on the conduct and the result of statebuilding activities. First, we have the interaction between local actors, in particular between (former or actual) parties to a violent conflict; second, the relationship between local and external actors; third the interaction among the different external actors, comprising international donors, diplomats, military, NGOs, and finally, the layer of national capitals or headquarters of international organizations where coordination, policy planning and decision-­making has to take place between ministries, departments or, in the case of international organizations, between member states. This multi-­level architecture constitutes a complex system in which actual or suspected policy decisions and actions at one layer will shape the expectations, the behavior and the actions of actors at other layers. Some of these effects may be intended or at least anticipated, most often however they are neither. For external statebuilders, therefore, the coordination challenge would already be enormous – even if the major players such as international organizations and bilateral donors would apply by and large the same doctrine which, as we have seen, is usually not case. In addition to that, the operative logic and constraints under which external actors have to work in the field differs greatly from those in their respective capital or headquarter. One unintended, but most often

74   U. Schneckener i­nevitable effect is serious tension and even mistrust between those, be it military or civilian personnel, who encounter directly the difficulties at the field level and those who have to muster the necessary resources and political commitments for statebuilding in national or international bureaucracies. Against this background, one can broadly distinguish two sets of challenges: the first points to typical dilemmas and difficult choices external actors face vis-­ à-vis local actors (field level), the second is related to the decision-­making and policy planning of the external statebuilders (headquarter level). While the first set can hardly be under the control of external statebuilders because local idiosyncrasies and dynamics, the second set is largely shaped by the external actors themselves. The first set comprises aspects that have been investigated in a number of cases (Cousens and Kumar 2001; Stedman et al. 2002; Chesterman 2005; Doyle and Sambanis 2006). First, each and every intervention affects directly or indirectly local power structures. In most instances, this is intended since external actors deliberately support particular groups and try to marginalize others. However, local actors, in particular political leaders, usually anticipate these changes and act accordingly, often by exploiting tensions and increasing the potential for the use of violence. In extreme cases, external actors may themselves become targets of violent acts and here they are left with a number of poor options: external actors may be forced to protect themselves, which makes it difficult to engage actively with local partners and civil society, they may strike back militarily which increases the risk of civilian casualties and affects the legitimacy of the whole statebuilding undertaking, or they may leave the country and thereby lose credibility vis-­à-vis the locals. Second, as studies on financial, development or humanitarian aid have shown, statebuilding may foster rent-­seeking behavior and aid dependency among large segments of society. In particular, local elites are well trained in acquiring “political rents” for their cooperation with external actors, which would strengthen their opportunities to pursue neo-­patrimonial, clientelist politics and to stabilize their powerful positions. Third, attaching political and economic conditionality to aid and assistance, which is to some degree part of any statebuilding strategy (but especially in the case of liberalization first and civil society first), usually leads to supporting good performers instead of bad or poor performers. The latter, however, are often the true trouble-­makers, i.e. many post-­conflict countries remain at the risk of state failure because of particular spoiler groups which feel neglected from external aid, but still have the potential to destabilize the situation on the ground. Fourth, the notion of “local ownership” has proven to be rather ambivalent and a contributing factor to unintended consequences. On the one hand, external actors want to re-­establish or to assure local ownership of the political decision-­ making process in order to force groups and leaders to take responsibility for certain actions. On the other hand, local actors often show no interest in acting responsibly and making compromises but rather expect the international community to do the (unpopular) work and even blame it for ineffective governance. Therefore, on several occasions difficult decisions are not taken nor do local

International statebuilding   75 leaders implement necessary measures. Both are basically left to external statebuilders despite their intentions to foster local ownership. Fifth, dealing with actual or potential spoilers, especially with armed non-­ state actors, also leads to a number of unintended consequences (Stedman 1997: 5–53). They often harm any kind of statebuilding process since they frequently profit from state fragility and failure. In order to make some progress, external actors are sometimes forced to integrate some of them into political structures, which grants them privileges and liberties that they can, in turn, use to undermine the process of stabilization and reform. In addition, the handling of para- or quasi-­state structures, established by warlords, clan chiefs, big men or rebel groups, is a particularly tricky issue (see Afghanistan, DR Congo or Somalia). These have frequently replaced state structures or co-­exist with them; and although they may offer a minimum of stability at the local level, they ultimately prevent the establishment of sustainable state structures – financed, implemented or monitored by the international community. More often than not these para-­ state structures are detached from the central government and own a local monopoly of force, sometimes defined in territorial, sometimes in functional terms, hence competing with the central government’s attempt to project a monopoly on the use of force. The question arises as to whether such structures, which in individual cases may have a stabilizing effect, can be used as an interim solution or as building blocks in the (re-)establishment of statehood; or whether such a strategy will ultimately prevent the creation of an effective statehood because it strengthens militant actors and adversely affects the prospects of sustainable development (Mehler 2004: 539–548). These typical dilemmas are compounded by the temporally limited engagement of external actors. Local elites are well aware of the fact that the internationals will leave one day and, hence, adjust their own policies accordingly. In particular those who do not have an interest in changing the status quo and try to defend their privileges will pursue a “filibuster strategy,” for instance by remaining aloof, engaging in noncommittal reform debates, establishing bureaucratic hurdles or by demonstrating indifference. They know that time is on their side. External actors, on the other hand, are often driven by a number of concerns that have nothing do with the situation on the ground, as the second set of challenges will show. This refers to the headquarter level and the interaction between various external statebuilders since experience shows that misperception and mistakes made on this level can hardly be corrected in the field and will increase the likelihood of unintended consequences significantly. The success and failure of state-­building activities therefore crucially depends on external actors’ response to the following issues: Political attention: to what extent is the international community prepared and able to maintain a political interest in statebuilding over a longer period of time? As a rule, international attention is highest when violence has escalated and/or a humanitarian disaster is impending which affects regional and international security. As soon as the crisis has seemingly eased off, the topic disappears

76   U. Schneckener from the international agenda (such as the UN Security Council’s), not least because other crises have already taken its place and require the international community’s attention. Almost all major statebuilding operations – let alone other, less spectacular activities – suffer from this effect. The decline or lack of international attention goes hand in hand with a dwindling interest of the donor countries’ publics in the situation, which dilutes the prospects of mobilizing sufficient financial and human resources for the international community’s engagement. Strategic planning, operative planning, and resource allocation: another fundamental issue is the question of systematic statebuilding strategies and the difficulties external actors face in planning specific measures and providing adequate resources. In practice, plans are devised and structures are created in an ad hoc manner, and international organizations must ask their members to provide the requisite resources and personnel on a case-­by-case basis. In the past it has frequently proved difficult to secure continuous and sufficient support for international statebuilding measures. It is difficult to assess in advance how much funding will be available, which complicates the strategic and operative planning of civilian, as well as military, interventions. Moreover, states sometimes do not actually make available the resources they have pledged. Governments and international organizations frequently lack the necessary planning capacity as well as cross-­departmental structures and concepts that would not only accelerate the political decision-­making process, but also contribute to the creation of systematic statebuilding know-­how. Coordination and coherence: considering the multitude of external actors and the various layers of decision-­making involved in statebuilding efforts, problems of coordination and coherence almost inevitably arise. Usually each actor pursues its own conception of statebuilding, which is partly influenced by the nature of its mandate, and has its own view regarding how measures should be prioritized, what objectives should be pursued in the short- to medium run, and how these objectives are to be attained. In particular, some international NGOs and national development agencies compete over scarce resources, influence, and competencies. At the same time, most of these actors, for reasons of prestige, seek to retain a certain measure of autonomy and control over their activities, which makes coordination – not to mention coherence – almost impossible. Legitimacy: this resource is coveted by external actors, in particular democratically elected governments, who often face a dilemma. On the one hand, external actors must respond to the expectations and demands of the local population affected by state failure, particular local groups or the ruling elite. On the other hand, however, in order to mobilize the necessary resources (i.e. their taxpayers’ money), their action must be considered legitimate by their own constituencies at home. At the same time, the input and output dimensions of legitimacy are critical, because depending on the case at hand, the performance of external actors is measured against one or the other dimension. Differences arise depending on whether the actor is answerable to the local population or its own public.

International statebuilding   77 Moreover, there is sometimes a trade-­off between the two dimensions: The objective of so-­called local ownership (input legitimacy), for instance, may hamper effective decision-­making and the implementation of political measures and thus lead to suboptimal, unintended outcomes (output legitimacy). Furthermore, external governments that seek the support of their national constituencies for statebuilding measures tend to tailor their mandate in a manner that frequently proves ineffective, and ultimately neither produces a satisfactory outcome in the field nor satisfies their own public. The promotion of NGOs, of particular values or blue prints of statehood may please the external actors’ own constituencies, but may lead to considerable legitimacy problems in the field, triggering unintended consequences.

Conclusion: coping with unintended consequences The analysis has shown that unintended consequences are a frequent feature of international statebuilding efforts and are hard to avoid, even if all relevant parties agree on crucial issues (which is rare). However, because of the complexity of statebuilding, the plurality of actors involved and the risks of unintended consequences, the conclusion for the international community should not be to disengage from situations of fragile statehood and zones of violent conflict. The option of disengagement is neither realistic nor desirable since it would simply leave developments and events in many parts of the world as they are and risk a further erosion of state capacity and an increased potential for long-­standing, protracted conflicts. The result would be an increasing number of costly humanitarian crises as well as socio-­economic, ecological and security problems, which usually spread across borders and have severe destabilizing transnational effects. Moreover, fragile statehood not only fuels these problems but makes it much more difficult to address them effectively at the international level. In other words, the phenomenon of fragile statehood underlines the necessity of regional or global governance initiatives but, at the same time, undermines the application and effectiveness of international norms, regimes, institutions and agreements. Thus, the key question for international statebuilders is not how to avoid un­intended consequences but how to cope with – and to manage – them. There are basically three options, which do not exclude each other and can be pursued in combination. The first option would certainly be an attempt to reduce the complexity of the whole process by reducing the number of actors and levels involved as well as the range of activities. This implies that the international community needs to implement an element of hierarchy and prioritization in order to steer the statebuilding process more coherently and in a more focused manner. This has been tried imperfectly in some instances such as in Kosovo or Afghanistan by introducing the concept of “lead agency” or of a coalition of “lead agencies” (e.g. security sector reform in Afghanistan subdivided among the United States, United Kingdom, Germany, Japan and Italy). Such an approach in order to be successful, however, would presuppose that external actors have to become more aware and self-­reflective about their own strategic orientation, which is often only stated

78   U. Schneckener implicitly. Moreover, intervening states and international organizations would have to do their homework more carefully at the level of capitals and headquarters before they commit themselves to comprehensive statebuilding operations. They need to focus their activities because the more maximalist the statebuilding agenda gets, the more external actors will necessarily be involved. Therefore, more modesty concerning achievable objectives is needed. And they need to ask themselves whether they are willing and able to mobilize the required resources or whether they will only run into a capacity–expectation gap vis-­à-vis the population which simply causes frustrations and fuels unintended effects, including uprisings or violent conflicts. The second option calls for a better understanding of the complex multi-­level architecture of statebuilding in order to anticipate and to manage unintended effects. In other words, external actors need to assess regularly the impact and dynamics of their own efforts and take into consideration the actual and potential activities by others, in particular by local leaders and their constituencies. This accounts for the unintended effects of the various strategies, representing different worldviews and interests, but also for the fact that in practice the intervention often leads to peculiar structures, which not only affect the statebuilding process but also shape the behavior of local elites. To be more concrete, instead of stabilizing or rebuilding statehood in the target countries, statebuilding activities often lead to the emergence of informal as well as formalized arrangements, involving both external and local actors as well as state- and non-­state actors. These arrangements – although initially set up as temporary measures – often last much longer than anticipated, sometimes for years and even for decades. Prominent examples here are formalized mixed international–domestic bodies in Bosnia, Kosovo, Timor-­ Leste, Iraq or Afghanistan, which have been set up deliberately in order to channel money and policies. Some of these forms of governance have proved to be extremely functional and long-­standing (such as in Bosnia) and may even work as functional equivalents of statehood since they are able to deliver a number of ser­ vices to the population. Other arrangements turn out to be rather transient phenomena that vanish as soon as the local situation changes (e.g. agreements with local clan chiefs or warlords in Afghanistan). At best, external actors see such formats as second-­best solutions and transitional bodies on the path to strengthening the state’s institutions and capacities. However, these arrangements with their day-­today practice certainly shape the expectations and behavior of local elites. If not reflected by external actors, these settings will have more impact on the emerging polity structures and the kind of statehood than all the statebuilding concepts, programs and projects of national and international bureaucracies. The third option starts from the assumption that unintended consequences usually have different effects on different actors. Thus, external actors should make use of the fact that the consequences of actions are always multiple. This would imply that external actors need to be more flexible and open to the outcomes of their undertaking. They need to be prepared to change their policies, if necessary even radically, and not stick to a certain path or strategy, once drafted and decided in distant headquarters, in fear of losing credibility vis-­à-vis local

International statebuilding   79 actors or the public back home. In particular, external actors should not underestimate the capacities of local actors who have learned to live with few resources and state structures. In order to understand who would be affected by what, external actors need to know more about these social practices and political mechanisms which assure in many cases an environment of “fragile stability.” External actors need to be far more receptive towards indigenous politics, including traditional rule, clientelism, patronage, cooptation and family- or clan-­based organization – even if these to do not fit into the idea of market economy, democracy, rule of law or a vivant civil society. The practice of statebuilding so far shows that despite some efforts on peace and conflict impact assessment of particular activities there is hardly any systematic reflection about unintended consequences and their results. And if so, external actors seem to concentrate mainly on the first option, by devoting considerable resources to efforts for improving cooperation, coordination and coherence as well as steering capacities, be it at headquarter or at the local level. But even the best coordination or lead structure does not work if one is not prepared to understand the system as a whole and to anticipate the behavior of others. Even if this would be the case, failure is still very likely unless external actors are prepared to question their own strategies in order to be more adaptive to feedback effects and the local rules of the game.

Notes 1 As Boudon observed, unintended consequences differ from “a failure to achieve intended consequences” (Boudon 1982: 6). 2 In this context, President Bush spoke of a “global campaign of freedom” which he sees as a strategic response to the twin challenge posed by “terrorists and tyrants” (see: Bush 2005). 3 See Secretary of State Rice’s speech on “transformational diplomacy,” Georgetown University, Washington, DC, 18 January 2006. This position is endorsed in the final report of the Princeton Project on National Security, in which the authors state: We must develop a much more sophisticated strategy of creating the deeper preconditions for successful liberal democracy – preconditions that extend far beyond the simple holding of elections. The United States should assist and encourage Popular, Accountable, and Rights-­regarding (PAR) governments worldwide. (see Ikenberry and Slaughter 2006: 6) 4 Inspired by the civil society approach, for example, are the Civilian Peace Service (established in 1999), funded by the German Federal Ministry for Economic Cooperation and Development (BMZ), and the program on civilian conflict management (Zivik), started in 2001 and funded by the German Federal Foreign Office. In both cases activities include establishing forums for dialogue and reconciliation, youth- and social work, education, and advising local or international NGOs, respectively (see: German Federal Government 2004). 5 On the one hand, it has become clear from the CPA’s decisions regarding the de-­ Baathification of the state apparatus (Orders 1 and 5) and regarding the dissolution of remainders of the Iraqi Army (Order 2) that the CPA consciously pursues de-­institutionalization (including the layoff of half a million civil servants), in order to pave the way for (alleged) democratization. On the other hand the CPA ordered a shock

80   U. Schneckener treatment for the Iraqi economy, which had been centrally planned. This included tax cuts (Order 37) and the creation of favorable conditions for foreign investors (Order 39). As early as May 2003, shortly after the official cessation of hostilities, the head of the CPA Bremer had declared Iraq “open for business.” 6 As early as 1998 more than 400 NGOs were active in Bosnia, the overwhelming majority of which were dependent on international funding (see Belloni 2001: 163–180; Chandler 2004: 225–249).

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International statebuilding   81 Jervis, R. (1997/1998) “Complexity and the Analysis of Political and Social Life,” Political Science Quarterly, 112(4): 570–574. Kaufmann, C.D. (1998) “When All Else Fails: Ethnic Population Transfers and Partitions in the Twentieth Century,” International Security, 23(2): 120–156. Krasner, S. (2004) “Sharing Sovereignty: New Institutions for Collapsed and Failing States,” International Security, 29(2): 85–120. Lemay-­Hébert, N. (2009) “Statebuilding without Nation-­building?: Legitimacy, State Failure and the Limits of the Institutionalist Approach,” Journal of Intervention and Statebuilding, 3(1): 21–45. Marten, K.Z. (2004) Enforcing the Peace: Learning from the Imperial Past, New York: Columbia University Press. Mehler, A. (2004) “Oligopolies of Violence in Africa South of the Sahara,” Nord–-Süd Aktuell, 18(3): 539–548. Merton, R.K. (1937) “The Unanticipated Consequences of Purposive Social Action,” American Sociological Review, 1(6): 894–904. OECD-­DAC (2005) Security System Reform and Governance, Paris: OECD. O’Flynn, I. and D. Russell (eds.) (2005) Power Sharing: New Challenges for Divided Societies, London: Pluto Press. O’Neil, J.R. and B. Russet (1999) “Assessing the Liberal Peace with Alternative Specifications: Trade Still Reduces Conflict,” Journal of Peace Research, 36(4): 423–442. Ottaway, M. and S. Mair (2004) States at Risk and Failed States: Putting Security First, Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. Paris, R. (2004) At War’s End: Building Peace after Civil Conflict, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Reilly, B. (2001) Democracy in Divided Societies: Electoral Engineering for Conflict Management, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rice, Condoleezza (2006) “Transformational Diplomacy,” Speech, Georgetown University, Washington, DC, 18 January. Rotberg, R. (ed.) (2003) State Failure and State Weakness in a Time of Terror, Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press. Rotberg, R. (ed.) (2004) When States Fail: Causes and Consequences, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Rubin, B.R. (2008) “The Politics of Security in Postconflict Statebuilding,” in C.T. Call and V. Wyeth (eds.) Building States to Build Peace, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Schneckener, U. (2002) Auswege aus dem Bürgerkrieg: Modelle zur Regulierung ethno-­ nationalistischer Konflikte, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Schneckener, U. (ed.) (2006) Fragile Staatlichkeit: “States at Risk” zwischen Stabilität und Scheitern, Baden-­Baden: Nomos. Stedman, J.S. (1997) “Spoiler Problems in Peace Processes,” International Security, 22(2): 5–53. Stedman, J.S., D. Rothchild and E.M. Cousens (eds.) (2002) Ending Civil Wars: The Implementation of Peace Agreements, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Tongeren, P. van, M. Brenk, M. Hellema and J. Verhoeven (eds.) (2005) People Building Peace II: Successful Stories of Civil Society, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. UNDP (2003) Security Sector Reform and Transitional Justice: A Crisis Post-­Conflict Programmatic Approach, New York: UNDP. White House (2006) National Security Strategy of the United States of America, Washington, DC: White House.

4 Unintended consequences of international security assistance Doing more harm than good? Ursula C. Schroeder

Introduction During the past decade, international attempts to reform or reconstruct the security sectors of states in crisis have become a growth industry. Through “security sector reform” (SSR) or “security sector governance” (SSG) assistance,1 exports of specific sets of Western security institutions and organizational structures have become both frequent and ubiquitous. Multi- and bilateral transfers of security institutions and capabilities target both the armed and law enforcement services of assisted states. Overshadowed in terms of public attention by the high-­profile military interventions into Afghanistan, Iraq and the Balkans, a multitude of defense planners, police and justice specialists and development experts pursue security assistance projects across the globe. International experts train militaries in counter-­insurgency operations, equip border police stations with new infrastructure, foster the civilian control of the armed and police forces, write national police laws, address interoperability issues of national defense systems, and offer assistance in the global fight against terrorism (see OECD Development Assistance Committee 2007 for an overview). In post-­war territories under UN interim administration like Bosnia-­Herzegovina, Kosovo and, formerly, East Timor or Cambodia, international involvement has been particularly extensive, with international actors taking over executive police and military functions in addition to their training and advisory roles (see Stahn 2008; Zaum 2007). These new forms of international security governance transfers can result in complicated, multi-­level security governance arrangements in assisted states. Particularly in areas of limited and weak statehood, the governance of security is no longer the exclusive privilege of a state’s security institutions, but includes a wide variety of domestic and international as well as public and private actors. Indigenous and imported security institutions coexist side-­by-side, as do national and international actors. Yet, despite increasing resources dedicated to security sector reforms, we know relatively little about their possible positive or negative effects. As Hills (2008: 22) noted, the lion’s share of empirical studies about security sector reforms tend to be normatively driven, and often focus on the short-­term policy implications of security transfers. Accordingly, the existing

International security assistance   83 literature has placed particular emphasis on the establishment of civilian oversight and accountability procedures (Wagner 2006; Born et al. 2003), on the necessity for local ownership in reform processes (e.g. Laurie 2007), and on ways of enhancing the overall comprehensiveness of security transfers (e.g. Ball 2004; Bryden 2004; Chanaa 2002). A second set of dedicated empirical studies of security assistance processes has inductively generated knowledge about the problems and pitfalls of individual security sector reform programs (for instance Sedra 2006; Friedrich 2004; Vetschera and Damian 2006). Here, insights gleaned from the large SSR missions in the Balkans, Timor Leste and Afghanistan dominate the literature (see International Crisis Group 2008; International Crisis Group 2005). Yet, beyond anecdotal evidence, few studies have provided an analysis of outright policy failures or of potentially adverse effects of security assistance. To start a discussion on the unintended effects of international security assistance policies, this chapter poses two interconnected questions: What are the likely effects – and particularly the unintended effects – of international security assistance programs on the governance of security in assisted states? When – i.e. under which conditions and in which stage of the transfer process – are these effects likely to occur? In doing so, the chapter adds a security-­angle to ongoing debates in the international humanitarian and development assistance fields on how to avoid that international assistance does more harm than good in weak or post-­war states. In the “do no harm” debate, the potential unintended effects of development assistance have received ample attention (see, e.g. Anderson 1999; Birdsall 2007). Anderson (1999) found that international assistance, even if it does save lives and alleviates suffering, too often reinforces divisions among contending groups, an argument that, as we will see, also holds for the field of security assistance. In the book’s wider context, the chapter further adds its specific take to the debate on unintended consequences of security governance. The chapter’s discussion of security exports complements Schneckener’s study in this volume that outlines statebuilding activities across three major state functions (security, welfare, rule of law) and focuses on the potential unintended consequences of different international statebuilding strategies. Adding to his more general arguments on statebuilding strategies, this chapter examines the unintended effects that appear during the reconstruction and reform of the coercive apparatus of the state. As an introduction into the debate, the chapter first traces the changing strategies and policies of security transfers over time and outlines how and to what end different actors have pursued various forms of security transfers. Then, it adapts the book’s notion of unintended consequences to the question of security transfers and outlines the major forms of unintended outcomes that it foresees during and after the transfer of security institutions. In its main part, the chapter then specifies different sets of unintended consequences that can occur during the planning and implementation of security assistance missions. To systematize the existing empirical material on unintended effects, the chapter draws on the concept of the policy cycle (see DeLeon 1999) as an organizing framework: it

84   U.C. Schroeder distinguishes between the agenda setting, policy formulation, policy implementation and policy termination phases of international assistance and outlines why these phases each attract a different set of unintended consequences. Illustrative examples for each policy phase round off the discussion.

The changing nature of international security assistance International security assistance in the form of comprehensive police and military reform programs in a variety of states has grown in scope, scale and political relevance during the past decade. Known primarily as “security sector reform” in the current discourse, international security assistance policies have always had a fixed place in the history of foreign policy making: it has essentially been a state’s attempt to influence the security architectures and capacities of other, often allied, states in one’s favor. Security assistance is thus by no means a new phenomenon. An overview of the policy literature and of academic studies on police and defense reforms allows us to differentiate three different faces of security assistance policies: classical security transfers, comprehensive security sector reform, and “neo-­classical” security assistance. Early security transfers – colonialism and the Cold War years Despite the recent growth in public attention, international interventions into the security architectures of other states are not a new phenomenon. Highly coercive transfers took place already during the colonial era, when colonizers exported complete security architectures to their colonies. These transfers were dominated by the external and hierarchical imposition of specific national administrative models on a colonized territory. India’s Imperial Police, the Palestine Police Force or the South African Police are examples of externally created colonial police forces that shared their traditional constabulary police duties with the overriding aim of colonial regime maintenance. During the phase of decolonization, contentious debates on the role of the armed forces in nation-­building and modernization processes were waged (see Brzoska 2000: 6; Neuman 1994; and Simonsen 2007 on this debate). Modernization theorists singled out the military as the organizational structure within a state capable of leading a push for the modernization of society. Yet, ever more frequent military infringements on civilian life during the 1960s and 1970s dampened enthusiasm about the positive function of the coercive institutions of the state for its socio-­economic development. During the bloc confrontation, the security forces of Third World countries became entangled in ideological issues, with military assistance becoming a prerogative of NATO defense planners eager to bolster allied states against communist takeover. Over time, US military assistance to allied states became one of its primary foreign policy tools. Since the 1940s, the United States has combined military training programs (International Military Education and Training program, IMET) with a system of loans that enabled its allies to purchase US

International security assistance   85 weapons systems and defense services (Foreign Military Financing program, FMF ). About 50 percent of all US foreign aid since 1946 has been security assistance (see Clarke et al. 1997: 9). In terms of regional distribution, the United States early on focused specifically on rearming western Europe and supporting East Asia, while later assistance mostly went to the Middle East, after the 1973 Arab–Israeli war particularly to Israel and Egypt. The examples of US security assistance to Ethiopia and Somalia (see Lefebvre 1991), South Vietnam (see Rosenau 2005) and Latin America further showcase the scale of US foreign internal and external security assistance during this period. US arms transfers to the Horn of Africa were primarily geo-­strategically motivated and centered on US access to the Red Sea. Large-­scale police and paramilitary aid, on the other hand, dominated President Kennedy’s assistance to South Vietnam’s fight against communism. Security sector governance – the development community strikes back The end of the Cold War led to a rethinking of the classical security assistance strategies that had focused on enhancing the effectiveness of allied states’ monopolies on violence. Aided by a change in security discourses from the traditional state-­centric understanding of security and defense to broader notions of security (see Baldwin 1997; Buzan et al. 1998), a more comprehensive understanding of international security assistance emerged. Focusing on security as a necessary condition for sustainable development (see Tschirgi 2003; Picciotto and Weaving 2006), particularly its proponents in the development community argue that politicized and ineffective security sectors are themselves a source of instability and insecurity (see, e.g. Ball 2004: 511). As a result, the reform of security institutions has slowly moved back onto the agenda of development experts and they have been instrumental in promoting new concepts of comprehensive “security sector reform” (SSR). As a result, for instance, international police assistance has shifted to value-­laden goals and has “expanded beyond the purely technical to the transformational objectives of security sector reform” (Hills 2006: 640). The comprehensive security sector reform approaches aim to “develop a secure environment based on development, rule of law, good governance and local ownership of security actors” (GFN-­SSR 2007; see further OECD Development Assistance Committee 2007). Security, in this understanding, refers not only to the security and stability of the state, but primarily to the security of individuals and societal groups living in a specific territory. Essentially, security sector reforms therefore have the dual aim of establishing effective security forces that operate legitimately and under civilian oversight procedures. Hence, while colonial and Cold War security transfers focused on the export of stability and strategic reach, comprehensive security governance transfers aim to replicate the entire set of institutional rule and organizational structures of the Westphalian state’s monopoly on violence in a recipient state. Transfers in “security sector governance” programs thus include the export of institutional rules (sets

86   U.C. Schroeder of norms and rules that govern democratic security policy-­making), organizational structures (policy instruments, organizational blueprints), and capacities (technical infrastructure, train and equip programs). The new security sector governance programs have become particularly prominent in post-­conflict settings (see Brzoska and Heineman-­Grüder 2004; Brzoska 2006; Law 2006). Here, a combination of policy measures aims to downsize bloated security sectors, to build up civilian oversight structures, and to reconstruct functioning law and order and defense architectures. Recent cases that showcase the broadened scope of international security assistance are the UN interim administrations in Kosovo (UNMIK) and Timor Leste (UNTAET) as well as the UN missions to Sierra Leone (UNAMSIL/UNIOSIL) and Haiti (MINUSTAH). Other major security governance transfers occurred during the enlargement of the European Union and of NATO, which led to an unprecedented export of political and security institutions to eastern and south-­eastern European states transitioning from communism to democracy. Today, the European Union alone is actively supporting security sector reforms in over 70 states (see European Commission 2006a). Yet, despite the rapid rise in acceptance of comprehensive SSR concepts in the development and foreign policy communities, the scale of their practical implementation remains contested. Neo-­classical security assistance: the global war on terror More recently, in a conservative backlash against comprehensive security governance transfers, the 9/11 terror attacks have led to a resurgence of classical forms of security assistance. Although comprehensive SSR-­strategies still have a strong lobby particularly in the foreign and development policies of international organizations (see inter alia European Commission 2006b; OECD Development Assistance Committee 2007), in bilateral transfer settings, classical security transfers are again on the rise. Particularly in the United States, the “global war on terror” (GWOT) has led to a shift in focus of US foreign policy. General security assistance, on the wane since the end of the Cold War, has seen a massive revival during the past decade. Military and police aid to core US allies in the “war on terror” has multiplied, with total US arms sales worth “four times more than those concluded in the five years prior to Sept. 11” (Myerscough and Stohl 2007). Some 25 core allies, among them Turkey, Jordan, Pakistan, Indonesia and the Philippines, received “18 times more total US military assistance . . . after Sept. 11 than before” (Myerscough and Stohl 2007). The rise in direct security exports was accompanied by a dual shift of US policy towards military and police aid. On the one hand, Washington has increased its counter-­terrorism assistance to states with questionable human rights records and weak democratic institutions. Security assistance, particularly schemes funded by the US Department of Defense, increasingly circumvents the legal ban on assisting military units with flawed human rights records (the “Leahy Law”). As only one example, current US assistance to Pakistan focuses heavily on GWOT-­assistance in the fields of border security, law enforcement, terrorist financing and trafficking

International security assistance   87 (Fair and Chalk 2006: 58), while it disregards the country’s obvious other political and economic challenges. Additionally, some of the US development program’s (USAID) mandates have taken on a distinctly security-­focused slant and it has widened its formerly mostly civilian roles to include police aid and counter-­terrorism assistance tasks (see further Hills 2006; also Withaker 2007 on US judicial counter-­terrorism assistance). In a second seismic shift, the State Department has started to cede control over security assistance missions and mandates to the Department of Defense. Detailing the Pentagon’s growing role in US policy towards Latin America, Withers et al. (2008) showcase that foreign military aid and training programs are increasingly financed through the Pentagon’s budget, a process that began already in the 1980s in the context of the “war on drugs.” Today, “Section 1004” and “Section 1206” funds are used to operate outside the US “Foreign Assistance Act” framework and pay for training and assistance to military and police forces as well as counter-­terrorist operations worldwide. The United States is a case in which the renewed emphasis on counter-­terrorism security assistance has been particularly pronounced. Yet, the outlined “conservative backlash” has had repercussions worldwide. Even a cursory look at the development of EU security assistance policies reveals its increased focus on internal security assistance, counter-­terrorism aid and border security in both its southern and eastern neighborhood (see, e.g. Joffé 2008).

Effects of international security assistance along the policy cycle Security assistance, as we have seen, can take on a variety of forms. Whether traditional or comprehensive, international security assistance changes the security orders of assisted states. It can lead to complex forms of security governance and can have a variety of both positive and adverse effects on these governance structures. Particularly complex transitions from war to peace that are characterized by weak state institutions and extensive external involvement frequently result in less-­than-optimal forms of security governance. The influx of international peacekeeping personnel and the arrival of defense, police and rule of law advisors in post-­conflict states add to an already complex domestic security order. While post-­war states frequently host a high number of security forces – both in the shape of bloated armed forces and as informal militias or other non-­ statutory security forces – the additional layer of international troops and experts further complicates the governance of security in assisted states. To better understand the effects security assistance has in these contexts, the chapter defines security governance narrowly and in procedural terms. In line with Daase and Friesendorf ’s definition (this volume), security governance refers to a new mode of security provision in a specified territory that involves a larger set of actors than traditional security policies. New security governance structures are populated by a conglomerate of both domestic and international actors and may include the activities of private actors, be they local militias or internationally active private security companies. As a procedural term, security

88   U.C. Schroeder governance as it is understood here does not include a normative notion of “good governance” or “democratic governance.” Instead, it emphasizes the coordination of public and private actors in an organizational setting between hierarchy and markets (see Héritier 2003; Pierre and Peters 2000). Unlike Slaughter 2004’s optimistic assumptions about the positive role of new transnational security networks in the current world order, the concept also remains neutral as to the effectiveness and efficiency of the new governance structures. Indeed, networks, especially as part of “netwars,” can undermine the accountability and transparency of security governance (see further Kenney 2007: 261, footnote 13). In brief, the following discussion shows that the effects of international security assistance quite frequently diverged from initially stated goals. These unintended consequences – understood as consequences that run counter to the initial aims of a specific policy (see further Daase and Friesendorf, this volume) – can affect not only the initiators of a specific policy, but also its recipients, and, as discussed in more detail below, they can occur along the various steps of the policy cycle. Yet, without understanding where unintended consequences stem from, we cannot avoid them. To systematize and better understand both the causes and shapes of unintended consequences, the chapter introduces the conceptual lens of the policy cycle or “stages” model of policy making as an organizing framework (see DeLeon 1999; May and Wildavsky 1978). In – necessarily ideal-­typical and under-­complex – policy cycle models, the development of a policy issue is traced along several stages. After the initial agenda-­setting process, the stages of policy formulation, policy implementation, policy evaluation and termination follow. In the crucial agenda-­setting phase, policy priorities for further action are set and the institutional venues that will handle these priorities are chosen. Depending on the choice of venue and main actors involved, distinct problem perceptions dominate and different policy instruments can be used to tackle a policy challenge. The question of whether departments of defense or foreign ministries are made responsible for the handling of security assistance is one example of the results of agenda setting in the field of security assistance. In the policy formulation stage, selected policy problems are turned into policy programs. A third policy phase, the implementation phase, translates political commitments into policy outcomes. It links the intentions and programs of policy makers to their “ultimate impact in the world of action” (O’Toole Jr 2000: 266). Finally, in the evaluation and termination phase, implemented policies are appraised and, ideally, contrasted to the initial aims of a policy strategy. The following pages outline how potential unintended consequences of security transfers can be linked to different stages of the policy model, and discuss which different types of side effects emerge during each stage. Agenda setting and problem definition stage: the curse of multilateralism The political agenda behind a specific security assistance mission is pivotal to its successes and failures. Determining the future shape of a policy, agenda-­setters aim to establish a shared understanding of a policy problem. Depending on

International security assistance   89 which actors succeed in framing a specific policy problem as lying within their sphere of competences, different strategies to alleviate this problem can be devised. As discussed above, political strategies in the field of security transfers can vary considerably. Whether international actors pursue traditional security assistance aimed at enhancing the operational capacity of different security forces or follow a more comprehensive attempt to build up democratically governed and stable security sectors in the end depends on their security agenda. Yet, security agendas are notoriously contentious, even within states, and differ even more between different states and other international actors. Without being able to go into the details of specific conflicts over security interests and agendas, this section discusses the generic challenges that may result from competing agendas in the field of security assistance. Three larger challenges of current strategy development for security assistance can be singled out as particularly conducive to the emergence of unintended consequences. Although these challenges apply also to the other areas of statebuilding, assistance to the security sectors of post-­conflict states has proven to be a particularly contentious issue among involved external actors. First, development of coherent security assistance agendas has been hampered by the international trend to deploy multilateral assistance missions. The ongoing proliferation of actors in the security assistance field has made it all but impossible to develop a single, overarching agenda. With high numbers of states, international organizations and non-­governmental organizations assisting in security reforms, more often than not we are faced with a plethora of diverging interests and strategies. Early examples from security and rule of law assistance to the Balkans and particularly Bosnia-­Herzegovina show that the multiplication of agendas and strategies leads to a patchwork of different initiatives (see, for instance, International Crisis Group 2001), rather than to coherent reforms. The parallel development of various security solutions in the same country – according to the donors’ individual national blueprints, rather than in line with an overarching design – leads to unsystematically reformed security sectors on the ground. Often, international reform efforts are divided up into different security functions and handed over to the lead-­nations in charge of individual sectors. As only one example, in the current security sector reform process in Afghanistan, Germany is the lead nation for police reform, while Italy specializes in judicial reform, the United Kingdom in counter narcotics and Japan in DDR (Middlebrook 2007: 3). Although each individual state aims to create a Western model of a unified state monopoly on violence in his particular sphere of competence, taken together, their efforts have not come close to that goal. Instead of a single monopoly on violence, several distinct and oftentimes disjointed layers of security competences and organizational structures emerge. Also in Bosnia, disjointed judicial reforms have led to a situation in which different judicial systems, based on US or European models of common or civil law, are in operation in its entities. A second issue that complicates the outlined emerging patchwork of security governance institutions is the conflict between comprehensive and narrow understandings of security assistance. The existence of different types of strategies in

90   U.C. Schroeder itself does not necessarily lead to conflict. Yet the distinct approaches to security assistance pursued by development and foreign policy experts as opposed to defense planners has frequently led to animosity between both groups (but see the integrated UK conflict prevention pools, DFID et al. 2003). Distinct rules of engagement, standard operating procedures and ways of doing things have hindered cooperation between military and civilian personnel in security assistance efforts. Depending on who helms a specific security assistance project or mission, more or less emphasis will be placed on the parallel transfer of security norms and practices. As to the unintended consequences these different strategies can engender, comprehensive approaches run the risk of aiming too high and having little tangible effect on assisted security sectors. Stability-­oriented “security first” strategies can, as Schneckener (this volume) finds, degrade into “security only” approaches that will ultimately strengthen the status quo forces. Conflicts between proponents of both strategies can again lead to inconclusive, contradictory and patchy processes of security transfers. Finally, the duration of strategies affects their outcomes. Linked to the distinction between comprehensive or narrow mandates, short-­term missions will more often have narrower capacity-­building mandates, while longer-­term strategies are more likely to follow extensive institution-­building goals. Yet, longer-­ term goals have sometimes proven to be difficult to reconcile with short-­term interventions. Originally a mainstay of development experts, the longer-­term fostering of sustainable political and security institutions in post-­war territories classically coincides with a relatively gradual reform process. Leaving original elites in power, “institution-­builders” will cooperate with local elites and stakeholders to pursue sustainable and comprehensive reforms. “Capacity-­builders,” on the other hand, may import wholesale organizational structures to a specific territory to build up security capacities from scratch. The cases of Iraq and Afghanistan are illustrative in this respect. In the former case, international actors were faced with the dilemma to either undertake gradual reforms and include “power elites who have blood on their hands,” or to embrace more encompassing reforms (Rathmell et al. 2005: 86). In the end, the disbanding of the armed forces – discussed in more detail below – and the radical reform of the Iraqi security forces have been detrimental to its overall capacity. In the latter case, the police training strategies of the United States and the European Union differed considerably. The United States approached Afghan security reforms with a focus on traditional, “hard” security and aimed to rapidly enhance the capacity of the Afghan National Army and Afghan National Police. Its short-­ term several-­weeks-long training programs managed to rapidly train large numbers of police and military recruits. German police training, on the other hand, and the European Union’s follow-­up EUPOL Afghanistan has favored a long-­term approach with far lower numbers participating in 1- or 3-year training courses (see Kempin 2007: 4). In sum, the problem definition and agenda-­setting stages are crucial to the further formulation and implementation of security assistance policies. The proliferation of involved civilian and military actors, their diverging strategies and

International security assistance   91 differences in the duration of their involvement combine to produce a patchwork of security governance institutions in assisted countries that remains a far cry from the stated intentions and sometimes even runs counter to initial goals. Policy formulation stage: the risk of hijacked assistance During the process of policy formulation, decision-­makers and other stakeholders turn overarching security strategies into specific policies and identify the constituencies that a policy or program will address. By thus distributing resources to a specific territory and sets of actors, security assistance policies can change power structures in a political system and may institutionalize existing cleavages in a society. Most contentious – and most likely to lead to unintended consequences – is the question of whom to target with specific assistance measures. Who benefits from assistance and who loses out? Do we arm or disarm the “right” faction? The targeting of international security assistance has been hotly debated in the aftermath of several disastrously failed strategies in recent history. Particularly US security exports have become notoriously contentious since it became known that military hardware and training assistance had been provided to authoritarian states with abysmal human rights records. In recent history, two cases repeatedly made international headlines: assistance provided by the United States’ Army School of the Americas, and training for the Indonesian military. In the latter case, it became known that, in 1991, US trained forces had become involved in a massacre of hundreds of East-­Timorese civilians (see Lumpe 2002; Garcia 2002). The former case of US Army training for Latin American recruits in the School of the Americas had long been controversial. School alumni became involved in political murders in Latin America during the 1980s, and its training programs included manuals that discussed torture and execution practices to be used against insurgents (see Grimmett and Sullivan 2000; for an extended critical view see Gill 2004). Today, the re-­named “Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation” is, according to its mission statement, dedicated to promoting peace, democratic values and respect for human rights through inter-­American cooperation. In the recent interventions in Iraq and Afghanistan, the question of how to target security governance exports has again gained in relevance, since we have seen increasing occasions of “hijacked assistance” that has been diverted to goals not intended by the donor states. Unlike traditional notions of security assistance as politically neutral and technical undertakings, security transfers were here caught up in the political and societal conflicts of the assisted states. In Iraq, the domestic situation was and is particularly volatile and characterized by competing political factions and their respective militias. Security transfers therefore ran a high risk of being instrumentalized by local actors, as US and UK assistance to the Iraqi armed and police forces showcases. To establish at least a modicum of law and order on the streets in Iraq, coalition forces embattled by the rising insurgency trained and equipped police recruits with links to the Shiite militia.

92   U.C. Schroeder The “Iraq Study Group Report” (Baker and Hamilton 2006) pointed out that as a result, many members of the Shiite Badr Organization have become integrated into the Iraqi police forces, while retaining their loyalties to their militia group. Also the example of UK police assistance in Basra shows that this assistance strategy can backfire: when called upon to move against the Mahdi Army, UK-­ trained police forces shifted their allegiance back to insurgents (see Hider 2008). Militia infiltration had become so high that in 2006, the Iraqi police was known to routinely engage in sectarian violence, including the “detention, torture, and targeted execution of Sunni Arab civilians” (Baker and Hamilton 2006). Around the same time, US and UK trained recruits routinely left the police force after completing their training (see Inspectors General 2005: 33). This “leakage” of trained personnel has not only been costly for the coalition training effort, but has also led to the unintended consequence of providing training to the insurgency. More recently, the US armed forces have shifted their attention to the Sunni militia in its attempt to create law and order in Iraqi cities. As a result, the Sunni “Awakening Movement” has become a large ad-­hoc armed force paid by the United States to patrol the streets in Sunni insurgency areas (see Rubin and Cave 2007). Yet, infighting among their different organizations and conflicts with the Shiite-­led Iraqi Army has recently marred their successes (see, e.g. Goode 2008). Drawing on the Iraqi experience, a British pilot project in the Helmand province similarly aims to incorporate local clansmen into the fight against the Taliban in southern Afghanistan (see Scott Tyson 2007). Yet, in these recent initiatives as well, the risk of arming parties that do not share the United States’ and United Kingdom’s political goals looms large. At least in terms of their politicization, the Iraqi armed forces pose less of a problem than the Iraqi police service. Yet, assistance to the Iraqi armed forces has been plagued by a different problem: the initial decision to dismantle the Iraqi Army in its entirety has spawned a host of unforeseen problems for the governance of security in Iraq. In contrast to the police reform process that actively incorporated local militias into the tasks of providing law and order on the street, US military reforms radically dissolved the Iraqi Army. Both political and military observers have roundly criticized this approach, since it created a public security gap and incidentally ran counter to the consensus in several studies on the future of Iraq that basically advocated radical reforms and the retraining of the Iraqi Army, but not its disbanding (see International Crisis Group 2003: 6). Additionally, despite its repressive past, the Iraqi Army had been a symbol of national unity. Demobilizing its soldiers from one day to the next without pay led to unforeseen riots and confrontations with coalition forces. And, as a military observer argued, it changed the US position in Iraq from “being a liberator to an occupier”: “By abolishing the army, we destroyed in the Iraqi mind the last symbol of sovereignty they could recognize and as a result created a significant part of the resistance” (see Gordon 2004). Recruitment and training for the New Iraqi Army, on the other hand, has proceeded only very slowly.

International security assistance   93 As highlighted by this example, the consequences of security assistance policies depend to a large extent on the situation on the ground. The influence of domestic legacies, the highjacking of international training through local militias, and the political infighting within the Iraqi government has led to a variety of unintended consequences. In some cases, addressees of assistance changed allegiance. In others, only one conflict party received assistance, thus exacerbating cleavages in the society. (Faulty) implementation of security assistance and the perils of outsourcing During the process of policy implementation, political commitments are translated into policy outcomes. Yet, even well thought-­out policies do not necessarily achieve their stated objectives. Policy implementation, defined as “what develops between the establishment of an apparent intention on the part of government to do something, or to stop doing something, and the ultimate impact in the world of action” (O’Toole Jr. 2000: 266), plays a large role in determining the effects of security assistance policies. Depending on who implements a policy and how this is done, the likelihood of unintended consequences rises. Two major issues are at stake here: first, the trend towards outsourcing security transfers to commercial actors and second, the procedures for disbursing military and police assistance. First, what are the consequences of outsourcing military train and equip programs to private contractors?2 The use of private military companies (PMCs) like DynCorp, MPRI, CACI and Xe Services (formerly Blackwater) has increased rapidly in recent years. Several companies have won large contracts to train and equip the military and police forces of, inter alia, Iraq, Afghanistan, Bosnia, Liberia, Haiti and other states. While the overall scope of private contracting is not fully known,3 the privatization of security assistance is associated with several problems. One of them is the ineffective training that some private actors provided, as for instance the Vinell Corporation during its contract to train the New Iraqi Army (see International Crisis Group 2003: 15). A further analyst observed that after one year The US military had little to show for its contract. Half the troops in the first Iraqi infantry battalion trained up deserted and the other half couldn’t carry out such perfunctory tasks as march in place or answer radio calls properly, let alone go into battle. (Singer 2008) At the same time, private and public training efforts did not necessarily go hand in hand, since private actors frequently had only “tense relations” (International Crisis Group 2003: 15) with their counterparts in the Coalition Military Training and Assistance Team (CMATT). Recent DynCorp police training in Haiti and Liberia showcases a second challenge: a lack of stakeholder involvement in the training process. At least in Liberia, Ministry of Defense and civil society

94   U.C. Schroeder involvement into the security sector reform process implemented by DynCorp was low and led to complaints by Liberian lawmakers (Pour 2008: 2). In Afghanistan, private companies were involved in training the Afghan police forces, but have been criticized as lacking in both quality and political accountability (see Gya 2007; Glanz and Rohde 2006). Since the involvement of private security actors remains largely unregulated and PMCs are not directly accountable to the electorate, the risk of unintended consequences through their use is high.4 Beyond low quality or ineffective training, a potentially larger problem is the “commoditization of military skills” (Singer 2008) that replaces the former longer-­term relationships between assisted officers and their military trainers. This diminishes the chance to transfer specific norms of a professional military and of appropriate civil–military relations to the assisted force, instead of only enhancing its operational capacity. On the whole, the outsourcing of military and police training to potentially ill-­suited private actors can have a series of unintended consequences. A related challenge is the delegation of police training to military forces. Perito (2006) outlines the unprecedented takeover of responsibilities for police training by the US military. Previously, civilian police training had clearly been in the portfolio of the Department of Justice or Department of State. Only recently, the rapid need for a large number of civilian police in Iraq and Afghanistan led to the involvement of the military. For instance in Afghanistan, the US Defense Department took over police training tasks in 2005 (see Glanz and Rohde 2006). Also in Iraq, the US military implemented large parts of police training. Yet, “the US military and State/DOJ civilian police advisors had markedly different goals for the Iraqi police” (Perito 2006). Generally, using military forces for the diffusion of law and order practices and norms may send the wrong signal to assisted states. As a result, the separation between internal and external security functions, often already blurred in post-­conflict states, remains obscure.5 Beyond the challenges posed by a changing set of actors involved in security assistance, the second issue at stake is a procedural one: how is security assistance implemented? The most obvious cause of unintended consequences is the low quality of some of the training. Due to high demand, police and military training has been shortened, and some observers have complained that international actors were more concerned with the quantity, not quality, of trained personnel. Yet, the sometimes-­astonishing lack of transparency and political oversight has also seriously undermined the effectiveness of some programs. A recent report by the Government Accountability Office examined the accountability procedures for military train and equip programs in Iraq and found that the Department of Defense (DOD) could not provide a full record of US-­funded equipment in Iraq (see Government Accountability Office 2007: 2). Around 190,000 weapons were not accounted for, since Multi-­National Force-­Iraq neither collected information on the quantities of equipment delivered, nor on the targets and dates of delivery. Instead, it even remained unclear which – if any – DOD accountability procedure applied to the Iraq security assistance program that was funded outside normal foreign assistance programs. Other audit reports under-

International security assistance   95 scored these findings and decried over US$10 billion in overpriced contracts or undocumented costs (see Associated Press 2007a; Glanz 2008). Similar accounts of oversight failures have appeared for Afghanistan where a State Department and DOD report in 2006 found that numbers of trained police were lacking and that they could not account for a large part of the equipment and trucks handed over to Afghan police units (see Glanz and Rohde 2006). Recent private sector audits faulted the even worse performance of private security companies. In addition to scandals involving KBR, a leading private company in Iraq (see, e.g. Risen 2008), the biggest supplier of ammunition to Afghanistan was accused of providing substandard ammunition to the Afghan army. The amy’s contract with AEY was suspended after reports surfaced that it had bought unserviceable Chinese-­made ammunition in Albania and repackaged it for shipment to Afghanistan (see Chivers 2008). And although both DOD and State Department recently took steps to avoid further reports of this kind, oversight over the work of private contractors remains a challenge, particularly since the DOD has not put an overarching strategy in place to deal with private actors, as a recent GAO report pointed out (Government Accountability Office 2008). The behavior of implementing actors, on the whole, plays a large role in enabling or avoiding the occurrence of unintended consequences. In the case of Iraq and Afghanistan, a general lack of oversight and accountability procedures resulted in badly trained security forces and a large drain on coalition resources. Evaluation and policy termination phase: exit without strategy In the final stage of the policy cycle model, the results of a specific policy are evaluated, leading to its continuation, change or termination. In domestic politics, active choices to terminate a particular policy are rare and it is a common observation that programs continue to live on although they have outlived their usefulness. The deliberate conclusion of a specific policy or program in the field of security assistance, on the other hand, is quite common. International interventions are costly, their short-­term results remain unclear, and domestic pressure to withdraw troops – as in the case of Iraq and Afghanistan – can be high. Often, the time factor plays a role in the emergence of unintended consequences during the phase of policy restatement or termination: the duration of assistance missions – be they too long or too short – can negatively affect their outcomes. In the first instance, international actors remain in a country and continue to provide executive security as well as training and equipment in a specific territory. In cases of low domestic stakeholder involvement and little local ownership over this process, international actors run the risk of creating a political and security system that is dependent on their assistance. The problem initially surfaced in the area of development policies, but has now also reached the field of security sector reform. In other cases, international actors created a security architecture that remained divorced from pre-­existing domestic power structures. The existence of parallel security institutions may be sustainable while international actors remain in the country, but their effects will most likely be reversed

96   U.C. Schroeder once they leave. Fostering local acceptance of international reform efforts and including local actors into the process therefore remains a major prerequisite for avoiding the development of completely aid-­dependent structures. In the second case, international assistance is withdrawn before a sustainable outcome has been reached. Particularly in volatile conflicts in which the likelihood of military losses is high, interventions have been cut short and local actors left to their own devices too early. In Iraq and Afghanistan, international actors increasingly focus their training activities on enabling the local forces to take over domestic security functions as soon as possible. Yet sometimes, advisors leave before the domestic force is able to fulfill this task. In one recent example from Iraq, UK troops handed over the police joint command center in Basra to local police forces. Yet, soon after, the building was taken over by the Shiite Mahdi Army and looted (Associated Press 2007b). Long overlooked by the international community, the challenge of terminating security transfer at the right moment is huge. Nevertheless, strategic debates over the future of specific assistance missions remain rare. Many missions are continuously extended for one year at a time, while avoiding in-­depth discussions of their end. Caught between fostering local dependence on international assistance and a rapid reversal of training programs after their termination, international actors need to devise better strategies for the final phase of the policy cycle.

Conclusions The chapter discussed when and which unintended consequences are likely to occur during international security assistance missions. Aimed not at a wholesale critique of current international security transfers, but at a better understanding of their challenges, it linked the occurrence of specific unintended consequences to the four phases of the classical policy cycle model. It showed that several characteristics of security assistance policies enhance the likelihood of producing unintended consequences. For one, external assistance to a state’s security capacities alters the domestic balance of power in a state, since specific actors are empowered, while others stand to lose influence. By distributing resources to a specific territory and set of actors, security assistance policies change power structures in political systems and can institutionalize existing cleavages in a society. As a result, security assistance can make conflicts more volatile, and may destabilize rather than pacify a post-­conflict state. Strengthening the coercive institutions of the state and enhancing their capacity can therefore easily backfire, as cases have shown where international actors put weapons into the “wrong hands” or selectively provided one faction in an armed conflict with training and equipment. The timing and duration of security assistance also harbored the possibility of adverse effects. On the one hand, the long-­term nature of most security transfers adds to the likelihood of unintended consequences. As we can see in Iraq, the training of security forces and the building of an army from scratch takes years to complete. During this time, conflict lines may shift, actors may change allegiance, and international actors

International security assistance   97 may decide to withdraw their assistance. Resulting from the volatility of conflict spaces such as Iraq or Afghanistan over time, transfers are likely to remain incomplete and are prone to implement outdated strategies devised at the beginning of a conflict. At the same time, the chapter showed that short-­term assistance that remains divorced from longer-­term strategies can backfire. The proliferation of involved actors further complicates matters, since international assistance strategies frequently differ and conflict, as do the interests of domestic actors in assisted states. Giving a specific set of “allied” actors access to resources and coercive powers may result in an exacerbation of the conflict, and can also lead to a split of national security sectors along conflict or faction lines. Security assistance here, intentionally or unintentionally, favors particular players to the detriment of others, with domestic actors using the influx of resources to their own advantage. Summing up, a combination of incoherent strategies, mistakes in the targeting of assistance, lapses in the implementation of assistance strategies and the frequent lack of an adequate exit strategy can derail international security assistance policies. Overall, the chapter highlighted that international security assistance is prone to lead to consequences intended neither by its initiators nor by its recipients, since it intervenes into potentially very complex domestic political and security situations in areas of limited statehood in which outcomes are difficult to calculate and foresee. Hence, even policies that explicitly conform to the aims of transparency, stakeholder involvement and public accountability may fail to produce legitimate and effective outcomes. The creation of biased and politicized security sectors therefore remains a large risk for security sector reforms. International security assistance is an undertaking with potentially high stakes, and international actors should therefore focus more on “doing no harm” than they have done in the past.

Notes 1 See Hänggi (2003) for a discussion of the terminology. 2 For a broader discussion of the trend towards privatizing the use of force see Avant (2005) and Singer (2001). 3 But see “Windfalls of War I-­II” project for an account of military contracting in Iraq and Afghanistan 2003–2006 (Center for Public Integrity webpage. Online, available at: http://projects.publicintegrity.org/wow). 4 For a further discussion of policy challenges and options see Richards and Smith (2007). 5 See further Friesendorf (2010) for an extended discussion of the role of military actors in fighting crime.

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5 Unintended criminalizing consequences of sanctions Lessons from the Balkans Peter Andreas

Introduction1 Multilateral economic sanctions have been a popular instrument of security governance in the post-­Cold War era. During the 1990s, the United Nations (UN) imposed sanctions six times as often as in the prior 45 years, leading some scholars to label it “the sanctions decade” (Cortright and Lopez 2000). The heightened use of sanctions has generated much scholarly and policy debate over their effectiveness and humanitarian consequences. Remarkably little attention, however, has been devoted to their criminalizing consequences and legacy for the post-­sanctions period. In this chapter I develop an analytical framework (summarized in Table 5.1) identifying and classifying the potential political, economic, and societal criminalizing effects of sanctions across place (within and around the targeted country) and time (during and after the sanctions period). At the political level, the most important criminalizing effect of sanctions is that the targeted regime may go into the business of organized crime to generate revenue, secure supplies, and strengthen its hold on power, fostering an alliance with clandestine transnational economic actors for mutual gain. This alliance may, in turn, persist beyond the sanctions period. At the economic level, the most profound criminalizing result of sanctions can be to push economic activity underground and dramatically inflate the profitability of illicit commerce. Aboveground trading relationships can be supplanted by underground trading relationships, creating clandestine region-­wide sanctions-­evading networks that reshape the political economy of the region and that may endure beyond the sanctions. Sanctions can create an economic opportunity structure that privileges those best positioned in the underground economy, enhancing the value of their smuggling skills and connections.2 This, in turn, can redistribute wealth and favor, helping to propel the emergence of a nouveau riche elite. Unable or unwilling to shift to legal trading after sanctions are lifted, sanctions evaders may simply engage in substitution strategies, turning to other illegal trading activities. Incentives to enter or continue operating in the underground economy can be reinforced by the devastated condition of the aboveground economy after sanctions. At the societal level, the most significant criminalizing consequence of sanctions is the potential of fostering “uncivil society,” reflected in a higher level of

International sanctions   103 public tolerance for lawbreaking and an undermined respect for the rule of law. Smuggling may not only become perceived as “normal” rather than deviant, but it may even be celebrated as patriotic. Even in countries with extreme levels of corruption there tends to be official disapproval of smuggling, but even this may be eroded under sanctions. The result can be a general legal demoralization as society becomes accustomed to practices that do not conform to modern legal standards. Re-­establishing societal acceptance of legal norms can be one of the most challenging tasks after sanctions are lifted. Table 5.1 summarizes these potential political, economic, and societal criminalizing consequences of sanctions. In this chapter I apply and evaluate this analytical framework through a detailed examination of sanctions evasion in the case of the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (FRY, now Serbia and Montenegro). The FRY case represents a particularly important and high profile sanctions episode that “featured unprecedented international cooperation in sanctions monitoring and enforcement” (Cortright and Lopez 2000: 63). As a centerpiece of the post-­Cold War upsurge of multilateral sanctions efforts, the 1992–19953 FRY sanctions experience has weighed heavily in sanctions deliberations and has contributed to the move toward more targeted sanctions (Popovski 2002: 39–62). As I document, the FRY case closely matches the patterns of criminalization identified in Table 5.1. My focus on the criminalizing effects of the sanctions in the FRY does not suggest that there was little or no criminalization of the state, economy, and society before sanctions, or that criminalization would not have been a problem in the absence of sanctions. Sanctions were part of a larger enabling environment for criminalization. Other variables contributed to criminalization, particularly the challenges of post-­communist transition4 and the context of prolonged war. The FRY’s involvement in the war in Bosnia-­Herzegovina (BiH), for example, provided incentives and opportunities for criminal activity, including war profiteering from smuggling and selling looted goods (see Andreas 2004a). Given these important contextual variables, it is difficult to precisely measure what part and what proportion of criminalization is attributed to sanctions. The argument here is not that sanctions are the only criminalizing force, but rather that they produce much higher levels of criminalization than would otherwise have been the case in the absence of the sanctions. In the next section I briefly review the sanctions debate. I then trace the political economy of sanctions evasion in the Yugoslav case and its regional support structure in the 1992–1995 period. This is followed by an evaluation of the lifting and legacy of sanctions. The concluding section points to the broader lessons for sanctions-­related research and policy debates.

The sanctions debate The scholarly and policy debates on sanctions have traditionally focused primarily on the narrow question of whether sanctions work as a tool of security

State sponsors organized crime to generate funds and secure supplies; fosters alliances with clandestine transnational economic actors; subcontracts out sanctions busting tasks and provides privileged access in exchange for loyalty and support

Underground economy expands through sanctions evasion while aboveground economy contracts and goes into crisis; emergence of new elite as power and wealth of smuggling entrepreneurs grows while those in the aboveground economy are marginalized

Broad societal tolerance of smuggling; smuggling perceived as “normal;” “uncivil society” empowered

Regional sanctions-busting networks develop with official complicity of neighbors; aboveground trade relations with targeted country collapse while underground trade relations expand (clandestine side of economic interdependence becomes dominant); cross-border crime linkages grow

State apparatus

Economy

Civil society

Regional repercussions

Note (This table modifies and extends the framework in Crawford and Klotz 1999a: 30).

Sanctions period

Location

Table 5.1  Potential criminalizing consequences of sanctions

Lifting sanctions generates shock wave through regional sanctions evading trade routes; sanctionsbusting networks persist and are adapted for other smuggling activities

Continued high societal acceptance of smuggling; engagement in smuggling economy broadly viewed as a legitimate avenue of upward social mobility

Continued high levels of underground economic activity as sanctions-busting networks adapt and diversify while the aboveground economy struggles to recover from sanctions; new elite selectively move into other sectors of the economy

Persistence of symbiosis between state and organized crime; high levels of corruption and entrenched resistance to reform and establishment of rule of law

Post-sanctions

International sanctions   105 governance and achieve their stated policy objective (see Wallensteen 2002). This ongoing debate has almost entirely overshadowed the unintended criminalizing consequences of sanctions and their legacy for the post-­sanctions period.5 Although Galtung long ago pointed to smuggling as an effective sanctions evasion method (Galtung 1967: 378–416), the specific dynamics of such evasion and their criminalizing side-­effects are rarely made the center of analysis or traced in detail. This is part of the larger tendency in much of the literature to gloss over the political economy of how targeted states strategically cope and adapt to sanctions (notable exceptions are Brooks 2002: 1–50; Crawford and Klotz 1999; Naylor 1999; and Rowe 2001). As Rowe rightly points out, “the central theoretical puzzle posed by economic sanctions, how governments can often survive and even benefit from severe disruptions to the national economy, remains largely unanswered” (Rowe 2001: 6). Unlike most sanctions scholars, policy practitioners are very much focused on problems of evasion, as evident in UN Security Council debates and sanctions implementation manuals (see Wallensteen et al. 2003).6 Nevertheless, the criminalizing impact of sanctions and their longer-­term legacy are generally not central policy considerations when officials contemplate their imposition. One reason why the dominant focus in the sanctions literature on the question of whether sanctions work is so unsatisfactory is that it pays inadequate attention to the mechanisms by which sanctions change behavior in the targeted country (see, in particular, Romaniuk 2003). Scholars who stress greater complexity regarding the domestic consequences of sanctions enforcement necessarily have more to say about evasion. For example, Kirshner’s emphasis on the “microfoundations” of sanctions draws attention to the fact that sanctions can have substantial economic effects without producing the intended policy outcome, and it suggests that the analysis of sanctions should be recast to look more closely at how groups within a target state are affected differently by sanctions (Kirshner 1997: 41). Other sanctions scholars, such as Brooks, Rowe, and Selden, also point to the often perverse and unintended distributional effects of sanctions, which create new winners and losers (see Brooks 2002; Rowe 2001; and Selden 1999). These various lines of analysis all point to the utility of broadening the sanctions debate and looking more closely at the political economy of sanctions enforcement and evasion, including their criminalizing consequences. In this regard, the analytical framework developed by Crawford and Klotz for understanding how sanctions work can be usefully modified and extended to identify and categorize the range of potential criminalizing side-­effects of sanctions (see Table 5.1) (Crawford and Klotz 1999: 30). There has also been an upsurge of scholarly and policy interest in the unintended negative consequences of sanctions, but this has almost exclusively been interpreted to mean unintended humanitarian consequences. The heightened attention to targeted sanctions reflects these concerns, as the main goal of these sanctions (or “smart sanctions”) is to limit humanitarian damage while retaining effective pressure on the targeted regime. Indeed, this has been the primary motivation for the move away from comprehensive sanctions and toward more

106   P. Andreas targeted sanctions in recent years (see Wallensteen et al. 2003; also see the website of the Special Program on the Implementation of Targeted Sanctions [SPITS]). But while the criminalizing damage from economic sanctions may be acknowledged or mentioned in passing, this is rarely highlighted in these evaluations (let alone made a central part of the rationale for change in sanctions instruments). Equally important, evaluations of sanctions typically tend to stop at the point of sanctions termination, with sanctions observers quickly turning their attention to other cases. Although this is understandable, it unfortunately overlooks the potentially profound aftereffects of sanctions. In this chapter I evaluate the criminalizing unintended consequences of sanctions through a detailed examination of the political economy of sanctions evasion and their legacy in the case of the FRY. Interestingly, this case tends to be one of the few sanctions episodes that many scholars and practitioners tend to categorize as a “success.” The view that the FRY sanctions were successful in achieving the aims of the UN Security Council is stated most boldly in the Report of the Round Table on United Nations Sanctions in the Case of the Former Yugoslavia, which claims that the sanctions were “remarkably effective” (United Nations Security Council 1996). Although the document provides a list of lessons learned and recommendations for future sanctions regimes, it does not include the challenge of dealing with the criminalized residue of sanctions. Cortright and Lopez similarly claim that the FRY sanctions were “among the most effective in history” (Cortright and Lopez 1995), but they also acknowledge that sanctions fueled “corruption, smuggling, and criminality . . . A vast network of black marketers emerged, much of it connected to and protected by the government” (Cortright and Lopez 1995: 75). However, these observations are not explored at greater length. Part of the reason they give for the “success” of sanctions is that the sanctions did not produce a humanitarian crisis. The criminalizing side effects are thus presumably viewed as much less consequential. If most assessments of the Yugoslav sanctions neglect or under-­explore the unintended criminalizing effects of sanctions, a report prepared by the Inter-­ Agency Task Force on Serbian Sanctions of the United States Department of State tackles the issue directly but minimizes and downplays its importance (United States Department of State 1996). Criminalization is considered a regrettable but tolerable side-­effect of sanctions that are judged to have been reasonably successful. The task force asserts that sanctions enforcement measures in the FRY meant that smugglers were reduced to operating in smaller volumes, but whether such smuggling had other deleterious consequences was not considered. As discussed below, the sanctions-­busting smuggling economy was not only far more significant in terms of organization and scale than acknowledged by this official assessment, but the negative political, economic, and social consequences of criminalization have been profound and long-­lasting – not only for the targeted country but also for the region as a whole. Interestingly, even the harshest critics of the FRY sanctions tend not to make the criminalizing collateral damage of sanctions the focus of their critiques. For

International sanctions   107 example, Woodward refers to “sanctions-­runners” as part of the local “economic elite” that gained an interest in maintaining the sanctions (Woodward 1995: 294). Licht’s polemic against the sanctions notes in passing that “life under sanctions forced a significant portion of society to live on the fringes of legality. The black market became a way of life” (Licht 1995: 158). These authors thus make some important initial claims about the criminalizing consequences of sanctions, but they do not pursue them further. In this chapter I follow this line of analysis in a more systematic and detailed manner, tracing the political, economic, and societal criminalizing consequences of sanctions across time (during and after the sanctions period) and place (within and outside of the targeted country).

The imposition of the sanctions In response to charges of the Milošević regime’s complicity in the war in BiH (see Ron 2000: 609–647; and Gagnon 1994: 130–166), comprehensive sanctions were imposed with UN Security Council Resolution 757 on 30 May 1992, covering trade, air travel, financial transactions, scientific and technical cooperation, and sports and cultural exchanges. Certain exemptions for humanitarian goods and trans-­shipment were included in the sanctions resolution, although permission of the UN Sanctions Committee was required. Some six months later the trans-­shipment of goods was barred and maritime shipping on the Danube was halted (Resolution 787 of November 1992). Later still, Yugoslav assets abroad were frozen, Yugoslav vessels were denied transit, and trans-­shipment was further limited (Resolution 820 of April 1993). In September 1994, these sanctions were extended to the Bosnian-­Serb controlled areas of BiH. In return for Belgrade’s cooperation in enforcing these amended measures, the UN ban on cultural and sporting events was lifted, and air and ferry service between Montenegro and Italy was resumed. The objective of the sanctions was to pressure the Milošević government to curtail support to the rebel Serbs in Bosnia, which in turn would presumably make the Bosnian-­Serb leadership more willing to negotiate an end to the war. To enforce the sanctions, the Western European Union (WEU) and NATO commenced interdiction patrols in the Adriatic Sea in the summer of 1992. In an unprecedented initiative to enhance regional enforcement capacity on the ground, UN sanctions assistance missions (SAMs) were set up in Bulgaria, Hungary, Romania, Albania, Croatia, Macedonia, and Ukraine, and were staffed by US, Canadian, and European customs agents at border posts and coordinated via a sanctions assistance missions communications center (SAMCOMM) headquartered in Brussels.7 For Cortright and Lopez, “the SAMs were the most elaborate and highly developed monitoring program ever established,” making the sanctions “the most rigorously enforced in history” (Cortright and Lopez 2000: 219). One UN-­sponsored report claims that the SAMs made the sanctions “the most effective of the post-­Cold War sanctions regimes . . .” (see Garfield 2001: 64).

108   P. Andreas The mechanisms and criminalizing consequences of sanctions evasion International isolation through sanctions hit the FRY economy hard. The US State Department estimated that the Serbian economy contracted by 26 percent in 1992 and 37 percent in 1993 (Cosgrove 2002). The sanctions were only partly to blame for the sharp economic downturn: the economy was in trouble well before the sanctions were in force, trade relations were already greatly disrupted by the outbreak of conflict, and the government’s own policies made a rapidly deteriorating economic situation even worse. Sanctions did, however, greatly exacerbate the economic crisis and, equally important, gave the Milošević regime a convenient external source to blame for the growing economic hardship – even as those close to the regime were becoming rich from war profiteering and sanctions evasion. Moreover, the sanctions not only provided Slobodan Milošević with a way to distract and deflect domestic criticism but also provided him a rationale to reassert state controls and avoid market reforms (Mijatović 1998: 175). The economy remained highly regulated, and for sanctions-­busting this meant that many economic tasks were subcontracted out by the state to those most loyal to the regime and with the greatest skills and connections to smuggling. While the underground economy is conventionally viewed as operating outside of state controls, in the case of sanctions evasion in the FRY, it was to a substantial extent state-­ directed and promoted as “patriotic smuggling” (Antonić 2002: 371; see also Antić 1998: 186). Sanctions were central to both the rapid growth of the underground economy and its state-­directed restructuring toward organized smuggling and clandestine financial transactions.8 Milošević was able to command loyalty and collect sanctions rents by providing preferential access to the sanctions-­ busting trade, which in turn helped to prop up the regime. In short, sanctions enhanced the criminalization of politics and the politicization of criminality (Vasilijević 1995). The importation and distribution of oil was particularly important in this regard. The FRY’s substantial military self-­sufficiency meant that the UN’s region-­wide arms embargo had little impact, but the country was financially vulnerable and highly dependent on imported oil. The initial effect of the imposition of comprehensive sanctions in May 1992 was to induce an oil shortage. Road traffic was reportedly halted during the summer as queues for petrol emerged across the country. However, by late 1992, Serbia secured new supplies, reducing the price of petrol (Silber 1992a: 2). The new suppliers were black marketeers, importing Russian oil through the Montenegrin port of Bar, over the Bulgarian border at Kalotina, and via the Danube. At the low end of the petrol trade were small-­scale local freelancers, engaged in gasoline smuggling using private cars customized to carry extra tanks. The greatest profits and risks were at the high end of the trade, which was more organized and required official connections. In some places, small traders would over time be pushed out by more organized smuggling operations (as was the

International sanctions   109 case in early 1993 when Milošević’s son, Marko, took over much of the cross-­ border smuggling in the town of Bela Crkva on the Romanian border) (Slavina 2003). Domestic distribution was also farmed out to those closest to the regime. Some 40 percent of Serbia’s petrol stations were controlled by banks with close links to Milošević, those with links to his Socialist party, or military leaders who laundered war profits through them (The Economist 21 November 1992: 60). For example, Mirko Marjanović was both Serbia’s prime minister and the head of Progres, the country’s leading gas and oil importing firm. Earnings from smuggled oil during the sanctions period reportedly financed the firm’s new five-­story, marble-­and-chrome office building in central Belgrade, and Marjanović apparently amassed a personal fortune of some US$50 million (Pomfret 1996: A27; Antonić 2002: 374). Another well known case is that of Željko Ražnatović, or “Arkan,” Serbia’s most infamous paramilitary leader and underworld figure. Arkan was reportedly as skilled at sanctions busting as he was at ethnic cleansing and looting. Milošević rewarded Arkan for his oil smuggling successes by giving him ownership of several gas stations. For each tanker truck-­load of oil Arkan managed to bring in, it was estimated that he made US$30,000 (United Nations Security Council Commission of Experts 1994). Through these kind of embargo-­busting commercial deals the ties between organized crime and the state deepened and expanded. A state-­sponsored embargo-­busting system eventually became institutionalized with the help of key actors close to Milošević in state security and the Interior Ministry of which it was part. To oversee and regulate sanctions-­busting, Milošević appointed Mihalj Kertes – who had earlier played a leadership role in coordinating the smuggling of arms to Croatian and Bosnian Serbs – as head of the customs office in 1994. As the institution that could most effectively collect currency, the customs service became the heart of the regime’s clandestine financial structure. As the head of Serbia’s Central Bank observed in 2001, the customs service “was Milošević’s primary source of cash, and it never ran dry” (quoted in Purvis 2001). Kertes was crucial to the organization of the embargo-­ busting trade, since his office provided import and export permits to those loyal to Milošević and those who proved most adept at circumventing UN monitors. Some members of the regime came to wealth and power thanks to these customs office permits. The customs post allowed Kertes to generate substantial revenue for the regime by organizing and taking a cut of the illicit commerce. In September 1994 Kertes explained, “I don’t care if it’s legal or not, I only care if it makes a profit” (Vasić et al. 2000: 27–30). The customs service thus became the central office for state organized crime. Kertes restructured the customs service, replacing trained and experienced staff with people he trusted from his home town of Bačka Palanka whom he personally hired by invitation.9 They were then assigned to border crossings, where there were the biggest opportunities to skim from the smuggling trade. Those who complained had their goods seized or would have to pay more. The customs service also selectively confiscated money from locals and foreigners who were carrying cash over the border. Since all formal international financial

110   P. Andreas transactions were frozen by the sanctions, most remittances entered the FRY as smuggled German marks (DEM). Disciplinary action against customs officials would only be taken against those who stole from someone who was under Kertes’ protection (Vasić et al. 2000: 27–30). The highly selective nature of customs enforcement thus provided windfall profits for those with official connections. The result was a massive redistribution of wealth via state-­sponsored clandestine commerce. “Sanctions are paradise,” one sanctions buster told a foreign journalist. “Normally you import and pay duties and then taxes. But under sanctions, if you know the right people, you pay no duties and no taxes, and you have the excuse of charging more. Sanctions are what cemented Milošević’s power” (Harden 1999: 30). Successfully evading the sanctions through clandestine imports required not only porous borders but also access to foreign exchange to pay for the smuggled goods. The Milošević government therefore turned to various financial schemes. One method was to simply print large quantities of dinar notes and then deploy money changers to buy up foreign exchange on the black market. The currency black market predated the sanctions, but it became far more important under sanctions because the country’s international economic isolation meant that imports had to be paid for in cash. By early 1993, 40 percent of the supply of dinars was being used to sop up hard currency on the currency black market (Minić 1993: 28). The large-­scale printing of dinars, in turn, generated one of the most extreme episodes of hyperinflation in history. Another method to absorb hard currency was state sponsorship of two pyramid banks offering extraordinarily high interest rates. Since these two banks also had leased a large number of the country’s gasoline stations from the government, the cash deposits could be used to import oil in violation of sanctions (Naylor 1999: 360–361). The largest of the banks, Dafiment Bank, was owned and operated by Dafina Milanović, a former cashier who had a criminal record for embezzlement and forging documents. She was given her banking license partly as a reward for her pension fund contributions and key role in sanctions-­ busting (Judah 2000: 264; Naylor 1999: 361). Her professional rise was facilitated by close ties to criminal business associates such as Arkan. In 1993 The Economist reported that: Arkan’s men help protect Dafina Milanović, a formidable lady who went from bank teller to bank proprietor in two years. Sanctions made her, and other bankers, suddenly rich by increasing the value of hard currency, pushing dollar interest rates to stratospheric levels and by providing opportunities to import sanctions-­busting oil. (The Economist 20 March 1993) These classic pyramid schemes eventually collapsed, with few (other than government officials and paramilitary leaders) able to salvage their deposits (Naylor 1999: 363; for a detailed account of these financial schemes and their impact, see Dinkić 1995).

International sanctions   111 Sanctions-­busting also propelled the growth of the international side of the regime’s clandestine financial apparatus. As explained by the financial investigator for the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY), “the necessity to create the international part of the financial structure and to locate its operation and organization in Cyprus grew from the international economic sanctions that were in place against the FRY” (Torkildsen 2002: 3). This external apparatus helped to fund imports through front companies and banks based in Nicosia, Cyprus. In the first half of 1992, roughly 500 Serbian firms were added to the island’s list of 8,000 offshore companies, some of which were set up for sanctions evasion (International Crisis Group 2000: 16). Cyprus also hosted branches of various Serbian banks, which became especially important after Serbia sent a large part of its foreign exchange reserves to the island in anticipation of the international asset freeze in 1993 (Naylor 1999: 353–354). Through this convenient offshore sanctions-­busting base, imports could be ordered and paid for and then clandestinely diverted to the FRY. Similarly, the FRY could arrange the sale of its exports via Cyprus with the origins of the goods camouflaged (Naylor 1999: 354). While those closest to the regime enjoyed the most profitable sanctions-­ busting opportunities, sanctions also helped prompt broader participation in and tolerance of the underground economy. Sanctions created powerful incentives for law-­abiding middle class professionals to either turn to the underground economy or join the swelling ranks of the Serb diaspora community abroad. The only alternative was a kind of “dignified poverty” that became less viable over time (Antonić 2002: 379). One Belgrade surgeon, for example, quit his job to become a gasoline smuggler during the sanctions, boosting his monthly income from US$140 a month to many thousands of dollars a month (Harden 1999: 30). One smuggler selling contraband goods during the sanctions commented, “If one had ever told me that I’d be a smuggler I would have spat in his face. Today, even my father, a high school principal, works for me at the market” (Anastasijević, Jovanović 1994: 30–31). Although sanctions-­busting generated high profits for some, for most people the turn to the underground economy was simply part of a survival strategy. Indeed, as Dinkić has argued, the Milošević government “deliberately encouraged black markets” to prevent social unrest. “Everyone realized that it was far more profitable to smuggle or sell goods on the street. These activities at first served as an additional source of income but for many people soon became a full-­time occupation.” This, however, had socially corrosive effects. According to Dinkić, the black market “encouraged the complete collapse of moral standards. Honesty became a burden, while dishonesty was a virtue and a basic condition of survival. This inevitably led to an increase in corruption and crime, which assumed staggering proportions” (Dinkić 1995: 229–230). In other words, the societal effect of sanctions was to propel the growth of “uncivil society.” Smuggling is present in all societies, but in the FRY under sanctions it became “normal” – i.e. the expected and accepted method of trade. Indeed, in

112   P. Andreas contrast to other countries where smuggling is at least condemned even if not fully confronted by the authorities, in the FRY it was elevated to the status of a patriotic duty in the early 1990s. The Belgrade government publicly praised those who became “entrepreneurial” under the sanctions (Bogosavljević 1992: 1–2). A recent study of corruption in the Serbian customs administration noted that under the sanctions, “all dealings bringing goods into the state (smuggling, corruption, and so on) were not viewed as breaking the law but rather as holy patriotic missions” (Begović et al. 2001: 99). In this fertile environment for criminality, high-­profile criminals such as Arkan became local celebrities and role models, and were treated as patriots by the Belgrade media. As criminals were empowered, law-­abiding professionals were disempowered. As one UN-­sponsored study of the FRY in the 1990s has observed, “the large middle class of engineers, teachers, and government bureaucrats lost income, status, and options throughout the 1990s. A new and much smaller class of people involved in smuggling and the black market took their place.” In this context, “Those engaged in criminal activities looked increasingly attractive as models of success” (OCHA/UNICEF 2001: 66, 63). Sanctions were not singularly responsible for, but significantly contributed to, this criminalized social transformation of the country. As Blagojević has described it, An intensive and hasty criminalization of the society contributed to the springing up of a new elite, which was recruited from criminals. No other sphere of society was impacted so strongly by the sanctions . . . Beginning with sanctions (and probably with war), a new period in social development commenced – the state apparatus and organized crime grew together. (quoted in Babić 2000: 12) Importantly, the regime could simply rationalize this as a necessary response to sanctions: In January 1996, Serbian Prosecutor-­General Dragan Petković commented that if there had been no sanctions violators or smugglers, the country’s banking and commercial infrastructure would have found it very hard, if not impossible, to survive (Markotich 1996). The criminalizing consequences of sanctions for neighboring states Following the patterns outlined in Table 5.1, the criminalizing effects of sanctions were not restricted to the targeted state but extended throughout the Balkans. The Milošević regime’s sanctions-­busting apparatus relied on a regional support structure utilizing immediate neighbors as trans-­shipment points. Thus, even while not directly targeted by international sanctions, countries such as Albania, Romania, Bulgaria, and Macedonia directly experienced their criminalizing effects. While aboveground trade relations in the region were crippled by the imposition of sanctions, underground trade relations blossomed. Thus, regional economic interdependence did not simply cease but turned into a clandestine form of interdependence.

International sanctions   113 Neighboring states were all confronted with a similar dilemma regarding their official endorsement of the sanctions and their interest in maintaining trading links with the FRY. Milošević’s sanctions-­busting advisor, Radoje Đukić, noted at the time that there was very little incentive for neighboring states to fully implement the sanctions given their potential economic losses (The Economist 2 July 1994: 49). Although all neighboring states reported enormous losses in trade with Serbia (Romania said to have lost US$8 billion, Bulgaria and Hungary US$1.5 billion, and Macedonia “stricken”) (Traynor 1994: 10) this was partly cushioned by a growing underground trade relationship. For instance, according to a recent study, underground trade from Bulgaria to Serbia reached more than US$5 billion in 1994 (Dadak 2003: 511–532). Rather than deterring sanctions busting, the gradual tightening of sanctions enforcement had displacement and rerouting effects. For example, when the WEU’s Danube Mission became operational in June 1993 and Romania and Bulgaria increased their cooperation with sanctions enforcement, the sanctions-­ busting contraband trade increased from Greece passing through Macedonia. Neighboring countries all found a place in sanctions busting, especially in the oil trade. In the case of Greece, the European Commission presented evidence in December 1992 indicating the systematic violation of sanctions by Greek companies, which were sending several thousand tons of oil per week to Serbia via Romania and Bulgaria (Silber 1992b: 3). A confidential EU report from March 1995 indicated a pattern of continuous sanctions busting by Greece (Michas 2002: 69). In the case of Albania, the country’s impoverished Shkoder Lake region became an oil trans-­shipment hub. Tellingly, in 1994 Albania imported twice as much oil as it consumed (Naylor 1999: 435). And in 1995, the country was believed to be illegally exporting north between 100–150 percent in excess of domestic oil consumption (Schmidt 1995a). EU sanctions monitor Richardt Vork estimated at that time that 40 percent of the fuel smuggled into the FRY was entering via Albania (Schmidt 1995b). The sanctions created extreme price differentials: a 210-liter barrel of oil purchased for DEM 160–190 in Albania could be sold for DEM 300–340 in Montenegro (Hajdinjak 2002: 15). While publicly declaring its commitment to sanctions, the Albanian government was complicit in the oil smuggling business. The ruling party ran the biggest oil company in the country, and taxing oil shipments became a leading generator of state revenue. Albania became more important as a sanctions-­busting conduit as sanctions enforcement increased elsewhere in the region (Naylor 1999: 358, 366). To try to impress international observers, the government would occasionally crack down on small-­time smugglers while more organized smuggling operations with connections to the regime would be overlooked (Naylor 1999: 358, 366). Romania also became an important smuggling trans-­shipment point and, in the process, fostered closer ties between the state and organized crime. Poor Romanian towns near the Serbian border experienced an economic boom thanks to the clandestine cross-­border trade. In the city of Timisoara, “hundreds of trading companies, many Serbian owned, set up shop along streets lined with

114   P. Andreas gasoline stations. They were watched by Romanian customs officers who were content to supplement their meager salaries by picking up a little hush money” (Naylor 1999: 354). Gasoline could be sold in Serbia at three times the Romanian price. Each fully loaded smuggling boat from the town of Moldova Veche in Romania reportedly made a profit of about US$2,500 per trip across the Danube into Serbia – an enormous amount in a country where the average monthly salary was US$100 (Evans 1995: 7). While the Romanian government publicly insisted that it was strictly applying sanctions (pointing to hundreds of cases of confiscating fuel from smugglers), the oil continued to flow across the border to Serbia. In May 2000, Romania’s former intelligence chief, Virgil Magureanu, claimed that “the violation by Romania of the embargo against Yugoslavia was a political decision at the highest level.” A probe by Romanian investigators discovered that 695 train cars carrying 36,500 tons of fuel were smuggled into Serbia via the Romanian-­Serb border crossing of Jimbolia during the sanctions period. The trains apparently crossed at night with their lights off escorted by the secret service (Porte 2000). The awkward dilemmas of enforcing the sanctions were particularly acute for neighboring Macedonia, which was economically integrated with Serbia and had long served as a transit point for Serbia-­bound commerce. It had achieved independence and broke away from Yugoslavia less than a year before it was called upon to implement the sanctions. Communications and transportation were also routed through Serbia, with whom it had 60 percent of its trade (Landay 1993: 1). Macedonia’s independence was convenient for sanctions evasion: formal independence meant that the tiny neighboring country would not be targeted by sanctions, even though it was dominated by sanctions-­busting economic interests. The government estimated that in the first full year of sanctions, they would cost the country US$1.3 billion (The Economist 1 August 1992: 39), and in the second year, losses were put at US$1.7 billion – a massive amount considering the country’s GNP was a mere US$3 billion (Landay 1993: 1). Given these high costs, sanctions busting was one of the only viable economic activities and sources of foreign currency (Judah 2000: 272). Although Macedonian customs officials, supervised by Canadian sanctions monitors, oversaw border crossings during the day, trucks could pass through unchecked to Serbia after dark (Chazan 1993: 13). It became an “open secret” that between 7 pm and 7 am, when the border was supposed to be closed, trucks would cross the border in both directions (Landay 1993: 1). Macedonia became a particularly important sanctions-­busting hub following the November 1992 UN prohibition on trans-­shipment through Serbia, and when Romania and Bulgaria are reported to have improved their enforcement of the sanctions. The result was a greater concentration of contraband passing through Macedonia, much of it from Greece (Marsh 1993: 3; Landay 1993: 1). In early 1995, Jane’s Intelligence Review reported that “Economically, it is now an open secret in Skopje that Macedonia would have completely collapsed long ago had it attempted to avoid such regional sanctions busting” (Milivojevic 1995: 68). Macedonia also became a leading outlet for smuggling Serbian exports out of the region – with forged paperwork indicating Macedonia as the point of origin

International sanctions   115 – in violation of UN sanctions (Naylor 1999: 354). Many Serbian front companies were set up in the capital city of Skopje to facilitate the process of importing and exporting via Macedonia. For example, one shell company, BOMIL, had branches in Skopje and in Limassol, Cyprus. During the sanctions years the company reportedly bought oil (mostly in Greece and Macedonia) and paid Macedonian officials a “commission” of about 30 percent for clandestine passage across the border to Serbia (Cohen 1998: 180). Similarly, Radoje Đukić, the owner of a Serbian knitwear firm, specialized in exports to Germany via his Skopje-­based company. He became the Serbian Minister for Small Business, which involved advising local businesses on how to circumvent sanctions (Judah 2000: 273; The Economist 2 July 1994: 49). But while sanctions-­busting helped Macedonia cope under precarious economic circumstances, this activity also had serious and long-­lasting criminalizing consequences. Large-­scale smuggling became institutionalized as a mode of wealth accumulation and smugglers acquired much greater power in Macedonian society. As the Financial Times reported at the time, the main side effect of the Embargoes has been the encouragement of widespread smuggling which has created mafia-­style economic gangs throughout the region. A new brash and violent “business class” has emerged which poses a long-­term threat to the development of legitimate, tax-­paying business in the Balkans as a whole. (Robinson 1995: 33) As discussed below, these problems have left a powerful and enduring imprint.

The lifting and the legacy of sanctions In November 1995, UN Security Council resolutions 1021 and 1022 specified the terms for suspending (conditionally) the sanctions against Belgrade and the Bosnian-­Serb controlled areas of BiH. Some commentaries and reporting at the time gave an indication of what lay ahead, with fears raised that “the most lasting and overlooked damage of sanctions may have been the corruption they encouraged in surrounding countries” and that high-­level involvement in sanctions busting would bequeath an unfortunate legacy (Bonner 1995: E3). The criminalization of society “has reached its highest levels,” commented Budimir Babović in 1996, a former deputy director of Interpol and a retired Yugoslav federal police official. “Reversing the process will not be easy” (Pomfret 1996: A27). The economic shock of lifting the sanctions Given the centrality of sanctions busting in the economies of the western Balkans, the lifting of sanctions had immediate region-­wide ripple effects. For example, the spoils of sanctions busting in Macedonia was part of the glue that

116   P. Andreas held together an uneasy ethnic peace in the 1990s (Hislope 2003: 7). Lifting the sanctions contributed to the unraveling of a multiethnic economic alliance of convenience, heightening ethnic tensions. Similarly, Strazarri has argued that ethnic unrest in Kosovo was partly contained in the early 1990s by the profits generated from sanctions busting and other underground economic activities, contributing to a Serbian–Albanian “pax Mafiosi” during the sanctions years (Strazzari 2003). Worsening economic conditions following the lifting of sanctions further exacerbated ethnic tensions in the area. The ending of sanctions had the most destabilizing effects for neighboring Albania, which had grown dependent on sanctions-­busting. Wallensteen observes that “the ending of sanctions by 1996 resulted in a complete economic collapse [in Albania] in 1997, leading to a Western peace operation to help stabilize the country” (Wallensteen 2002: 13, footnote 14). Naylor argues that the drying up of sanctions-­evasion profits provided a “fatal blow” to Albania’s pyramid financial schemes, and their collapse in 1997 brought down the Albanian government (Naylor 1999: 372). An estimated US$1.5 billion moved through the pyramid banks between 1992 and 1996, partly sustained by revenue generated from sanctions busting and other smuggling activities (Hajdinjak 2002: 32). When the pyramids collapsed, so did the government. The resulting chaos brought with it the looting of government armories and an influx of more than a million weapons onto the black market. Most of these weapons were then reportedly smuggled into Kosovo, providing a leading source of arms for the KLA (which until that point had had only limited success in its arming efforts) (Judah 2000: 320). The criminalized legacy of sanctions Beyond the immediate aftershocks of lifting sanctions, sanctions have left a criminalized legacy in the region with major economic, societal, and political repercussions (closely paralleling the outcomes identified in Table 5.1). A particularly important criminalized economic legacy of the sanctions has been the persistence of sanctions-­busting networks. Rather than sanctions-­evaders simply being put out of business with the lifting of sanctions, there has been a displacement effect as smugglers have turned to other commodities. The 2000 White House International Crime Threat Assessment observed, “many of the criminal business enterprises set up to circumvent earlier sanctions are still operating” (National Security Council 2000: 18). In Serbia and Montenegro, many of the state-­sponsored smuggling networks that expanded under sanctions have endured. As Naylor explains the process, Out of the deals to link Serbian intelligence to professional smugglers emerged new networks dealing in stolen cars, cigarettes, arms, illegal aliens and heroin that were the scourge of Europe. Government functionaries who had begun smuggling to earn money to prop up the regime, continued to smuggle to prop up their own bank accounts. (Naylor 1999: 363)

International sanctions   117 For example, Milošević’s son, Marko, who carved out a dominant position in the cigarette-­smuggling business under sanctions, reportedly continued business in collaboration with Italian organized crime figures, clandestinely shipping cigarettes from Montenegro through Italy into western Europe. A perverse negative feedback effect of the sanctions was that the same smuggling channels that helped Serbia get around the sanctions turned to dumping smuggled cigarettes inside the country (Naylor 1999: 363). In the year following the sanctions, the government estimated that it was losing almost 20 percent of its potential budget revenue to the cigarette-­smuggling trade. In 2002, Serbian tax authorities estimated that about half of the country’s financial transactions were being made via illegal channels (Cvijanović 2002). In 2003, Belgrade-­based Western bankers estimated that only 30–40 percent of trade in the country was legal (Jansson 2003). Part of the reason that sanctions-­busting networks have persisted long after the sanctions period is that once a state goes into the business of sponsoring smuggling to evade sanctions it can be difficult to get out of the business. Nowhere is this more evident than in Montenegro, where the smuggling apparatus built up during sanctions has not only stayed in place but has also continued to grow. As the Financial Times reported in August 2001 “what began as an attempt to circumvent a United Nations trade embargo on Yugoslavia has mushroomed into an international business spreading from the Balkans into Italy and other European Union states” (Forster and Husić 2001). According to German customs investigators, “since 1992, Montenegro has become one gigantic marketplace for smuggled cigarettes” (Forster and Husić 2001). Italian investigators claim that cigarette smuggling accounts for nearly 50 percent of Montenegrin GDP, making it the tiny republic’s most important economic activity. Some estimates suggest that by the end of the 1990s, the Montenegrin government was earning as much as US$700 million annually from the clandestine cigarette trade (Hajdinjak 2002: 26–27, 41). In 1999 it was reported that earnings from smuggling cigarettes and other goods were flowing into a parallel government budget, which was then used to support the official budget (Vuković 1999). In a 365page July 2003 indictment, Milo Đukanović, prime minister of Montenegro since 1991 and president since 1998, was accused by Italian prosecutors of collaborating with Italian crime organizations in smuggling mass quantities of untaxed cigarettes into the European Union (Traynor 2003: 16). Montenegro’s links to the Italian Mafia grew and were cemented during the sanctions period, with some Mafia leaders relocating to the Montenegrin port of Bar in the early 1990s (Vuković 1998). Another related legacy of the sanctions period has been the emergence of a nouveau riche elite. New elite formation in the post-­communist transition process throughout eastern Europe has also involved corruption and crime, but in the western Balkans, the criminalization of the transition was reinforced under conditions of sanctions busting and war profiteering.10 A few brief individual profiles illustrate how sanctions busting provided a mechanism for upward social mobility and criminalized elite formation. In the early 1990s, the Milošević

118   P. Andreas government reportedly gave Vladimir Bokan a monopoly license for clandestinely importing cigarettes into Montenegro (Forster and Husić 2001). In an October 2000 interview, Bokan confessed that he had earned as much as US$10,000 a day from embargo busting and smuggling items such as oil and cigarettes in the 1990s, making him a multimillionaire (five days after this interview, Bokan was gunned down in front of his villa near Athens by two gunmen) (Michas 2002). One of the wealthiest individuals in the Balkans is Stanko “Cane” Subotić, who apparently earned his initial fortune during the sanctions period. The Zagreb weekly Nacional describes Subotić as the “European king of cigarette smuggling.” He allegedly got his start as a tailor in Belgrade boutiques owned by the sanctions-­busting tycoon Bokan, and in the early 1990s, he became a leading figure in the underground economy when war broke out and sanctions were imposed. Subotić reportedly spent the years under sanctions setting up a vast regional cigarette-­smuggling and distribution network in close collaboration with Montenegrin Prime Minister Milo Đukanović and Serbian secret police chief Jovica Stanišić (Babić 2000; Pukanić 2001). In Serbia, the most successful entrepreneurs to emerge from the 1990s were those with close ties to the regime who were given informal monopolies, including in the business of sanctions evasion (author interview with Milko Štimac 2003). Those who made fortunes from sanctions busting and other illicit activities during the Milošević years have successfully used their financial power to protect their illicit gains. This has been facilitated by the fact that the competitiveness of the new political parties requires financing and that there are few alternatives to turn to for funding. A 2004 report from the Sofia-­based Center for Democracy observes that “former criminals and organized crime lords have become the top business class in post-­Milošević Serbia. They own banks, newspapers and TV channels, import and export companies and supermarket chains, and are among the main financiers of political parties” (Center for the Study of Democracy 2004: 13). The most difficult political challenge in post-­Milošević Serbia has been breaking the close symbiosis between the state and organized crime that was nurtured by sanctions and war during the 1990s. The seriousness of the problem was most dramatically exposed by the March 2003 assassination of Serbian Prime Minister Zoran Đinđić. The alleged leader of the assassination plot is Milorad Luković (“Legija”) and his so-­called Zemun clan, a well-­known Belgrade criminal group specializing in the smuggling of drugs, cigarettes, and oil (Drenča and Šunter 2003). The power of Luković and his associates can be traced back to the Milošević era, when crime, business, and the state security apparatus became closely linked in the effort to evade international sanctions and support the wars in the 1990s. Luković, a former French foreign legionnaire and commander of the “Red Berets” special unit within the Serbian Ministry of the Interior, had retired from state service into criminal enterprise while retaining ties to the security apparatus. Luković and Belgrade’s criminal underworld played an important role in Đinđić’s rise to power and removal of Milošević. Luković met with Đinđić in October 2000 days before Milošević was ousted, and, according to Đinđić,

International sanctions   119 Luković agreed to disobey any Milošević order to shoot opposition supporters converging on Belgrade from across the country on 5 October. He and other key leaders in the state security apparatus kept their promise (Griffiths 2003). Moreover, Luković’s men also assisted in June 2001 with Milošević’s deportation (Jansson and Wagstyle 2003: 1). Some of Serbia’s leading crime groups, having abandoned their former patron and sided with Đinđić, had been given an implicit amnesty after Milošević’s capture and extradition. However, facing pressure from the international community and pragmatically accepting the need for reform to secure much-­needed foreign aid, Đinđić had started to crack down on organized crime figures – including individuals who had assisted his rise to power (LeBor 2003). Some observers have therefore cynically described the assassination as a “small killing among friends” (author interview with former judge 2003). Loosening the entrenched ties between the state security apparatus and criminal enterprise in Serbia remains a daunting task for Đinđić’s successors. As the International Crisis Group concludes, in order to become a stable state, Serbia must undergo the transition “from the Milošević-era criminalized state to a more normal society” (International Crisis Group 2004: i-­ii).

Conclusions Tracing the criminalizing consequences of sanctions contributes to the larger effort to broaden the sanctions debate and better understand the effects of sanctions across time and place. It also helps to include sanctions evasion within the broader study of transnational crime and the illicit side of the global economy, which has received insufficient attention in the study of security governance. Placing the unintended criminalizing effects of sanctions and their legacy front and center in the analysis highlights dynamics that are typically missing or under-­explored in the scholarly literature and policy debates on sanctions. Although it is often recognized that sanctions are undermined by circumvention, too rarely are the political, economic, and societal criminalizing consequences fully acknowledged and critically evaluated. Bridging the study of sanctions and transnational crime, I have developed an analytical framework (summarized in Table 5.1) identifying and classifying the potential domestic and regional criminalizing effects of sanctions, both during and after sanctions, and evaluated these effects through a detailed examination of the FRY case. The experience of sanctions evasion in the FRY closely fits the patterns of political, economic, and societal criminalization identified and categorized in Table 5.1. Although a case study has inherent explanatory limitations, it nevertheless offers some important general lessons that are relevant to the broader sanctions debate. First, moving beyond asking whether sanctions work and assessing their humanitarian consequences, the evidence presented in this chapter suggests the utility of bringing a more criminological perspective to the study of sanctions. Sanctions reflect an effort to manipulate the vulnerabilities that come from economic interdependence, but sanctions can unintentionally foster clandestine forms of interdependence that enable adaptation and evasion.

120   P. Andreas As we have seen in the FRY case, sanctions can create incentives and opportunities for the targeted regime to co-­opt, empower, and ally with those local and transnational actors that have the greatest connections and skills in smuggling. Although underground economies are typically thought of as operating outside of state controls, the dynamics of sanctions evasion traced in this chapter reveal the extent to which underground economic activity can be state sponsored and organized. This chapter also points to the importance of geographically extending the focus of analysis to include an evaluation of the criminalizing repercussions of sanctions for neighboring countries. The typical focus in the sanctions literature on “senders” and “targets” pays far too little attention to third parties and the regional context within which sanctions take place (but see Doxey 2002; Khadiagla 1999; Romaniuk 2003; and Rowe 2001). As we have seen, the criminalizing consequences of sanctions can have significant regional ripple effects. Equally important, just as the analysis of sanctions should be extended geographically for a region-­wide perspective, it should also be extended temporally. It is striking that the sanctions debate has so little to say about the aftermath and legacy of sanctions, including the criminalized residue that may be left over from sanctions. Drawing greater attention to the negative unintended criminalizing effects of sanctions does not imply that sanctions should never be used as a mechanism of security governance, or that concerns over criminalization should trump all other considerations. However, it does suggest that this concern should be brought more centrally into the design, implementation, and evaluation of sanctions. Largely in response to the experiences of the 1990s in places such as the FRY, there has been a push in recent years to fine-­tune and more sharply focus sanctions to reduce their negative consequences. The findings in this chapter suggest that this reassessment and re-­tooling of sanctions mechanisms should also include more self-­conscious efforts to minimize the criminalizing effects of sanctions. In this regard, it should be stressed that comprehensive sanctions are likely to generate much more criminalized collateral damage than more narrowly and selectively targeted sanctions. As Mack and Khan point out, “in denying target regimes the black-­market opportunities provided by comprehensive sanctions, smart sanctions reduce perverse incentives for elite members to benefit from sanctions” (Mack and Khan 2004: 117). Targeted sanctions such as aviation bans, travel bans for regime members and their families and close associates, freezing of personal overseas assets of regime leaders, and diplomatic isolation and denial of accreditation, are far less likely to have serious criminalizing effects. Even in those cases involving black-­market substitution (such as using fraudulent documents in response to a travel ban), this does not have broad criminalizing repercussions. At the same time, it should be recognized that some targeted sanctions have more criminalizing repercussions than others. And indeed, some targeted sanctions – particularly commodity sanctions such as arms embargoes – can still have enormous criminalizing consequences, even if less so than the comprehensive sanctions applied in cases such as the FRY.

International sanctions   121

Notes   1 This chapter is adapted, with permission, from Peter Andreas, “Criminalizing Consequences of Sanctions: Embargo Busting and its Legacy,” International Studies Quarterly (2005) 49: 335–360.   2 There is no consensus in the literature on the use and definition of the term “underground economy,” but for my purposes here I am mostly interested in those underground economic activities related to the evasion of sanctions, which largely involves some form of smuggling.   3 Partial sanctions were later imposed on the FRY during the Kosovo conflict but will not be examined here due to space limitations.   4 See the special issue of Problems of Post-­Communism (May/June 2004) focusing on transnational crime and conflict in the Balkans.   5 This is reflected, for example, in the extensive sanctions bibliography compiled by Mikael Eriksson, Department of Peace and Conflict Research, Uppsala University, 2002.   6 For example, Part IV of the Stockholm Process Report provides an extended discussion of evasion problems.   7 A US-­provided and maintained satellite system linked SAMCOMM with the New York-­based UN sanctions committee and enabled customs agents at border posts to check cargo documents and curb use of falsified or forged paperwork (see Cortright and Lopez 2000: 69).   8 The underground economy made up an estimated 23.7 percent of the Yugoslav economy in 1991, but then mushroomed in size under sanctions (Minić 1993: 27).   9 Roughly 800 of the 2,300 customs officials in the country came from Bačka Palanka (Dobbs 2000: A32). 10 On the creation of new elites during the Milošević era, see Antonić (2002).

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6 Unintended consequences of measures to counter the financing of terrorism1 Thomas J. Biersteker

Introduction Since the attacks of 11 September 2001, a global regime has emerged to counter the financing of terrorism. It was one of the few areas in which the Bush administration actively supported, participated in, and led the construction of a global multilateral effort – albeit one in which it provided the core leadership and the intelligence information that propelled it. In a striking departure from its initial (summer of 2001) opposition to multilateral efforts to strengthen targeted financial sanctions and the Financial Action Task Force’s (FATF ) global anti money-­ laundering regime, the Bush administration turned completely around on the issue, making anti terrorist financing measures (CFT) an important part of its metaphorical global “war” on terrorism.

The system and its evolution In many important respects, the United States succeeded in effectively exporting to the rest of the world the financial regulatory system originally developed under the authority of the US Treasury Department’s Office of Foreign Asset Control (OFAC). OFAC has long maintained lists (or designations) of specially designated individuals or corporate entities engaged in narcotics trafficking, terrorism and, after 11 September, in global terrorism. It informs banks and other financial institutions that their obligations to their clients are secondary to their enforcement of sanctions against individuals engaged in acts proscribed by governmental authorities, and that they should freeze or block financial transactions by those designated. It provides identifying information to financial institutions sufficient to enable them to act quickly and effectively in freezing assets. And it has an enforcement capacity and can impose severe penalties on financial institutions that violate its directives. The global regulatory system that has been created was given international legal backing by the United Nations through a series of UN Security Council resolutions (UNSCRs). UNSCR 1267 pre-­dated the 11 September 2001 attacks by nearly two years and created the Al Qaida/Taliban Sanctions Committee (following the al Qaeda attacks on US embassies in 1998). It called upon the Taliban regime to

128   T.J. Biersteker extradite Osama bin Laden and associates for prosecution in the embassy bombings. UNSCR 1368 effectively legitimated the multilateral intervention in Afghanistan, after the Taliban regime refused to turn over the leaders of al Qaeda in September 2001. UNSCR 1373, also passed in September 2001, required all UN member states to criminalize the provision of financial support to groups or individuals engaged in committing acts of terrorism and established reporting procedures for all countries and criteria for monitoring their implementation of the terms of the resolution. UNSCR 1535 in March 2004 created the Counter Terrorism Executive Directorate (CTED) to institutionalize the effort. Subsequent resolutions have updated the mandate for the CTED and begun to address procedural concerns raised by Member states prompted largely by law suits in European courts that argued that the UNSC was violating terms of European human rights conventions (Watson Institute Targeted Sanctions Project 2006). UN initiatives have been reinforced and extended by the work of the Financial Action Task Force, which added nine special recommendations on terrorist financing for financial institutions worldwide to its existing 40 recommendations on money laundering. FATF-­style regional bodies (FSRBs) have also been used to facilitate the effort. The World Bank and IMF have been involved in assessment and evaluation efforts to assist countries with the design and implementation of CFT measures. Groups of major banks like the Wolfsberg Group have taken voluntary measures and recommended improvements to the emerging global regulatory regime. Meetings of the Egmont Group of financial intelligence units of different countries provide the opportunity for financial regulators to share experiences in implementing global standards, thereby facilitating more formal aspects of cooperation such as the exchange of financial intelligence.

Re-­regulation leading to a form of security governance All of this activity constituted a striking departure from the global movement toward financial deregulation during the final decades of the twentieth century, and we have experienced what Peter Romaniuk and I have described elsewhere as a form of “financial re-­regulation” (Biersteker 2004) prior to the movement toward greater regulation in the aftermath of the global financial and economic crisis beginning in 2008. Indeed, it is not an exaggeration to say that a new regime has been formed in this issue area, where the principles (widely held beliefs about the utility of following the movement of money; norms (obligations arising under formal (UN) and informal (FATF ) initiatives); rules (the specific regulatory actions to be taken and best practices to be pursued); and decision-­making procedures, whether they are manifest in global, regional or specialist organizations, are institutionalized in multiple fora.2 Beneath this web of institutions are a wide range of bilateral trans-­governmental networks on terrorist financing, which have also reinforced and supplemented the regime. This is an important illustration of security governance, as defined by Christopher Daase and Cornelius Friesendorf in the theoretical chapter that motivates this volume (Friesendorf and Daase this volume). It involves international organ-

Measures to counter terrorist financing   129 izations (the UN, FATF, IMF and World Bank), non-­state actors (private financial institutions and informal groupings like the Egmont and Wolfsberg groups), and networked, transnational problem solving structures (the designations process, financial intelligence sharing, informal efforts to coordinate and improve the effectiveness of the regime, such as the 1267 Monitoring Team and the Watson Institute Targeting Terrorist Finances research group). It is an illustration of their third type of security governance, or security governance with government (Friesendorf and Daase this volume).

Intended consequences and effectiveness of the regime The global regime to counter the financing of terrorism (CFT regime) has several major objectives. First, it is intended to degrade the capacity of individuals and groups from committing acts of terrorism. It effectively closes down one of the avenues used historically by al Qaeda for transferring funds across international borders – formal sector financial institutions – something well-­documented in the 9-11 Commission report (9-11 Commission 2004). Presumably, anything that would make the transfer of funds more difficult should reduce the capacity of an individual or group interested in committing an act of terrorism. The amount of money available for the commitment of an act of terrorism also matters. Not only is there a direct correlation between the operational cost of an act of terrorism and the lethality of the attack (see Figure 6.1), but there is also trial testimony from one of the perpetrators of the 1993 World Trade Center bombing to suggest that had more money been available, the size of the explosion would have been larger (Biersteker and Eckert 2008). Second, the regime is intended to deter individuals from contributing to charitable organizations which might divert their funds to support the commitment of an act of terrorism. The practices of diverting funds from charities and actively soliciting funds from wealthy individuals were actively developed during the US-­backed campaign to support the Mujahideen in their struggle against the Soviets in Afghanistan during the 1980s (Coll 2004: 186, 102). By designating a number of prominent Islamic charitable organizations associated with al Qaeda and thereby heightening awareness of potential funds diversion, the regime is intended to encourage individuals to practice increased diligence with regard to their charitable giving. Third, by requiring financial institutions (a) to monitor their accounts for designated individuals and groups and (b) to retain records of financial transactions, the regime is intended to enhance the capacity of law enforcement and intelligence agencies in reconstructing support networks following an act of terrorism. Financial intelligence is among the most reliable forms of intelligence. With the active cooperation of private financial institutions, investigators have been able to reconstruct support networks following an attack, often invaluable in pursuing litigation in courts of law (Levitt and Jacobson 2008: 40, 56). There is also a potential preventive effect, as clues to broader support networks are often provided by financial intelligence. Although it is difficult to prove without access

130   T.J. Biersteker 10,000 9/01, NY/DC

1,000

Fatalities

8/98, Dar es Salaam/Nairobi 10/02, Bali

3/04, Madrid

100 7/05, London

11/03, Istanbul

10 2/93, New York

1 $10,000

$100,000 Funds used

$1,000,000

Figure 6.1 Relationship between operational costs and lethality of al-Qaeda-related acts of terrorism.

to classified information, individuals familiar with financial intelligence routinely assert that this is perhaps the most valuable aspect of the CFT regime. Fourth and finally, the CFT regime has important political utility for policy makers. Following an act of terrorism, policy makers responsible for security want to use anything and everything at their disposal to lower the probability that a comparable act of terrorism recurs. Freezing the assets of supporters of terrorism, and thereby degrading the capacity of groups to commit acts of terrorism, is one of the few instruments policy practitioners have at their immediate disposal. It is certainly not the only instrument, but like targeted financial sanctions, it is one which is increasingly utilized.

Effects and effectiveness of the regime It is one thing to describe the emergence of the global CFT regime and its underlying logic. It is quite another to determine whether the regime has achieved its principal goals and objectives. It is difficult to assert with great confidence that the global CFT regime has had a major impact on curtailing the financing of terrorism, although it may well have diverted it into other channels. As Sue Eckert and I argued in our 2007 book, Countering the Financing of Terrorism, a global regime has been constructed to prevent the use of formal sector financial institutions by groups engaged in committing acts of terrorism, as well as to prevent

Measures to counter terrorist financing   131 them from moving funds across national borders. In many ways, however, this is like fighting the last war. We know that of the US$400,000–500,000 used to finance the attacks of 11 September, nearly US$300,000 passed through US formal sector financial institutions (Roth et al. 2004: 3). There was also a substantial trans-­border movement of funds. However, most of the funds used to finance subsequent attacks by global terrorists allegedly affiliated with or inspired by al Qaeda (in Madrid and London) did not pass through formal sector financial institutions. The attacks were financed by a variety of small-­scale criminal activities by self-­supporting groups and were not reliant on significant trans-­ border movement of funds (Biersteker and Eckert 2008: 292). It is probable that groups like al Qaeda have learned from the experience of having funds in accounts in US financial institutions frozen after the embassy bombings in 1998. They certainly did not attempt to store significant amounts of funds in US financial institutions following the initial freezing of their accounts. Yet, it is interesting to note the extent to which they continued to use US financial institutions to move and store the smaller amounts that were used in the attacks of 11 September (9-11 Commission 2004: 172, 185–186). Given their experience in 1998, and their ability to observe the global institutional response to the attacks of 11 September, it is likely that they “learned” that it would be unwise to rely heavily on formal sector financial institutions in the future. At the same time, they were so disrupted and in such disarray following the attacks on their base in Afghanistan in the fall of 2001, that they would have had difficulty using them in any event. While acknowledging the limitations of the existing CFT regime, it has probably made the commitment of major acts of terrorism more difficult (more costly, more complicated, and possibly less extensive in their degree of destruction). It is certainly more difficult for the leadership of al Qaeda to control centrally acts of terrorism committed in its name, and there is evidence from Ayman al-­Zawahiri (al Qaeda’s alleged number two) that financial transfers have become more difficult. According to a letter sent from al-­Zawahiri to Abu Musab al-­Zarqawi, dated 9 July 2005 (released by the Office of the Director of National Intelligence on 11 October 2005), “many of the lines [of financial support] have been cut off. Because of this, we need a payment while new lines are opened.”3

Unintended consequences of the regime The CFT regime has not only had a limited degree of effectiveness, it has also produced a number of unintended consequences of varying types and degrees. Following Baert, Daase and Friesendorf define unintended consequences as an “effect of purposive social action which is different from what was wanted at the moment of carrying out the act, and the want of which was a reason for carrying it out” (Daase and Friesendorf this volume). Some of these unintended consequences are arguably normatively positive for global governance, while others could potentially undermine the legitimacy of existing institutions. In the language of economics, we can describe these consequences as positive and negative externalities.

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Positive externalities Although the details vary according to the issue area, the institutional infrastructure established to address terrorist financing – including the use of lists, the creation of financial intelligence units, the informing of financial institutions of their obligations to block selected transfers, and the creation of new norms that financial institutions should know their customers and report suspicious transactions – could also be used for other regulatory efforts. First, they are useful in initiatives aimed at money laundering. They can be used to counter the operations of transnational criminal organizations, and they can be used to block the inappropriate appropriation of public funds for private purposes by corrupt officials (or politically exposed persons). Second, the institutional infrastructure created to counter the financing of terrorism can also be called upon to implement multilateral UN targeted financial sanctions (such as their recent use against both North Korea and Iran over their violations of international norms related to nuclear proliferation). Third, the institutional mechanisms could be used to curtail tax evasion, if political will existed among states to make use of the financial infrastructure for these purposes. During 2008 and 2009, in the midst of the global financial and economic crises, countries like Switzerland and Liechtenstein faced strong pressure from Germany and the United States to assist the latter with tax evasion investigations, undermining the decades-­long institution of banking secrecy. These are all illustrations of positive externalities of the CFT regime. These are arguably new global “goods” that would not likely have been attainable without the political impetus (and the extraordinarily strong political will) to act in a concerted manner to counter the financing of terrorism. As indicated at the beginning of this chapter, the Bush administration was moving in the opposite direction in the summer of 2001, given its ideological predisposition to de-­regulate, not to re-­ regulate finance. Once this global CFT architecture was constructed, however, it enabled the use of the institutions, the practices, and the emerging networks for other potentially positive goods. The institutions and practices associated with the new regime were not necessarily intended to be used more broadly by the policy initiators, but they provided the basis for further institutional application and development in each of these areas. They facilitated global governance in new domains, if policy makers chose to utilize and develop them.

Negative externalities At the same time, these potential benefits have not come without some costs. First, the emergent regime has increased operational costs for financial institutions, many of whom have been required to purchase name recognition software, to create new internal procedures to know their customers, and to train their staff to block or freeze individual transactions. There are a great many “false hits” by automated name detection programs, particularly when designating agencies fail to provide sufficiently detailed identifying information. These are probably

Measures to counter terrorist financing   133 examples of consequences that were contemplated (however briefly) and considered a “calculated risk” worth taking, when the measures were first imposed. A second unintended consequence that was probably given less consideration when the measures were first promulgated was the effect this might have on levels of Muslim charitable giving. The focus of regulatory authorities on the potential diversion of funds from charitable organizations as a means to finance terrorism, combined with increased levels of surveillance and the active prosecution of individuals and charitable organizations under new terrorist financing laws, have had a deterrent effect on the financing of terrorism, making individuals more cognizant and wary of the potential diversion of their funds (a desired or intended outcome). In this sense, they have had an intended deterrent effect. The increased scrutiny of charitable giving has, however, also produced a decline in the levels of giving to Muslim charities more generally (an unintended and undesirable outcome from the perspective of the policy initiator). Fears that there would be a decline in charitable contributions to Muslim charities have been realized, at least in the United States (MacFarquhar 2006). This development could also have important longer-­term implications for efforts to address the root causes of terrorism. A third unintended consequence of the measures emerged from the fact that targeted financial sanctions against individuals or corporate entities are not always as targeted (or limited) as intended by policy initiators. The designation (or listing) of the entire al Barakaat group of companies in the fall of 2001 led not only to the freezing of the assets of some corporate entities engaged in transferring funds to groups committing acts of terrorism, but it also led to severe disruption of fund transfers to a large proportion of the Somali population. US policy makers were under extreme pressure from the White House to issue new designations at the time and were either ignorant of, or did not care much about, the consequences of the designations. Al Barakaat was centrally engaged in the provision of private remittances to Somalia, and its designation resulted in an imposition of what was effectively a comprehensive financial sanction on much of the economic activity of the country (dependent as it was at the time on private remittances for much of the livelihood and economic activity) (Biersteker and Eckert 2008: 292). In this instance, the political objective of appearing to be doing something (making additional designations) overrode concerns about collateral damage to the larger population. The broad designation was rescinded within weeks, once the full scope of its unintended consequences was realized by policy makers. Fourth, and most importantly, the imposition of sanctions against individuals has led to a number of legal challenges in national and regional courts – most notably the Kadi case before the European Court of Justice (ECJ) (ECJ 2008) – that raise the prospect that the UN Security Council is acting in violation of core elements of global human rights norms. It is safe to say that the Security Council never fully thought through the implications of having Member states move from sanctioning other Member states to sanctioning individuals and corporate entities, when it first introduced targeted sanctions in the early 1990s. Concerns among Member states about the consequences for individual rights are increasing and could potentially

134   T.J. Biersteker lead to a growing reluctance to continue to participate in the global effort to maintain the freeze on the assets of listed individuals and groups, or to add new names to the lists (Watson Institute 2006: 6). These human rights and due process concerns could ultimately undercut multilateral (or bilateral) cooperation on intelligence sharing and other counter-­terrorism issues, and hence it has far broader implications for the global counter-­terrorism effort more generally. They could also weaken the instrument of multilateral targeted sanctions more generally, a policy instrument used not only for countering terrorism, but also for enforcing human rights norms, bolstering negotiated peace settlements, pursuing criminal investigations, and countering nuclear proliferation. This is an example of an unintended consequence that was probably never anticipated. While it is not at the level of “blowback” (Johnson 2000: 7), it has significant negative consequences that could undermine not only global cooperation on counter-­terrorism, but the very legitimacy of the international institutions engaged in its legalization (most notably, the UN Security Council).

Conclusions The construction of a global counter-­terrorist financing regime is an illustration of Daase and Friesendorf ’s third type of security governance, or governance with government. The policies have complex effects on both the policy initiator and others, including the targets. Rather than achieving the value attached by the initiator in a consistent way, the emerging regime seems to have both positive and negative consequences, not just positive, negative, or neutral effects as seen from the vantage point of the initiator. Finally, rather than fulfilling original intent, being frustrated, or neither (as hypothesized in Daase and Friesendorf ’s Table I.1), it appears that the unintended consequences are best characterized as both – fulfilling some of the policy initiator’s original intent, as well as frustrating some of it, especially when the policy is considered over time. These conclusions have implications for Daase and Friesendorf ’s useful and provocative observations about the analysis of unintended consequences. First, the idea of unintended consequences presumes that policy is rationally designed and constructed for positive social purposes. In an ideal world, perhaps this is the case, but while rational intentions and design are always present among policy practitioners, policy measures are rarely designed or implemented as intended. There is always a strong element of the unanticipated, and unintended consequences are the norm in policy formation and implementation. Second, the rationalist assumption that something was clearly intended by the policy maker also needs to be interrogated further. Policy itself is often the outcome of bargaining, compromise, and contingency. Daase and Friesendorf could elaborate further on intentionality and how it is possible to discern or identify the intentions of the policy initiator. Third, policy is never constructed in a vacuum – rather, it always emerges out of a pre-­existing context of legal precedents, institutional missions, conceptions of world order and purpose, and individual drives and creativity. It is also driven

Measures to counter terrorist financing   135 (either weakly or powerfully) by political drives and motivations. The CFT regime would never have emerged without the political imperative to do whatever was possible to counter terrorism immediately after the attacks of 11 September. As such, it was undertaken with unusual drive and will, as well as with unusual haste, to give the appearance of doing something, even if it was not necessarily effective. Indeed, it was in the rush to show policy progress in November of 2001 that many of the problematic designations took place, the very listings that now threaten, through legal challenges, the continuing legitimacy of the regime. These contextual elements need to be considered when evaluating the unintended consequences of any policy initiatives. Finally, exploring the concept of unintended consequences and trying to apply it to the counter-­terrorist financing regime is useful in that it illustrates well the complexity of the subject and the range of possibilities involved. Daase and Friesendorf ’s examples of unintended consequences are many, rich, and varied. They present many useful categorizations, to which one might be added. When thinking about unintended consequences, it is always useful to put oneself in the shoes of the policy maker, as Hans Morgenthau advised his students of international politics. From the vantage point of the policy initiator, there may be some unintended consequences that are simply accepted or taken on as calculated risks. This may be considered a “category one” type of unintended consequence, and in the CFT regime, the additional costs to financial institutions would be a good example. A “category two” type of unintended consequence would be one about which the policy maker does not care very much or has decided for some reason really does not matter. The al Barakaat example might be this kind of unintended consequence. Category three might include those consequences that the policy maker believes can ultimately be managed in some way (such as the decline in charitable giving), while “category four” type consequences might be those consequences that came as a complete surprise and were never anticipated by the policy maker. The human rights and due process concerns described above might fit into this category. “Category five” type consequences would include examples of blowback. Even here, however, there may be a range of types of blowback, from the example of human rights concerns creating defections from the emergent regime in the case of countering the financing of terrorism to the more extreme form of blowback provided by the example of US support for the Mujahideen against the Soviet Union in the 1980s that ultimately provided the basis for the emergence of al Qaeda itself.

Notes 1 I would like to acknowledge and thank Georg von Kalckreuth for his excellent research assistance and astute suggestions for revisions to this chapter. 2 Stephen D. Krasner defines regimes as, “sets of implicit or explicit principles, norms, rules and decision-­making procedures, around which actors’ expectations converge in a given area of international relations” (Krasner 1982: 186). 3 Translated version of a letter between two senior al Qaeda leaders, Ayman al-­Zawahiri and Abu Musab al-­Zarqawi, that was obtained during counter-­terrorism operations in

136   T.J. Biersteker Iraq. The letter is dated 9 July 2005, but the contents were released by the Office of the Director of National Intelligence on 11 October 2005, only after assurances that no ongoing intelligence or military operations would be affected by making this document public. The relevant paragraph follows: The brothers informed me that you suggested to them sending some assistance. Our situation since Abu al-­Faraj is good by the grace of God, but many of the lines have been cut off. Because of this, we need a payment while new lines are being opened. So, if you’re capable of sending a payment of approximately one hundred thousand, we’ll be very grateful to you. (GlobalSecurity.org 2005)

Bibliography 9-11 Commission (2004) Report of the National Commission on Terrorist Attacks upon the United States, Washington, DC: Government Printing Office. Biersteker, T.J. with Peter Romaniuk (2004) “The Return of the State? Financial Re-­ regulation in the Pursuit of National Security after September 11” in J. Tirman (ed.) Maze of Fear, New York: The New Press. Biersteker, T.J. and S.E. Eckert (eds.) (2008) Countering the Financing of Terrorism, London: Routledge. Coll, S. (2004) Ghost Wars: The Secret History of the CIA, Afghanistan, and Bin Laden, from the Soviet Invasion to September 10, 2001, New York: Penguin. ECJ (2008) “Case C-­402/05, ECJ Judgment of 3 September. GlobalSecurity.org (2005) “Letter from al-­Zawahiri to al-­Zarqawi.” Online, available at: www.globalsecurity.org/security/library/report/2005/zawahiri-­zarqawi-letter_9jul2005. htm (accessed 10 December 2006). Johnson, C. (2000) Blowback: The Costs and Consequences of American Empire, New York: Henry Holt. Krasner, S.D. (1982) “Structural Causes and Regime Consequences: Regimes as Intervening Variables,” International Organization, 36(2): 186. Levitt, M. and M. Jacobson (2008) The Money Trail: Finding, Following and Freezing Terrorist Finances, Policy Focus #89, Washington, DC: Washington Institute for Near East Policy. MacFarquhar, N. (2006) “Fears of Inquiry Dampen Giving by U.S. Muslims,” New York Times, 31 October. Roth, J., D. Greenberg and S. Wille (2004) Monograph on Terrorist Financing (Staff Report to the Commission), National Commission on Terrorist Attacks upon the United States Washington, DC: Government Printing Office. Watson Institute Targeted Sanctions Project (2006) “Strengthening Targeted Sanctions through Fair and Clear Procedures,” white paper prepared by the Watson Institute Targeted Sanctions Project, Brown University, for the governments of Switzerland, Germany, and Sweden, presented at the United Nations, 30 March, available as UN document A/60/887-S/2006/331.

7 Neither seen nor heard The unintended consequences of counter-trafficking and countersmuggling Benjamin S. Buckland Introduction In mid-October 2001, during a routine patrol of the waters close to Ashmore Reef, an island off Australia’s northern coast, the Australian Navy intercepted a vessel carrying an estimated 100 people. The vessel, known officially only as SIEV (suspected illegal entry vessel) 5, was held offshore for five days before being escorted back into Indonesian territorial waters. As for what occurred after that, the Australian government denies having any knowledge of what happened, either to the vessel, or to those on board. It is likely that SIEV 5 returned to Indonesia and made landfall somewhere on West Papua (Howard 2003: 41). The story of SIEV 5 is, in many respects, unremarkable and it went largely unreported in the Australian and international media, concerned as they were at the time with the then recent events of 11 September 2001. The story of SIEV 5 is, however, worth recounting because, in its apparent simplicity, it illustrates many of the points that I will make below concerning the consequences of counter-trafficking and counter-smuggling operations. First, it is impossible to know who exactly was on board. Were they asylum seekers, trafficked persons, economic migrants, terrorists, or some combination of the above? Second, it is impossible to know what the consequences of SIEV 5 being sent back towards Indonesia actually were: did those on board return home, were they persecuted on arrival there, did the boat sink, did they remain in Indonesia, did they live happily ever after? The Australian government claimed not to know. All that is clear is that they were some of the many thousands of people smuggled or trafficked across international borders every year and that what happened to them was a consequence of Australian action to protect its northern border. Two points are important here. First, to state that a consequence was unintended is to state only that the end result was not the express purpose of the action. It does not mean, however, that the result is unfavorable or undesirable. Taking the position of the Australian government, if we assume for a moment that those on board SIEV 5 were refugees, preventing them from accessing Australia’s protection regime was perhaps a desirable consequence (given the antiasylum seeker rhetoric of the government of the day). If they ended up accessing

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protection in a third country, that too was probably a desirable outcome. If they were returned home and persecuted, that was certainly a negative consequence. Other eventualities might have been viewed as completely neutral. The second key point is that, while we can speculate, as I have done in the paragraph above, intention is, in practice, almost impossible to ascribe. Discourse analysis is one possible solution to the problem but here the researcher is presented with a number of competing claims regarding the goals and intention of a specific policy, and establishing a hierarchy of such claims is an ultimately futile exercise. One may also look for the origins of specific policies, in policy papers, in agreements or in legislation. But here one finds a chicken and egg problem. If counter-trafficking measure A is mandated by an international agreement, having appeared a year earlier in white paper C on preventing undocumented migrants, and finally made law by legislation B, how then is one to classify it? And how are we to define its intentions? Because of these difficulties, I largely bracket the issue of intention. “Side effect” may be a better term but for convenience and, because “side effect” is a term with problems of its own, I continue to use the phrase “unintended consequence” in the text that follows. The two points above, however, must remain constant caveats. In the first section below, I suggest that the path dependency engendered by the security focus of counter-smuggling and counter-trafficking regimes has led to unintended consequences for a number of different categories of migrants. I suggest that the identity of those aboard SIEV 5 was of little concern to the Australian authorities because the security frame governing their actions allowed little or no room for the consideration of consequences in other arenas: for human rights, for refugees, or for labor, to name just a few. I suggest that the security frame chosen for the governance of counter-smuggling and countertrafficking regimes has acted almost as a set of blinkers. These blinkers not only make consequences in other arenas more or less inevitable, but also make governments largely blind to them or, at the very least, unconcerned with how they play out. Talking about the negative consequences of migration management policies for refugees and asylum seekers, Guy Goodwin-Gill has argued that “certain actors adapt the rules in an instrumentalist approach more inclined to promote short-term political goals over long-term social objectives” (Goodwin-Gill 1996: 1). I suggest here that the division is much deeper than a simple cleavage between short and long-term objectives. I argue that by choosing a security frame through which to view counter-trafficking and smuggling activities, both short and long-term social objectives – such as the promotion and protection of human rights or the protection of migrant workers – have been largely excluded from all but a discursive role. In the second section of this chapter, I look in detail at specific consequences of counter-trafficking and counter-smuggling operations. Here, however, it is worth making a further caveat regarding the limits of analysis. The US Government Accountability Office (GAO) argued in 2006 that

Counter-trafficking and counter-smuggling 139 There is little or no evidence to indicate the extent to which different types of efforts – such as prosecuting traffickers, abolishing prostitution, increasing viable economic opportunities, or sheltering or reintegrating victims – impact the level of trafficking or the extent to which rescued victims are being re-trafficked. (GAO 2006: 25) In making this argument, the GAO alerts us to a broader problem for scholars wishing to assess counter-trafficking and smuggling efforts. Not only is it difficult to assess the results of counter-trafficking, as the GAO point out, but there are also very few technical tools available for those assessing the negative consequences of such action (Dottridge 2007: 11). Because of such limitations, I look here at only the most obvious effects of counter-trafficking and smuggling on a few groups of people: on refugees, on migrants more generally, and on trafficked people in particular. Security governance is about multiple levels of cooperation between different security actors. Not limited to so-called “coercive” actors, such as the police or the military, the concept of security governance used here includes other state actors, such as the judiciary, and non-state actors, such as NGOs, and IOs. The concept distinguishes between inter-service cooperation (at the national level), and two types of international cooperation – that which takes place between the same types of actor (between national police agencies, for example), and that involving cooperation between different actors (between immigration officials and a foreign NGO, for example). It is my argument below that the primacy of security concerns within security governance networks dealing with countertrafficking has led to unintended consequences – mostly in the form of human rights violations – for several categories of migrants. In 2003 the UNHCR wrote that “[anti-trafficking] shall not adversely affect the human rights and dignity of persons, in particular the rights of those who have been trafficked, and of migrants, internally-displaced persons, refugees and asylum seekers” (UNHCR cited in Dottridge 2007: 1). This statement was made only two years after the Trafficking Protocol was opened for signature. In making it, the UNHCR clearly recognized the potential for unintended consequences of counter-trafficking. It is time to submit those consequences to greater theoretical and empirical analysis and it is to this that I now turn.

The history and nature of counter-­trafficking governance The priority of counter-trafficking policy has been to arrest, prosecute and punish rather than to protect human rights (Dottridge 2007: 1). But this has not always been the case and in the following short section, I look briefly at the way in which immigration and border management in particular have been increasingly securitized. Of course, to suggest that they have been increasingly securitized is not to argue that security has only recently played a role. Indeed, immigration and security have always overlapped. Systems of selection and control that

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characterize the border management regimes of most developed states have long presumed that the desirable can be distinguished from the undesirable (Adelman 2001: 5). I merely suggest that its role has increased, to the exclusion and detriment of other possible frameworks for understanding and for action. At a theoretical level, the shift towards greater securitization of border management can perhaps be described as a shift from liberal norms of legal frameworks to more politicized practices of sovereign exceptionalism (Hyndman and Mountz 2008: 250). One aspect of this has been a shift from legal discourses of rights to more geopolitical projects based on security: a movement away from talk of human rights, towards talk of security and, in particular, the security of states (Hyndman and Mountz 2008: 251). For borders, this shift in discourse and concurrent preoccupation with sovereign control has resulted in the introduction of new measures that fail to adequately distinguish between different categories of migrants (Brouwer and Kumin 2003: 7). “To a great extent the distinction between refugees, illegal immigrants, drug traffickers and terrorists has become blurred in the public mind and they are all seen to be problems which can only be resolved by stricter border controls” (Farer 1995: 88). Post 9/11, this trend has accelerated and of the two major frameworks for analysis and action – human rights and security – security has been increasingly dominant (Adelman 2001: 5; Léonard 2004: 3). The reasons for this change are multiple. It seems likely that as globalization eats away at the sovereignty of states, they seek to claw it back in areas over which they still exert some control – immigration and border controls being one of the clearest examples (Crépeau and Nakache 2006: 4). The migrant has become representative of all of globalization’s ills, embodying a confluence of threats that encompasses unemployment, terrorism and international crime (Crépeau and Nakache 2006: 4). Didier Bigo argues that security analysis has risen, at least in part, because of its usefulness to a wide range of actors. The prism of security analysis is especially important for politicians, for national and local police organizations, the military police, customs officers, border patrols, secret services, armies, judges, some social services (health care, hospitals, schools), private corporations (bank analysts, providers of technology surveillance, private policing), many journalists (especially from television and the more sensationalist newspapers), and a significant fraction of general public opinion, especially but not only among those attracted to “law and order.” (Bigo cited by Léonard 2004: 2) Its usefulness and political expediency does not, of course, mean that the fit between traditional security and border management is always a good one. To take just one example, in March 2000 a Canadian House of Commons report, Refugee Protection and Border Security: Striking a Balance, connected refugees with security threats. But as detailed analysis by Howard Adelman shows, the

Counter-trafficking and counter-smuggling 141 links between illegal immigration and terrorism are tenuous at best. Entering a state via the refugee stream exposes the claimant to the authorities, to security clearances, and to requests for detailed information. Adelman rightly asks why any terrorist would want to be exposed to such scrutiny and interrogation (Adelman 2001: 11). Hinting at some of the issues I turn to below, Ryszard Cholewinski agrees with Adelman when he argues that, Illegal migrants are often portrayed as carriers of many ills and as the vanguard of a much larger migrant army waiting in the wings to invade and plunder the social welfare systems of affluent European nations. This negative picture, exaggerated frequently in the media and fuelled by political and electoral agendas, inexplicably turns a blind eye to the simple fact that illegal immigrants are human beings possessing fundamental and inalien­ able rights. (Cholewinski 2001: 361) Key to my discussion of unintended consequences is the fact that it has often been assumed that protecting fundamental human rights is the same thing as securing borders and upholding the law. It is not. While the policy instruments required to guarantee state security and to protect human rights may occasionally be the same, they more often require fundamentally different approaches and priorities. The assumption, however, that human rights would naturally flow on from state security is one that permeated the drafting of both the international trafficking and smuggling protocols and it is to this that I now briefly turn. A brief history of the protocols In the late 1990s Italy appealed for an international legal instrument to deal with smuggling of people by sea. Its request was made in response to the increasing number of illegal migrants crossing the Adriatic Sea. It had become increasingly evident, both to Italy and others, that organized crime rings were responsible. Efforts by the Italian government, in concert with the ECOSOC Commission on Crime Prevention and Criminal Justice, resulted in resolution 53/111 of the UN General Assembly (UNGA) of 9 December 1998. This resolution established an ad hoc committee open to all states with the purpose of elaborating a United Nations Convention against Transnational Organized Crime and additional instruments. The subsequent Vienna Process involved 120 states in 11 sessions, culminating in the opening of the convention and its two protocols on the smuggling and trafficking of persons to signature in Palermo, Italy on 15 November 2000. The convention was immediately signed by 125 states, while 81 signed the trafficking protocol, and 79 the smuggling protocol respectively. Given their origins, it is perhaps not surprising then that the Palermo protocols are mostly about transnational organized crime. Human rights are mentioned,

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but they play a distinctly secondary role. Looking at the trafficking protocol for a moment, Article 9(b) does oblige states party to “establish comprehensive policies, programmes and other measures . . . [t]o protect victims of trafficking in persons, especially women and children, from revictimisation.” But the language is non-specific. Where specific protections are mentioned, states are given no hard obligations. In Article 6, for example, where the language points to specific obligations on privacy and identity, the obligation is only to act “to the extent possible.” Referring to physical, psychological and social recovery, states are only asked to “consider” implementing measures. On the subject of remaining in the territory, states are again called only to “consider adopting” relevant legislation (Article 7(1)). Instead of protecting rights directly, they are promoted obliquely through the development of obligations of criminalization. Rights of victims are considered but only really as a function of their usefulness to the state as an instrument of prosecution (Piotrowicz 2007: 282). This pattern is repeated in regional instruments. This is the case in the European Union (EU), where the legal regime covering trafficking and smuggling is well advanced. Since the early 1990s, EU competence on irregular migration has moved from intergovernmental cooperation – both inside and outside of EU structures and including the adoption of many soft law measures – to the comprehensive transfer of asylum and immigration to the community via the Amsterdam Treaty of 1997 (Cholewinski 2001: 362). Early EU progress in the area of immigration cooperation mostly took place as part of the Schengen Implementing Agreement (SIA) of 1990 – originally bringing together only France, Germany and the Benelux states. The limited number of states involved in the Schengen process meant that progress was rapid, and (under Title II, chapters 2 and 3) rules were quickly adopted to cover common procedures for border controls; the list of states whose nationals required a visa; procedures for issuing visas; a common visa format; and rules on who can be refused entry at external borders (Cholewinski 2001: 376). When the SIA was brought into the Community Pillar Title IV/EC at Amsterdam, the council was given powers “on the crossing of external borders of the Member states,” including visas, entry, residence, and repatriation – elements now brought together in Article 63 of the Treaty Establishing the European Community. Like the two Palermo protocols, “EU policy on this subject has been overwhelmingly security-based with minimal attention paid to the protection of important rights in the context of a more comprehensive approach” (Cholewinski 2001: 373). This is clearly evinced by the community’s two main antitrafficking instruments, the 2002 Council Framework Decision (2002/629) and the 2004 Council Directive, both of which are focused on crime fighting and on the establishment of penalties that are “effective, proportionate and dissuasive.” The latter instrument does mention the issue of providing short-term “leave to remain” for trafficked persons but does so only within the context of assistance to prosecutions (Jernow 2009).

Counter-trafficking and counter-smuggling 143 In the broader European context, the Council of Europe (CoE) has recently negotiated a Convention on Action against Trafficking in Human Beings. Using the same basic definition as the trafficking protocol, the treaty’s preamble states that “respect for victims’ ” rights, protection of victims and action to combat trafficking in human beings must be the paramount objectives of the treaty, going on, in Article 5(3), to mandate the promotion of a “Human Rights-based approach” in development and implementation of countertrafficking programs and policies. Unlike the trafficking protocol, it makes mandatory in Article 13 a minimum 30-day reflection period for trafficked persons (before they are deported or asked to participate in legal proceedings). But, like the other international instruments on trafficking and smuggling it still remains largely focused on security at the expense of rights (Piotrowicz 2007: 284). The South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation (SAARC) has also developed binding law on the issue of trafficking, adopting a regional instrument on Preventing and Combating Trafficking in Women and Children on 5 January 2002. But it is an instrument narrow in scope, concerned only with women and children in prostitution. And as for the rest, the majority of what exists is in the domain of soft law, notable examples having been produced by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) (Recommended Principles and Guidelines on Human Rights and Human Trafficking 2002 and Guidelines on International Protection: Membership of a Particular Social Group 2002), the EU/International Organization for Migration (IOM) (Brussels Declaration on Preventing and Combating Trafficking in Human Beings 2002), the Association of South East Asian Nations (ASEAN) (ASEAN Declaration Against Trafficking in Persons, Particularly Women and Children 2004), the CoE (Convention Explanatory Report), the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) (OSCE Action Plan to Combat Trafficking in Human Beings 2003), Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) (ECOWAS Declaration), and the Bali process on People Smuggling, Trafficking in Persons and Related Transnational Crime, begun in 2002. The second half of this chapter deals in detail with the consequences of the security focus I have just described. For the moment it is sufficient to make a few preliminary points. First, and most importantly, is the fact that assumptions about appropriate responses stem from and lead to assumptions about the phenomena themselves. In this case these assumptions are dangerously simplistic. On the side of migrants, the security discourse has largely delimited and collapsed many complex forms of migration into simple discourses about women as victims of crime and migrants as criminals and the bearers of ills from abroad (Berman 2003: 49). As Jacqueline Berman neatly puts it, the positioning of a practice discursively leads inevitably to certain actions and outcomes (Berman 2003: 48). As we will see below, such assumptions are particularly problematic if we accept, as John Salt has argued, that “the rhetoric has run ahead of the research and there is a fundamental lack of hard evidence relating to most aspects of the problem” (Salt 2000: note 4).

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Unintended consequences of counter-­trafficking and smuggling Trafficking discourses invoke a need for security institutions (border guards, police etc.) and thus reassert the (otherwise eroding) role of the state in protecting the border. Criminalization emphasizes the state and its institutions, sustaining and reiterating the privileged position of the state (Berman 2003: 50). In the realm of counter-trafficking and smuggling, state activities may result in unintended consequences both through action and through inaction. Some types of corruption, ignorance and passive facilitation may all be examples of inaction leading to unintended consequences (Piotrowicz 2007: 277). An example of this might be the corrupt consular official, whose rent-seeking behavior leads a migrant to seek assistance from an intermediary (to raise funds or navigate the process more generally), an intermediary who might then seek to traffic them. In the section that follows, I focus mainly on action and, in particular, on interception. Interception can be both “active” and “passive” but in essence refers to measures taken by states outside or on their geographic boundaries, which prevent, interrupt, or stop people without necessary documentation from entering their territory. Active measures can be things like stopping boats (as in the case of SIEV 5), while passive tools are measures such as the posting of immigration officers in departure and transit states. The unintended consequences of interception are varied, as we will see below. Several remarks, however, apply to all those categories of people treated in the following discussion. First, non-nationals have always stood on the periphery of effective human rights protection, whatever the theory (Goodwin-Gill 1999: 2). Second, a lacuna exists between physical spaces of jurisdictional control and areas in which states are willing to assume judicial responsibility (Morris 2003: 51). And last, criteria used to distinguish and differentiate between different groups of migrant often act as little more than an excuse for doing nothing about many other classes of migrant, for ignoring their protection needs entirely (Dottridge 2007: 12). These broad themes in mind, I turn now to a detailed examination of unintended consequences of counter-trafficking and smuggling for several specific groups. Migrants, traffickers, and smugglers The international trafficking and smuggling protocols mandate tighter border controls, operationalized through better document security and management, carrier sanctions (the penalizing of carriers such as airlines and shipping companies for providing passage to inappropriately documented migrants), and improved training and cooperation among border guards and officials. The first set of people for whom such measures have unintended consequences are migrants, traffickers, and smugglers. When strong push and pull factors converge, more restrictive national controls (such as those described above) can do little to prevent increased migration

Counter-trafficking and counter-smuggling 145 (Cholewinski 2001: 374). If this is the case then it is only a short step to conclude that interdiction policies have merely shifted migration streams from the legal to the illegal. This is precisely the argument made by Yuri Tamura, Alexis Aronowitz, Claire Brolan, Andrew Brouwer, Judith Kumin, and many others who, in Brolan’s words, have argued that “people smuggling has become an unintended consequence of restrictive policies” (Brolan 2003: 576; see also Tamura 2005: 7; Aronowitz 2001: 168; Brouwer and Kumin 2003: 9). Unintended beneficiaries are thus smugglers and traffickers who profit from growing demand for third-party assistance in crossing borders (Gallagher 2001: 977). For migrants, one of the key consequences of their movement into illegal streams is that they become criminalized in the eyes of both the state and the public. This happens discursively. The language of the trafficking protocol works to neatly divide “violated innocents” from “illegal immigrants” along lines of sex and gender (Chapkis 2003: 924). It also happens practically. In order to repay often enormous smuggling debts, migrants become involved in illegal activities. In extreme cases, they may end up in forced labor (Brolan 2003: 579). Finally, and perhaps most importantly, this move towards delegitimization occurs in strictly legal terms. Article 5 of the smuggling protocol states that migrants shall not be liable for criminal prosecution for having been the object of the smuggling of migrants, producing or providing fraudulent identity documents. But, despite this general exoneration, Article 6 goes on to state that a person procuring or possessing a fraudulent document will be held criminal “when committed for the purpose of enabling the smuggling of migrants.” It is thus easy to envisage a prosecutor arguing that the purpose for which documents were possessed or procured goes beyond the mere “enabling of smuggling” and that they should thus fall under criminal law covering possession. Similarly, while Article 5 should exonerate migrants for the conduct in Article 6, it is unclear whether “attempting, participating as an accomplice, organizing or directing others to smuggle” are included under this umbrella, particularly as they are distinct from “conducting” the smuggling operation itself. Andi Pacurar argues persuasively for this view when he states that: Since smuggling is a consensual act, planned from before, in which the migrant deliberately and conscientiously “directs” the smuggler to commence and conduct the smuggling of his own . . . or others’ persons as well (mostly family), it could be easily argued that the migrant has acted as an accomplice to the smuggler and therefore possibly become the object of criminal prosecution. (Pacurar 2003: 265–266) Because the protocol implicates the person who has engaged the services of a smuggler in a crime, the smuggled person becomes not a victim but “a criminal, an illegal immigrant, an undocumented alien while a trafficked person is assumed to be an innocent victim” (Ditmore and Wijers 2003: 82). This is reinforced by the fact that, while Article 5 provides for the non-liability of smuggled

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persons for violation of immigration law, its provisions do not apply to domestic law, as Article 6(4) makes clear (Gallagher 2001: 999). This is especially concerning when we further consider that the smuggling definition is broad enough that it applies to almost any person who has had some help in crossing borders. Trafficked people The most obvious group of people who have been affected by anti-trafficking measures in every country are those who have been trafficked already and who have subsequently been affected by measures to protect or assist them (whether by government or non-government agency) or by efforts to prosecute traffickers. However, the word “protect” is used loosely here, for some measures which are supposed to protect trafficked persons have in fact exposed them to greater danger than would otherwise have been the case (Dottridge 2007: 11). In this section I look at unintended consequences of counter-trafficking and smuggling policy for trafficked people themselves. Such consequences fall into a couple of key categories. First, there are problems related to the rescue and repatriation of trafficked persons – problems that include so-called “witness bondage” and re-trafficking of people sent home without adequate support. Second, there are broader problems related to the miscategorization and stereotyping of migrants – a focus that has led to some groups (such as Brazilian women) receiving too much attention from authorities with other groups (such as men trafficked into the construction industry, for example) receiving too little. There has been widespread speculation that counter-trafficking and smuggling policies have two further unintended consequences. First, that by reducing the number of smuggling and trafficking agents, the average level of exploitation experienced by individuals is increased (Berman 2003: 46; Tamura 2005). And second, that more stringent border controls lead to more trafficking overall (Feingold 2005: 27). While there is strong theoretical and ad hoc evidence to suggest this is the case, I leave these two issues largely aside due to uncertainty and lack of hard data. Turning first to rescue and repatriation, counter-trafficking can be divided into two classes – those actions that increase pressure on traffickers, such as criminalization and law enforcement, and those actions that increase pressure on those who are trafficked, such as repatriation (Berman 2003: 42). As I argued above, current strategies tend to assume that a crime has taken place and, as a result, “these discourses work to deflect elements of women’s migration that resist and present counterclaims of control to the dominant representation” (Berman 2003: 46). Any effective remedy must then move beyond criminalization to include the possibility that women make decisions to work in the sex industry as an “alternative circuit for survival” and that women have found a way to navigate networks of migration for their own benefit. (Sassen 2000: 515)

Counter-trafficking and counter-smuggling 147 This view is not reflected in international and domestic counter-trafficking strategies. The EU Council Framework decision of 15 March 2001, for example, is silent on granting residence permits to trafficked persons. The decision’s Article 3 states that “Member states shall safeguard the possibility for victims to be heard during proceedings and to supply evidence” but makes clear that those who do not cooperate may be deported immediately. Similarly, the CoE trafficking convention links the willingness of the victim to cooperate with law enforcement and residence entitlements in its Article 13(1); this article does mandate a minimum 30-day recovery and reflection period, but the second listed purpose of this period is to allow the victim to take an informed decision on cooperating with the authorities (Noll 2007: 357–360). Even 30 days was too much for the United Kingdom, which was initially reluctant to ratify the CoE convention (although it did eventually) due to concerns about the “pull-factor” that might result from granting too many rights to trafficked people and worries that such rights would be claimed by individuals merely wishing to extend their stay in Britain (Skrivankova 2007: 206). While governments may be justified in arguing that unconditional protection will open the door to false claimants, trying to coerce people into giving evidence is almost bound to fail. This is partly because trafficked people are almost never the simple victims they are made out to be. Many or most have agreed to cross borders, often illegally, a fact that may make them wary of cooperating (Dottridge 2007: 15). Governments have sought to escape this paradox by using the discourse of “rescue” to justify deportations. The implication of such a discourse is that trafficked people are grateful and want only to return home (Dottridge 2007: 16). The fact that this is not always the case is borne out by innumerable examples – one of the most dramatic of which was the forcible repatriation from Nigeria in 2003 of 26 young adults from Benin, along with 48 adolescents, none of whom were given an opportunity to remain (Dottridge 2007: 16). Apart from the human rights violations that may result from deportations, a further consequence of making protection conditional on cooperation is that it gives law enforcement agencies the job of deciding who has what rights, something that inevitably leaves some people out in the cold. Even setting rights aside, there is plenty of evidence to show that making assistance conditional on cooperation contributes in the long term to making trafficked people suspicious of law enforcement and unwilling to talk openly (Dottridge 2007: 14). Italy’s long experience fighting organized crime is reflected in the fact that among Western states, they offer the greatest protection to trafficked people, regardless of their initial willingness to testify. The arguments just elaborated are well illustrated by the example of Australia. As elsewhere, victim protection in Australia is seen as part of law enforcement rather than as a stand-alone right (Pearson 2007: 29). Those thought to be of use to law enforcement efforts to prosecute traffickers are entitled to a 30-day bridging visa (Visa F). They also receive accommodation and medical services. The visa is valid for 30 days but can be revoked at any time if the authorities consider the person to no longer be of use. Between 1 January 2004 and 30 June

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2006, 52 adults were granted this type of visa (Pearson 2007: 39). Once the 30 days are up, if the trafficked person chooses to stay and help the police, they may be granted a criminal justice stay visa – 43 of the above-mentioned visas were converted in this way. After this, if they are seen as having made a “major contribution” and the Department of Immigration and Multicultural Affairs (DIMA) is satisfied they’d be in significant danger if they are repatriated, they may be eligible for a “Witness Protection (Trafficking) (Temporary) Visa.” The conditions governing issue of this latter type are so stringent that none have been issued to date (Pearson 2007: 40). Australian authorities are worried that granting leave to stay, and comprehensive witness protection, would jeopardize prosecutions on the grounds that such “benefits” are an incentive for witnesses to testify and bring spurious or false cases. The unintended consequence here is that there are many witnesses who have spent long periods in precarious and psychologically damaging situations. In the famous Wei Tang case in Australia, the witnesses were given criminal justice stay visas but no indication regarding their long-term situation, despite the fact that they gave evidence at two trials over a three-year period (Pearson 2007: 40–41). Even for those who return home, the continued emphasis on criminal justice outcomes puts many in danger of being re-trafficked. Those trafficked persons that return from Australia to Thailand are eligible for three levels of support. Those willing to participate in criminal justice processes and who allow the Australian government to share information with the Thai police get the most support (including from the Thai government). Those who cooperate but don’t allow information sharing receive substantially less support and none at all from the Thai government. Those who refuse to cooperate at all with law enforcement but agree to contact a local NGO receive 30 days of financial assistance then nothing afterwards (Pearson 2007: 42). To date, the local NGO tasked with helping reintegration hasn’t heard from any trafficked people, a statistic that indicates they don’t want the stigma of having been trafficked and prefer to just return home as illegal immigrants (Pearson 2007: 42). Who is covered by the trafficking protocol and how they are identified is another issue that has caused negative consequences. Referring to the first of these issues, Anne Gallagher makes the point that “if authorities have no means of determining among the intercepted or arrested who is being trafficked, how do they propose to grant them the measures of protection they are committing themselves to?” (Gallagher 2001: 994). The greater protection offered to trafficked people creates a clear incentive for national authorities to categorize people as smuggled or as simple illegal immigrants (Gallagher 2001: 995). This has clearly been the case with numbers of Brazilian, Nepali and Nigerian women, misidentified as trafficked and prevented from travelling. Research carried out at the Sao Paulo International Airport in Brazil revealed that women were being refused entry to the EU, even though they were not prostitutes, nor were they planning on joining the sex industry (Nederstigt and Almeida 2007: 102). An image has been constructed of Brazilian women as prostitutes and this

Counter-trafficking and counter-smuggling 149 has informed and shaped stereotypes held by many immigration officials (Nederstigt and Almeida 2007: 102). After almost a decade of similar measures in Nepal, an evaluator was called in to review anti-trafficking programs and found the measures taken to prevent women from crossing into India were “generally abusive” (Hausner 2005 cited in Dottridge 2007: 13). There is another problem related to that faced by women prevented from travelling. Many of those in forms of forced labor other than prostitution are offered no protection at all (Dottridge 2007: 12). This second issue can be seen, at least in part, as a consequence of the fact that the trafficking protocol, which refers to women and children in its title, goes on to make three references to “women and children” in the preamble, plus another four in the operative articles. Setting aside for a moment the other problems associated with constructing trafficked women and children solely as innocent victims, and as objects of intervention by others, it is clear that this language directs states to focus their attentions on this group at the expense of many others (Buckland 2008: 42–47). This is despite the fact that the trafficking of men into forced labor is at least as prevalent in most world regions. To take just one example, a 2005 study by the International Labour Organization (ILO) found that of 9.5 million people in forced labor in Asia, less than 10 percent were trafficked into the sex trade. Its figures for the world more generally show that less than 50 percent of trafficked persons are in forced prostitution (ILO 2005: 6). “The focus on the sex industry may galvanize action through moral outrage, but it can also cloud reason” (Feingold 2005: 27). And, in many jurisdictions, this clouding has manifested itself in dramatically reduced, or even zero protection, for trafficked persons in sectors other than the sex industry – either because they are not properly identified or because they are denied social services set up only for women in forced prostitution (Feingold 2005: 27). This state of affairs discriminates against the men in other forms of forced labor as well as undermines the status of women by positing them as little more than poor helpless victims (Dottridge 2007: 17; Buckland 2008: 42–47). This is a point well illustrated by national examples. In Australia, the protocol’s emphasis has translated into a situation in which “cases in sectors other than the sex industry have not been identified as trafficking, or followed up by the authorities, despite reports by the media and trade unions” (Pearson 2007: 29). Relevant sections of the criminal code, and Section 271.2(2B) in particular, (amended to be in line with the protocol) only covers women in the sex industry. As Elaine Pearson points out, Australian implementation of the protocol has been characterized by “a failure by police and immigration officials to investigate labor abuse cases as trafficking in industries other than the sex industry” (Pearson 2007: 47). This is well illustrated by the case of JZ, a printer brought to Australia from China (Pearson 2007: 45). He was brought to Melbourne but told he owed 10,000 Australian dollars, even after paying the same amount upfront to a recruiter in Shanghai. He worked 60 hours per week but after “deductions”

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taken by his employer earned only 280 Australian dollars a week. After a year, he managed to pay back the money he “owed” but was then told that his work was not up to standard and he was fired. Because his contract had been terminated he faced deportation and, while government authorities were aware of his case, they did not see it as trafficking. An officer of the Australian Federal Police summed up the government’s attitude when he stated that “we don’t deal with labor cases, we just don’t have the resources, if we did we’d get all sorts of cases like from fruit pickers, there would be so many” (cited in Pearson 2007: 45). Turning to Brazil, the situation is analogous. While laws changed in 2006 to include men, they still discriminate against those in other forms of trafficked labor, as relevant articles of the penal code (231 and 231-A) still refer only to prostitution (Nederstigt and Almeida 2007: 88). In the United Kingdom, too, there is no general guarantee that trafficked persons will be protected or assisted. Cases are evaluated on their merits before any offers of assistance are given. And even then assistance is only offered to women trafficked for sexual exploitation because no mechanisms are set up to allow for the provision of protection to others (Skrivankova 2007: 219). Closely related to the discussion above is the fact that counter-trafficking programs have often been poorly focused and subordinated to other policy goals, leading to unintended consequences in a number of areas. This has notably been the case in the United Kingdom where trafficking is generally perceived to be about organized immigration crime. Offences involving illegal immigration thus receive the most attention (Skrivankova 2007: 203). As a result of this, there is ongoing tension between those responsible for enforcing immigration law and police investigations into trafficking (Skrivankova 2007: 203). In late 2006, the UK government announced it was doubling funding for deportations and seconding 440 police officers to tackle illegal immigration. This focus on deportations means that trafficked people have extremely limited incentives to contact the authorities (Skrivankova 2007: 216). Likewise, there is only a limited incentive for the immigration service to stop the deportation of trafficked people, even when they are of use in a criminal prosecution (Skrivankova 2007: 216). The current immigration focus is of questionable utility as a countertrafficking tool and it is increasingly clear that it has trumped other, more pressing, concerns (Clark 2003: 257). In one British case, a woman trafficked to the United Kingdom was “rescued” in a brothel raid and deported. She was then retrafficked into the United Kingdom, this time with a false passport, she again escaped but was charged by the police with being an illegal immigrant and with possession of a false passport (Skrivankova 2007: 215). In a similar case, a Nigerian woman was trafficked into the United Kingdom. She escaped and tried to return to Nigeria using a false passport (her own having been taken by her traffickers). She was arrested while trying to leave and sentenced to 12 months in prison, the judge having found her story implausible because she had not attempted to contact the authorities (Skrivankova 2007: 215).

Counter-trafficking and counter-smuggling 151 Refugees Article 1A(2) of the 1951 Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees defines a refugee as a person who Owing to a well-founded fear of being persecuted for reasons of race, religion, nationality, or membership of a particular social group or political opinion, is outside the country of his nationality and is unable or, owing to such fear, is unwilling to avail himself of the protection of that country. Through the 1990s and the early part of the twenty-first century, as global refugee flows have increased alongside concerns about transnational threats to security, reduced access to asylum has become a significant unintended consequence of state measures to address their new security concerns. The smuggling and trafficking protocols have played an important role in this process. One key consequence of counter-trafficking and counter-smuggling regimes has been the gradual weakening of asylum norms, what Ernek M. Uçarer has called “incrementally institutionalized restrictionism” and characterized as a shift in emphasis from protection of asylum seekers to protection from them (Uçarer 2001: 289). The collective implementation of control mechanisms, such as the tighter visa regimes and better document security mandated by the smuggling and trafficking protocols, have weakened the asylum norm (Uçarer 2001: 291). In the simplest sense this is because Restrictive policies and practices of many States may lead to difficulties for people to gain effective access to protection in the territory of asylum States . . . such policies and practices . . . may be incompatible with the principles of applicable refugee and human rights law. (Sub-Commission on Human Rights 2000) Denial of access may be a neat way of skirting international legal obligations, particularly when such denial of access is conducted by actors under only the indirect control of states (the control of documents by international carriers being an obvious example) (Goodwin-Gill 2007: 370). Although the imposition of barriers to individuals seeking to leave their own country or of barriers that deflect or obstruct access to asylum procedures may be technically legal, they demonstrate a clear lack of “good faith” with the obligations of the 1951 convention (Goodwin-Gill 2007: 370). A more concrete consequence of the increased border control mandated by counter-smuggling and trafficking instruments is that it has forced more refugees into illicit migration channels. It was recognized even in 1951 that refugees often use illegal channels when seeking protection. The Travaux Preparatoires (the official record of negotiations) of the 1951 conference note that, because flight is often sudden, refugees are rarely able to fulfill the necessary conditions for legal

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entry into a third state. It is clear, however, that the use of such channels has increased alongside the increase in border control. At the time of the so-called Tampa affair (in which the then Australian government sought to prevent several hundred Afghan asylum seekers from making landfall on Australian territory), the then Afghan Consul to Australia, Mahmoud Saikai, emphasized that many Afghan asylum seekers were resorting to using smugglers because “getting a place through ‘formal channels’ is like winning a lottery” (cited in Brolan 2003: 577). This is a view echoed by many commentators, Human Rights Watch stating, for example, that “desperate people will resort to desperate measures. With all other options closed, migrants and asylum seekers have been forced to make use of illegal and dangerous means of entry via sophisticated trafficking and smuggling rings” (HRW 2001: 8; see also Brolan 2003: 577; Tamura 2005: 7). This is a point eloquently made by John Morrison and Beth Crosland who argue that Much of existing policy-making is part of the problem (of increasing human trafficking) and not the solution. Refugees are now forced to use illegal means if they want to access Europe at all. The direction of current policy risks not so much solving the problem of trafficking, but rather ending the right of asylum in Europe, one of the most fundamental human rights. (Morrison and Crosland 2001: 1) Such assessments are supported at the empirical level, both in the assessment of NGOs, such as the European Council on Refugees and Exiles (ECRE), who estimate that, as a result of tighter border controls, 90 percent of asylum seekers now rely on illegal methods to enter the EU (ECRE 2000: 12), as well as by the work of academics such as Khalid Koser. Koser, who studied 32 Iranian asylum seekers in the Netherlands, found that in the majority of cases (29 respondents) control over migration was ceded to smuggling and trafficking groups as a result of tighter border control. An ever-increasing proportion of asylum seekers are ceding control of the migration cycle to traffickers and smugglers and this is exposing them to new forms of vulnerability and abuse. To quote from his conclusions, “there are a series of direct links between restrictive asylum policies, the growth in asylum trafficking [and smuggling] and vulnerability” (Koser 2000: 106) In a closely related development, it is evident that, even if individual refugees are not caught or even affected by tighter restrictions on entry, the system degrades public perceptions of refugees overall (Crépeau and Nakache 2006: 18). One of the key reasons for some of the unintended consequences cited immediately above is that neither the smuggling nor trafficking protocols offer any guidance on identification – either of trafficked people or of refugees and others in need of protection (Goodwin-Gill 2007: 373). The barriers to entry mandated by counter-trafficking and smuggling legislation – and visa regimes in particular – do not apply uniformly and fail to distinguish between different categories of

Counter-trafficking and counter-smuggling 153 person (Brolan 2003: 574; Goodwin-Gill 2007: 375). This is especially the case where private actors are involved, as in the case of carrier sanctions. To take one example, Canada intercepted 40,000 people using carrier sanctions between 1996 and 2002 but claims not to have data on who was turned away (Crépeau and Nakache 2006). International carriers tasked with implementing legislation have neither the motivation nor the training to adequately distinguish between different classes of migrants or to assess their protection needs. But while a failure to adequately distinguish between various migrant groups may have unintended consequences, distinguishing too much can also lead to problems. To take just one example, in the so-called Roma Rights Case, six Czech nationals of Roma origin who were denied leave to enter the United Kingdom (and thus to depart from the Czech Republic) won their case at the House of Lords on the grounds that the pre-screening mechanisms set up by the United Kingdom at the airport in Prague were unfairly discriminating against would-be migrants of Roma origin.

Conclusions The respect given to the fundamental rights of foreigners is the key criteria by which we might measure the effectiveness of human rights protection more generally . . . The treatment we reserve for foreigners is the true measure of the universality of human rights. (Chetail 2007: 133, my translation) I have argued that counter-trafficking and counter-smuggling have had negative and largely unintended consequences for several categories of person. In the first section of this chapter I suggested that a security frame has come to dominate counter-trafficking and smuggling discourse and practice. The dominance of this frame has led to the sidelining of other possible frames, particularly that concerned with human rights and refugee law. At heart, the changes I described are the policy reflection of a growing assumption that protecting state security and protecting human rights amount to the same thing. Turning to unintended consequences more specifically, I then suggested that the securitization of trafficking and smuggling was serving to criminalize large numbers of migrants, many of whom are being pushed towards illegal migration channels as a result of the tighter border security regimes that international counter-trafficking and smuggling instruments require. Somewhat counter-intuitively, I then went on to argue that trafficked people themselves have been subject to some of the most striking unintended consequences of counter-trafficking. What has been called “witness-bondage” (whereby protection is made contingent on a trafficked person’s willingness to assist prosecutions) is one example of this – a state of affairs that I showed has led many to not seek any protection at all, leading to reduced protection and, in some cases, to re-trafficking and human rights abuses. I then went on to look at the way stereotypes about trafficking promulgated by the trafficking protocol have led to

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difficulties for (particularly) Brazilian, Nigerian, and Nepali women who are prevented from travelling on the grounds that they are in danger of being trafficked. Last, I argued that the focus of the trafficking protocol on women trafficked into prostitution has had unintended consequences for those in other forms of forced labor – people who may otherwise have been able to access some form of protection but are now not seen as having been trafficked at all. In the final section I suggested that refugees have perhaps borne the brunt of the negative consequences of counter-smuggling and counter-trafficking action. In particular, I suggested that, like migrants more generally, the tighter border controls, carrier sanctions, and document security measures mandated by international counter-trafficking and smuggling instruments are forcing increasing numbers of refugees into illegal channels. I went on to argue that this process has not only made it more difficult for many to access protection but has also contributed to a general degradation in the perception of refugees and asylum seekers among members of the public. This process is well illustrated by the sadly ubiquitous use of terms such as “bogus asylum seeker” and “queue jumper” in public discourse on the subject. In closing, it is perhaps worthwhile to revisit the caveats I made earlier regarding the difficulty one faces when trying to ascribe intention. As I noted above, to say a consequence is unintended is only to say that the end result was not the express purpose of the action. Thus, while I have spoken largely from a human rights perspective and focused on consequences that, from that perspective, are largely negative, that is not to say that different actors, including policymakers themselves, may view such consequences in a different light. In addition, while I have used the term “unintended” as I posited above, intention is difficult to ascribe, particularly in an area as broad as migration management – a policy domain in which multiple actors and goals compete and interact. These caveats aside, it is certainly clear from the discussion above that the outcomes of counter-trafficking and counter-smuggling policy have, in many cases, been far from ideal. The unintended consequences I have just described largely concern the rights of non-citizens. If Vincent Chetail is correct in stating – as he does in the quote above – that we can measure our progress towards human rights by the protection we offer to foreigners, then we have far to go indeed.

Bibliography Adelman, H. (2001) “Refugees and Border Security Post-September 11,” Refuge, 20(4): 5–14. Aronowitz, A.A. (2001) “Smuggling and Trafficking in Human Beings: The Phenomenon, the Markets that Drive it and the Organisations that Promote it,” European Journal on Criminal Policy and Research, 9: 163–195. Berman, J. (2003) “(Un)Popular Strangers and Crises (Un)Bounded: Discourses of SexTrafficking, the European Political Community and the Panicked State of the Modern State,” European Journal of International Relations, 9: 37–86.

Counter-trafficking and counter-smuggling 155 Brolan, C. (2003) “An Analysis of the Human Smuggling Trade and the Protocol against the Smuggling of Migrants by Land, Air and Sea (2000) from a Refugee Protection Perspective,” International Journal of Refugee Law, 14(4): 561–596. Brouwer, A. and Kumin, J. (2003) “Interception and Asylum: Where Migration Control and Human Rights Collide,” Interception and Asylum, (December): 6–24. Buckland, B.S. (2008) “More Than Just Victims,” Public Policy Research, 15(1): 42–47. Chapkis, W. (2003) “Trafficking, Migration, and the Law: Protecting Innocents, Punishing Immigrants,” Gender and Society, 17(6): 923–937. Chetail, V. (ed.) (2007) Mondialisation, migration et droits de l’homme: le droit international en question/Globalization, Migration and Human Rights: International Law under Review, Brussels: Bruylant. Cholewinski, R. (2001) “The EU Acquis on Irregular Migration: Reinforcing Security at the Expense of Rights,” European Journal of Migration and Law, 2: 361–405. Clark, M.A. (2003) “Trafficking in Persons: An Issue of Human Security,” Journal of Human Development, 4(2), July. Crépeau, F. and Nakache, D. (2006) “Controlling Irregular Migration in Canada: Reconciling Security Concerns with Human Rights Protection,” Immigration and Refugee Policy, 12(1): 1–42. Ditmore, M. and Wijers, M. (2003) “The Negotiations on the UN Protocol on Trafficking in Persons,” Nemesis, 4: 79–88. Dottridge, M. (2007) “Introduction,” in GAATW (ed.) Collateral Damage: The Impact of Anti-­Trafficking Measures on Human Rights around the World, Bangkok: GAATW. ECRE (2000) The ECRE Tampere Dossier June 2000, Brussels: ECRE. Farer, T.J. (1995) “How the International System Copes with Involuntary Migration: Norms, Institutions and State Practice,” Human Rights Quarterly, 17: 72–100. Feingold, D.A. (2005) “Think Again: Human Trafficking,” Foreign Policy, (September/ October): 26–32. Gallagher, A. (2001) “Human Rights and the New UN Protocols on Trafficking and Migrant Smuggling: A Preliminary Analysis,” Human Rights Quarterly, 23: 975–1004. Gallagher, A. (2002) “Trafficking, Smuggling and Human Rights: Tricks and Treaties,” Forced Migration Review, 12: 25–28. Goodwin-Gill, G. (1996) The Refugee in International Law, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hausner, S.L. (2005) The Movement of Women. Migration, Trafficking and Prostitution in the Context of Nepal’s Armed Conflict, Kathmandu: Save the Children USA. Howard, J. (2003) “To Deter and Deny: Australia and the Interdiction of Asylum Seekers,” Refuge, 4 (December): 35–50. Human Rights Watch (2001) NGO Background Paper on Refugees and Migration, Geneva: HRW. Hyndman, J. and Mountz, A. (2008) “Another Brick in the Wall? Neo-refoulement and the Externalisation of Asylum in Europe and Australia,” Government and Opposition, 1 (43): 2. ILO (2005) Human Trafficking and Forced Labour Exploitation. Guidance for Legislation and Law Enforcement, Geneva: ILO. Jernow, A. (2009) “Human Trafficking, Prosecutors and Judges,” in C. Friesendorf (ed.) Strategies against Human Trafficking: The Role of the Security Sector, Geneva and Vienna: DCAF and Austrian Ministry of Defence. Koser, K. (2000) “Asylum Policies, Trafficking and Vulnerability,” International Migration, 1: 91–112.

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Léonard, S. (2004) “Studying Migration as a Security Issue: Conceptual and Methodological Challenges,” paper presented at the SGIR Fifth Pan-European International Relations Conference, September. Morris, J.C. (2003) “The Spaces in Between: American and Australian Interdiction Policies and their Implications for the Refugee Protection Regime,” Refuge, 21(4): 51–62. Morrison, J. and Crosland, B. (2001) “The Trafficking and Smuggling of Refugees: The End Game of European Asylum Policy,” Independent Expert Report/UNHCR Working Paper 38. Nederstigt, F. and Almeida, L.C.R. (2007) “Brazil,” in GAATW (ed.) Collateral Damage: The Impact of Anti-­Trafficking Measures on Human Rights around the World, Bangkok: GAATW. Noll, G. (2007) “The Insecurity of Trafficking in International Law,” in V. Chetail (ed.) Mondialisation, migration et droits de l’homme: le droit international en question, Brussels: Bruylant. Pacurar, A. (2003) “Smuggling, Detention and Expulsion of Irregular Migrants: A Study on International Legal Norms, Standards and Practices,” European Journal of Migration and Law, 5: 259–283. Pearson, E. (2007) “Australia,” in GAATW (ed.) Collateral Damage: The Impact of Anti-­ Trafficking Measures on Human Rights around the World, Bangkok: GAATW. Piotrowicz, R. (2007) “Trafficking of Human Beings and Their Human Rights in the Migration Context,” in R. Cholewinski, R. Perruchoud and E. MacDonald (eds.) International Migration Law: Developing Paradigms and Key Challenges, The Hague: TMC Asser Press. Salt, J. (2000) “Trafficking and Human Smuggling: A European Perspective,” International Migration, (Special Issue) 1: 31–56. Sassen, S. (2000) “Women’s Burden: Counter-geographies of Globalization and the Feminization of Survival,” Journal of International Affairs, 53: 503–524. Skrivankova, K. (2007) “United Kingdom,” in GAATW (ed.) Collateral Damage: The Impact of Anti-­Trafficking Measures on Human Rights around the World, Bangkok: GAATW. Sub-Commission on Human Rights (2000) Resolution 2000/20 on “The Right to Seek and Enjoy Asylum,” (18 August). Tamura, Y. (2005) “On the Coexistence of Smuggling and Trafficking in Migrants,” Warwick Economic Research Papers no. 730, Department of Economics, University of Warwick. Uçarer, E.M. (2001) “Managing Asylum and European Integration: Expanding Spheres of Exclusion,” International Studies Perspectives, 2: 288–304. US Government Accountability Office (2006) Human Trafficking: Better Data, Strategy, and Reporting Needed to Enhance U.S. Anti-­trafficking Efforts Abroad, report no. GAO-06–825 to the Chairman, Committee on the Judiciary and the Chairman, Committee on International Relations, House of Representatives, Washington, DC.

8 Unintended consequences of targeted sanctions Mikael Eriksson

Introduction With the end of the Cold War, the changing climate of world affairs has given way to a new type of sanctions practice.1 This new practice has been characterized by a move from comprehensive to targeted sanctions (Cortright and Lopez 2000, 2002a, 2002b; Doxey 1996; Elliott et al. 2007; Tostensen and Bull 2002). Part of the explanation for this shift has been the negative political and humanitarian effects of comprehensive sanctions, which had previously made a weak distinction between the population of the target state and the decision-­making elite. In fact, during the years prior to the late 1990s, comprehensive sanctions rested on the idea that by isolating a country, citizens of the target country would eventually rise up and overthrow their leaders (this is also part of the logic commonly referred to as the general theory of sanctions, introduced by Galtung in 1967). However, isolating a country completely has the potential to greatly harm its citizens. Thus, by causing more harm than good, the rationale of comprehensive sanctions has been deemed questionable and therefore invited a change of political course. In this context, a particular case to be mentioned is the UN sanctions regime imposed against Iraq during the 1990s (Niblock 2001). Not only did the devastation caused by the wide-­ranging measures antagonize Iraqi citizens and make them suffer. They also undermined the faith in the sanctions regime among UN officials and other key stakeholders. Sanctions thus led to questions about the legitimacy of the UN. Subsequently, policy-­makers at the UN and in Western capitals looked for ways to improve the sanctions tool with the objective of restoring its credibility (if it ever existed). This “ethical” turn resonated well with the widespread fatigue that characterized sanctions at that time (Hawkins and Lloyd 2003). Consequently, the idea of smart sanctions (which later became targeted sanctions) was introduced. The intention was to move away from the principle of complete isolation towards a more specific application of sanctions, focusing on particular officials or commodities. Several scholars have demonstrated that shifting to targeted sanctions can help prevent the suffering of populations in the countries targeted. For example, Cortright and Lopez (2000: 213) noted, “more selective, targeted sanctions resulted in fewer humanitarian

158   M. Eriksson difficulties. In most of the cases, sanctions-­related humanitarian consequences were limited.” This observation has also been made elsewhere (Shagabutdinova and Berejikan 2007: 70). However, despite the good intent of the sanctions instrument, it soon became clear that implementing targeted sanctions would prove more difficult than expected. In fact, initial problems compelled a number of sanctions experts and practitioners to provide the UN with recommendations for mitigating problems of targeted sanctions as part of several internationally stated sponsored processes (Tostensen and Bull 2002).2 Despite such efforts however, targeted sanctions have since continued to cause negative side effects, undermining their legitimacy. Although much political and scholarly attention has been paid to targeted sanctions, few efforts have been made to examine their unintended consequences (Haass 1997: 78; Elliot 2002).3 This chapter seeks to narrow this gap while simultaneously complementing the analysis of targeted sanctions in the chapters by Thomas J. Biersteker and Peter Andreas in this volume. To shed light on negative and unintended effects of targeted sanctions, this chapter examines several empirical examples of unintended consequences (as opposed to “successful” or “positive” sanctions regimes). It first reflects on the rationale of targeted sanctions and discusses implementation problems as factors enabling unintended consequences. Thereafter, a framework for identifying and addressing the unintended consequences of targeted sanctions is developed and applied to several cases. This framework illustrates the unintended consequences of sanctions for targets, senders, and briefly, third parties.

Targeted sanctions as a problematic tool of security governance Targeted sanctions encompass a number of instruments aimed at changing particular unwanted behavior by a particular sending body (here the UN Security Council or the EU). There are different types of targeted sanctions: (a) sanctions that target individuals, groups, or companies; (b) sanctions that target particular commodities or sectors of an economy; and (c) sanctions that target specific regions of a country (Biersteker 2004: 2). Put differently, “a smart sanctions policy is one that imposes coercive pressures on specific individuals and entities and that restricts selective products or activities, while minimizing unintended economic and social consequences for vulnerable populations and innocent bystanders” (Cortright and Lopez 2002b: 2). These instruments include arms embargoes, trade sanctions, financial sanctions, flight bans, restrictions of admission, diplomatic sanctions, boycotts, and specific types of commodity-­based sanctions. The logic behind targeted sanctions is simple: to put political and economic pressure on actors (commonly referred to as “entities”) involved in armed conflict, terrorism, political violence, or illicit trade (especially in “conflict goods” such as “blood” diamonds, timber, or weapons), in order to prevent, or mitigate

Targeted sanctions   159 the effects of, crises or armed conflicts. Typically, sanctions are used as a last resort prior to any type of military intervention (Baldwin 1985). Thereto, targeted sanctions have been used preemptively to diffuse a crisis (as with EU sanctions against the Zimbabwean leadership), when conflict has already broken out (as in the case of UN sanctions against Sierra Leone), or in post conflict situations (as in Liberia). Sanctions have mainly been implemented when norms of democracy and human rights have been violated, especially during civil wars and internal strife. Despite the promise of providing non-­military solutions to a variety of problems, targeted sanctions are not a panacea for achieving behavioral change. On the contrary, there are strong reasons to believe that targeted sanctions have not always been able to reach their intended objectives, but instead have generated unintended consequences (Drezner 2003: 108). As will be further elaborated, there are a number of situations where targeted sanctions have been implemented and some negative side effects have been noted. Suffice it to say, unintended consequences of targeted sanctions may occur for many different kinds of reasons, not least because of problems of implementing such sanctions. Implementation problems can result from the activities of targets, senders, and implementing bodies. This has also been well documented in the sanctions literature (not least following the sanctions experts meetings of the Stockholm Process on the Implementation of Targeted Sanctions). The following discussion briefly outlines two such major types of implementation problems: ability of targets to evade sanctions and divergent sender interests. First of all, there is an ability of targets to evade sanctions. Evasion of the sender’s policy takes place on the levels of individuals, groups, and states; it is a recurrent feature of sanctions. Individuals can evade sanctions in various ways, among others by securing political immunity; they may respond to the risk of apprehension by seeking privileges reserved for members of political institutions. In the case of sanctions imposed on Liberian politicians, several individuals facing financial sanctions and travel bans due to their association to the former warlord Charles Taylor sought refuge in the Liberian parliament after the end of the civil war in the country. Apparently they believed that this would give them immunity from the sanctions (Wallensteen et al. 2006). In another case, the UN Security Council called on states to close down UNITA offices following the civil war in Angola.4 In response, the UNITA representative in Washington applied for a Green Card to diminish the risk of being expelled from the United States. Governments can evade sanctions by employing propaganda tactics to undermine the reputation of the sender, creating a rally-­around-the-­flag effect that allows governments to avoid changing course.5 Second, while the actors that typically implement sanctions, like the EU or the UN, are usually unanimous in their decision to proceed, there may be disagreements among member states. This suggests divergent sender interests. For example, states may disagree with the rationale behind the sanction per se, i.e. whether or not it will be a fruitful way to persuade the target to change its behavior, or they may find that the sanction is contrary to their own security interests.

160   M. Eriksson Failure to signal unity can significantly weaken the legitimacy of the sanctions as well as the sender’s position vis-­à-vis the target. The EU has at times been unable to respond quickly to a crisis because some member states prioritized their own interests over the common EU interest. This was the case, for example, when EU member states were deciding how to respond to the missile test conducted by the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK) and the subsequent UN Security Council Resolution 1695 (2006). Given the mandatory Chapter VII sanctions measures, the EU had to translate the measures into a joint EU Common Position. In this context, it was particularly important for the EU to act promptly, given the gravity of the situation and the quick political condemnations by other international actors. Yet the EU was paralyzed by the United Kingdom and Spain objecting to a passage in one of the sanctions proposals regarding who had legitimate authority over Gibraltar (the EU policy had to clarify such details clearly as sanctions legislation covered the entire territory of the EU). The disagreement not only slowed down the EU’s imposing sanctions on the DPRK, but was also detrimental to the renewal and update of many other crucial sanctions regimes, which at the time required the unanimous support of EU member states (Keeley 2007). Internal divisions signaled disunity and delayed the EU response at a critical moment in time. Allies of the EU, such as Japan and South Korea, expressed concern that the EU was not taking the DPRK threat seriously enough, and that their tougher political stance towards DPRK did not have European support, thereby isolating them. The episode illustrates that deciding on targeted sanctions is difficult when a host of actors have to cooperate. Another case of divergent member state interests causing a legitimacy problem for the sender followed the renewal of sanctions against the government of Uzbekistan. EU sanctions had originally been imposed against the Uzbek elite in mid-­November 2005 after the Andijan killings of 13 May 2005 (EU Council Common Position 2005/792/CFSP). Given the lack of cooperation of the Uzbek government in the establishment of an independent investigation of these events, the EU has since repeatedly renewed sanctions. However, in 2007, when the policy was once more up for renewal, the German Foreign Minister, Frank-­Walter Steinmeier, pressed for the relaxation of EU sanctions during an EU Council meeting. Germany had strategic interests in establishing a good relationship with the Uzbek government, as “Germany was the only EU or NATO country allowed to keep a military base at Termez on the Afghan border, and despite the visa ban, it allowed the Uzbek police chief into Germany for medical treatment” (Traynor 2007). However, the German position met with opposition from other EU members because of the human rights situation in Uzbekistan. This split delayed the sanctions decision-­making process and cast doubt over the sincerity of the EU as a whole to protect democratic and human rights values. Although the EU Council upheld the sanctions, against the initial proposal of Germany, the EU Council sanctions were softened. Thus, in late May 2007, the EU Council prolonged the sanctions, and to the delight of the German government, the list was shortened from 12 to eight people (EU Council Common Position 2007/338/CFSP). In Uzbekistan, democratic and human rights continued to be violated.

Targeted sanctions   161 Both of these cases of targeted sanctions illustrate how difficult it can be to have sanctions regimes operating smoothly. However, as shown below, implementation obstacles are only one among many other problems of targeted sanctions. Another factor facilitating unintended consequences is a lack of systematic sanctions assessments. Despite “evidence” of negative unintended consequences, there is often a lack of systematic and continuous assessment of sanctions by those senders imposing sanctions. “Assessments” are usually made after unintended consequences have become visible, though taking potential negative externalities into account would be a necessary part of the preliminary planning process. At the UN level, for instance, assessments appear to take place mostly within the various sanctions committees (perhaps most visible in the various expert panel reports). These are seldom-­systematic in-­depth investigations, not least because sanctions are designed for acute political crises, which do not allow for in-­depth pre-­assessments (Tostensen and Bull 2002). Furthermore, to the extent that the effects of sanctions are assessed at all, assessments are made under the condition of poor information. These problems notwithstanding, more efficient institutional assessment arrangements at the UN level are conceivable (Cortright and Lopez 2002b: 208–210). The Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA), for instance, is the body best suited for making assessments.6 Yet after the comprehensive sanctions approach was abandoned, the UN and EU seem to have produced few thorough evaluations of sanctions (although a few countries have sponsored evaluations of specific sanctions).

Understanding and illustrating unintended consequences of targeted sanctions How can we better understand unintended consequences of targeted sanctions? Table 8.1 summarizes the analytical framework applied and the unintended consequences identified in this chapter. The framework distinguishes between unintended consequences affecting senders, those affecting targets, and those affecting third parties. To the extent that unintended consequences occur, they usually undermine the legitimacy of targeted sanctions. On the target side, targeted sanctions can have negative effects on individuals and on countries as a whole. On the sender side, negative repercussions can be observed on the policy goal that initially led the sender to implement targeted sanctions. One can also observe negative economic consequences. Regarding third parties, unintended political, economic, and cultural costs can be noted. Those affected could for instance be neighboring countries, private operators, and civilians. In the following, I examine a number of cases where targeted sanctions have had negative side effects. These cases represent samples, not an exhaustive or representative account. While some cases refer specifically to targeted sanctions, others fall outside a narrow definition of targeted sanctions. Yet, in order to capture as many examples as possible, I take a broader view of targeting than is perhaps commonly made.

162   M. Eriksson Table 8.1  Unintended consequences of targeted sanctions Impact on target

Impact on sender

Impact on third parties

Human rights violations

Anti-sanctions propaganda and discrediting of sender

Economic costs for implementing sanctions (such as air, land, and sea inspections as well as financial and travel ban violation monitoring)

Negative economic consequences

Negative economic consequences

Political costs (i.e. naming and shaming if not being able to enforce sanctions)

Strengthening of target

Missed opportunities for dialogue

Social costs following increased migration/ refugees from countries where existing crises have been exacerbated by targeted sanctions Costs for private operators

Unintended consequences for targets Within recent years, it has become increasingly clear that targeted sanctions can cause damage to targets and their associates, or trigger problematic dynamics on the target side. Below follow three such cases. Consequences of arms embargos An arms embargo is one of the most visible forms of action that the international community can take in order to stabilize areas of turmoil and complex political emergencies. Arms embargoes are supposed to change the behavior of conflict parties. An arms embargo is not likely to have any effect on its own unless embedded in a larger political package (Brzoska 2008: 24). Arms embargoes usually prohibit the international export and import of arms that would otherwise benefit a particular government or set of armed groups. However, arms embargoes are fraught with problems. Tierney (2005) has identified a number of unintended consequences of arms embargoes, some of which will be mentioned here. First, arms embargoes have a tendency to “criminalize target groups and societies” (Tierney 2005: 656). This can occur because of the need for public officials to procure weapons through illegal sources in the heat of a conflict, which strengthens criminal elements (see Peter Andreas’ chapter in this volume for a detailed account on this effect). In Yugoslavia, for instance, criminals not only circumvented the arms embargo, but also strengthened their own position by engaging in additional profitable activities, such as car theft, the smuggling of cigarettes and alcohol, or people smuggling (Tierney 2005: 657). In addition, arms embargoes have a tendency to divert badly needed resources from within the target society to the purchase of more expensive weapons (a direct effect of the arms embargo leaving no choices). This may further worsen the economic situation for the population in the target country, which may already be suffering

Targeted sanctions   163 much from the conflict itself (Tierney 2005: 657). Financial and political resources may be spent on arms procurement rather than on efforts to alleviate the suffering of the population, e.g. through health care (Brzoska 2002: 126). Second, arms embargos can alter the political setting in civil wars. Despite statements to the contrary, arms embargoes are not necessarily “neutral.” For instance, by imposing an embargo, the sender indirectly recognizes the main actors to the conflict; such policies can give official recognition when otherwise there would be none (e.g. in 2002, the UN imposed an arms embargo on Ituri and southern Kivu in the Democratic People’s Republic of Congo; in 1993 the UN imposed an arms embargo against UNITA, thereby recognizing the latter’s role in the Angolan conflict). This may be neither in the interest of the sender nor of the more legitimate conflict actor. At other times sanctions are directed at one party (e.g. in 1995 the UN imposed an arms embargo on all Hutu groups following the war in Rwanda). Yet, imposing an arms embargo on only one group can easily undermine the sender’s impartiality and credibility; hence, it may be better to impose sanctions on both parties rather than at one only. In the end, providing legitimacy for one side and not the other can negatively influence the conflict dynamic and may cause unwanted effects for societies at war that the international community is trying to protect. Arms embargoes can change the military situation on the ground in an un­favorable way for one or the other party, i.e. giving one faction a strategic advantage over the other. The arms embargo imposed upon Yugoslavia, for example, favored Croats and Serbs (as they were able to buy weapons from outside the region or relied on existing material and the domestic arms industry) while being unfavorable to the Bosnian government. As noted by Tierney (2005: 658): “The Yugoslav representative at the UN (from Belgrade) supported an international arms embargo on his own country: a sure sign that its impact would be asymmetric.” Moreover, not only can an arms embargo maintain an imbalanced domestic situation during a conflict, it can also affect the region in which the target government is located. For instance, imposing an arms embargo on Iran could increase the military superiority of Iraq and vice versa (Brzoska 2002: 127). These are probably not the goals the sender wanted to achieve in the first place. Finally, arms embargoes can easily be circumvented (Fruchart et al. 2007). Enforcement, monitoring, and assessment are crucial for any functional sanctions regime, yet resources for maintaining such policies are seldom built into any resolutions or common position (Wallensteen 2008). Thus it can be observed in several conflicts that some warring parties can actually benefit from being targeted with an arms embargo (Tierney 2005: 657). This seems to have been the case during the war in Bosnia. The examples above illustrate that arms embargoes may change local security dynamics in a way that is not always planned or controlled for by the sender. While the intention by an outside actor is usually to increase security, the measures can actually have the opposite effect. Prior assessment of possible future unintended effects is therefore needed. These should include flexible back-­up

164   M. Eriksson plans, exit strategies and procedures both with regard on how to adjust to negative developments and how to ensure that the original goal of sanctions is met with minimal side effects. Consequences for human rights Perhaps the most visible and telling area where targeted sanctions have had unintended consequences while ostensibly trying to promote security is in the so-­ called global “War on Terror.” Following 9/11, the US government (and other governments) took unprecedented measures in the UN Security Council by presenting a list of individuals considered to be involved in or associated with international terrorism.7 These individuals had their assets frozen and were banned from international travel. By imposing such targeted sanctions, the US government in particular aimed at preventing suspected individuals from being able to carry out future attacks (it can also be interpreted as punishment or revenge). However, these actions also meant that the list of persons to be targeted with financial sanctions and travel bans was to include “guilty” as well as “innocent” individuals, since only limited time was available to thoroughly investigate these listed individuals’ political activities prior to their inclusion in the sanctions list.8 Nevertheless, given the sense of alarm at the time, few states in the UN Security Council opposed the list of possible terrorists presented by the United States to the council members (see Thomas J. Biersteker’s chapter in this volume, as well as Fitzgerald 2007). The unintended effects of the use of targeted sanctions subsequently proved to be very problematic for the UN and its member states, as an increasing number of individuals listed claimed that they had been listed without evidence and that this constituted a violation of their human rights. As a consequence, a debate ensued on how to deal with such problems legally and institutionally, and how sanctions should be fairly applied and enforced (Cameron 2003, 2008). For instance, in mid-­November 2001, several employees of the al-­Barakaat International Foundation, who were considered to be involved in terrorism, were blacklisted. Yet evidence meriting their sanctioning remained unclear for a long time. In addition, there were no clear procedures for how the listed entities and their diplomatic and legal representatives could respond to the charges, and how to be taken off the list. Those listed were obviously outraged. The procedure also led human rights lawyers to criticize the sanctions system for fundamentally violating human rights. Moreover, the paucity of information to establish the grounds on which they were listed triggered complaints by representatives of the Swedish government, eventually directed at the US government (Eriksson 2006). The main problem with the listing measure, especially when individuals are listed, is the lack of transparency with regard to the way governments compile such lists.9 The many kinds of criticisms following the al-­Barakaat case have thus led to a questioning of the legitimacy of the entire sanctions system itself (see court case Yassin Abdullah Kadi and Al Barakaat International Foundation v. Council and Commission, European Court of Justice, 2008).

Targeted sanctions   165 Another striking problem with sanctions lists, and especially the al Qaeda/ Taliban sanctions list, has been the inaccuracy of the names and descriptions of the individuals listed, raising questions about whether or not the right persons have been targeted. Moreover, little information is provided about the whereabouts, birthplace, passport number, etc. of targets. Imprecise sanctions lists have had a tendency to filter out the wrong people. According to press reports, several prominent figures, including US Senator Ted Kennedy, have been erroneously stopped at airports because of the similarity between their names and those appearing on the US terrorist “no fly blacklist” (Fitzgerald 2007: 41–42). To date, there are different procedures for different sanctions regimes regarding how target lists are compiled. Usually, the “quality” of the sanctions lists – later to be transmitted around the world (particularly to financial regulators and customs officials) – is poor. This signals sloppiness and undermines the credibility of the sanctions instrument as well as the sender’s legitimacy. In addition, targets’ assets are often frozen despite little evidence presented to implementing authorities (or the target) for why this is necessary in the first place. For example, in 1998, the US government blocked the Bank of America accounts of the Saudi businessperson Salah Idris (US$24 million) because of possible links to Osama bin Laden. Idris denied such links and filed a lawsuit against the listing measures. The US government, while not expressing regret, unfroze his assets, fearing that answering the lawsuit would draw public attention to the case and expose sensitive intelligence sources (Fitzgerald 2007: 47). Another case of listing concerned Maher Arar, who was placed on a travel ban list. In 2002, Arar was transiting through the United States on his way back to Canada, following a trip to Tunisia. He was arrested as he was considered to be complicit in terrorism-­related activities. Arar, who was of Syrian background, was later deported to Syria, where he was held for more than one year and systematically tortured. Later he was released after filing a successful lawsuit. He won the case and was paid US$10 million in compensation by the Canadian government. Despite this victory, the US government decided to continue to keep him on the US border watch list (Fitzgerald 2007: 47–48). A different kind of negative human rights effect, albeit of an intended nature, can take place when the sender imposes sanctions upon the family members of the target. One rationale for this has been the aspiration to set hurdles for the targets and to prevent the evasion of sanctions (e.g. the main target writing over assets to children). In one case from 2001, the English High Court observed that sanctions imposed against Mr Omar Mohammed Othman (who no longer received social security benefits following the imposition of sanctions) resulted in economic hardship for his listed family members (House of Lords 2007: 124). In other cases, too, sanctions caused economic and psychological distress to those close to individuals targeted by sanctions. Thus, targeted sanctions, particularly those implemented as part of the so-­called “Global War on Terror,” have led to a number of individuals being unfairly targeted. While one cannot really know whether they are “innocent” or not, there are good grounds to expect that the current listing procedure is likely to hit those that

166   M. Eriksson have nothing to do with terrorism. Besides wrongful listing of individuals, those listed have encountered several legal problems, such as inadequate notification and denial of a fair trial. These shortcomings have forced governments around the world to modify their legal system to respond and adjust to such inadequacies (Doxey 2007: 55; see also the chapter of Thomas J. Biersteker in this volume). Not only has the targeting of individuals violated the human rights of many of the individuals listed. There have also been repercussions for the sanctions system itself, affecting particularly the UN and the EU). Thus, the unintended consequences of targeted sanctions have had a negative impact in the short run. Yet paradoxically, these unintended consequences may give rise to more precise and transparent sanctions in the future. Problems of sanctions have led to pressure to improve sanctions. Especially the UN and the EU are now seeking to strengthen the sanctions system by giving assurances that targeted individuals are given the opportunity to prove their innocence (House of Lords 2007: 18). Economic consequences Besides negatively affecting specific individuals and groups, targeted sanctions can produce unintended consequences that harm larger communities as well. The discussion below illustrates this effect by referring to the examples of Myanmar, Liberia, the former Yugoslavia, and Zimbabwe. Burma/Myanmar has been at war since 1948. In 2003, the US Congress and President Bush passed a trade ban against the government of Myanmar following increasing concern over human rights violations in the country (Burmese Freedom and Democracy Act of 2003). Targeted sanctions against state-­owned industries were meant to put pressure on the ruling regime, which depended on these industries. It was expected that sanctions would force the junta to make concessions to pro-­democracy groups (for more on this logic see Kirschner 1997). Particularly the textile industry provided an important source of income for the Myanmar government. However, following the imposition of US textile sanctions, nearly 60,000 workers may have lost their jobs in 2003 and 2004. Most of the workers employed in this sector were women (Wallensteen et al. 2004: 10). Some female workers, as a result of losing their jobs, may have turned to the sex industry to acquire a new income. Yet stories about such effects notwithstanding, it is difficult to establish a direct causal link between US sanctions and increased unemployment of textile workers. After all, the economy of Myanmar was hit by a countrywide banking crisis as early as February 2003, with a possible impact on the textile sector. Another case where the targeting of state companies had unintended consequences for the population was that of EU sanctions against Yugoslavia/Serbia in spring 1998. Sanctions were imposed as a response to Serbian policies toward Kosovo. According to many observers, including Anthonius de Vries who served as the EU Commission’s sanctions expert, the EU sanctions had unintended consequences for non-­targeted sectors of Serbian society. In particular, the EU policy of denying credit and other forms of financial resources to state-­controlled

Targeted sanctions   167 companies had negative spillover effects for citizens who depended on salaries and pensions administered by companies that could no longer pay their employees (de Vries 2002: 102–103). Also, many non-­targeted companies and private operators and their employees, depended on state companies and were therefore also affected by the sanctions. Job loss as a consequence of targeted sanctions can be observed in the UN sanctions regime imposed on Liberia. Through UN Security Council Resolution 1343, targeted sanctions were implemented against Charles Taylor and his associates in 2001. In addition to an arms embargo, the UN imposed a travel ban and a prohibition on the rough diamond trade. However, it was soon clear that these sanctions were insufficient to deal with the income used to fuel the war; hence, in 2004 an asset freeze and an import/export ban were also imposed. A timber ban followed after independent assessments underscored that the Liberian timber industry generated large revenues for the Taylor government. It became increasingly clear that Taylor used revenues from timber export to buy weapons. While the timber coming out of Liberia was estimated to be worth around US$156 million a year, only US$56 million was accounted for in the national treasury, leaving a balance of US$100 million for which there was no explanation (House of Lords 2007: 61). As many as 10,000 people were thought to be involved in the logging industry. A study by the UK Department for International Development (DFID) concluded that only 5,000 persons were involved in the industry and risked being affected (House of Lords 2007: 61). However, no matter the exact numbers, it is likely that many people lost their income as a consequence of sanctions against the export of timber. Even the UN Secretary-­General indirectly acknowledged this effect (Bessler et al. 2004: 78). Yet sanctions on timber were imposed because the benefits were deemed to outweigh the costs of not imposing them. The alternatives would have been to do nothing, which would have meant letting the civil war continue; impose comprehensive sanctions, which would cause much larger side-­ effects; or intervene militarily which would complicate the situation considerably. In this context, the possible loss of thousands of jobs was seen as the least problematic effect. In Zimbabwe, effects have probably been even more dramatic. In early 2002, the EU imposed sanctions on the Zimbabwean government and the Zimbabwe African National Union – Patriotic Front (ZANU-­PF ) elite (Eriksson 2007). This was a consequence of the failure of the Zimbabwean government to allow free and fair parliamentary elections. Following the imposition of sanctions (or “restrictive measures,” as these were officially called by the EU), the economic situation in Zimbabwe worsened considerably. It should be noted that there are various mechanisms through which sanctions can yield negative economic effects. Sanctions can send negative signals to potential investors. They can also prevent international financial institutions from providing loans to the government. The Zimbabwean government, for instance, claimed that Western powers such as the United States and the United Kingdom instructed their representatives in multilateral lending agencies (especially the IMF, the World Bank, and the African Development Bank) to vote against providing loans to Zimbabwe

168   M. Eriksson (Hondora 2006). Robert Mugabe has repeatedly blamed “Western” sanctions for the economic decline. Although sanctions have not been the only cause of the economic crisis, they seem at least to have exacerbated it. A parallel can be drawn to Myanmar. Since a military government rules the country, the IMF or the Asian Development Bank have not granted loans (House of Lords 2007: 172). Sanctions seem to have had an unintended impact on society at large, rather than the intended effect of changing the policies of the few. Although further studies are needed, the above cases illustrate that targeted sanctions directed at sectors upon which citizens directly depend will most likely result in the suffering of the population. This effect has also been identified elsewhere. For instance, Biersteker and Eckert (2006) have observed that it may not be easy to target listed entities alone because they are usually embedded in a larger network of suppliers, service sector providers, and/or consumers. This fact is likely to have a “trickle-­down” effect that impacts on innocent actors as well (Biersteker and Eckert 2006: 14). Unintended consequences for senders The discussion so far has underlined that negative unintended consequences of targeted sanctions can affect target countries and their populations. Yet unintended consequences can also affect senders in a negative way, as shown below. Tarnishing the reputation of the sender One manifestation of unintended consequences of sanctions is that sanctions can fire back at the sender because the target can exploit their negative consequences for political purposes. Governments of target countries can tarnish the reputation of the sender and create a rally-­around-the-­flag effect for their own purposes. This, obviously, is contrary to the intention of the sender, who usually wishes to weaken or change the political behavior of the government. Several times, state-­controlled media has helped the incumbent government to smear the sending body for its imposed sanctions. Senders find it difficult to counteract such moves. This has been the case with regard to EU sanctions against the regime of Robert Mugabe in Zimbabwe. While keeping a firm grip on the media and producing daily, often aggressive headlines and articles denouncing the sanctions, Mugabe managed to establish the regime’s own narrative of the sender’s sanctions rationale. Mugabe has been able to do so because his government controls most of the country’s print media, TV, and radio. Regime supporters have thus turned against the sanctions. Yet the instrumentalization of the media has shaped attitudes of civil society actors as well, who often do not have enough information to distinguish between fact and fiction (see Eriksson 2007). Similar effects can be noted elsewhere as well, for instance in Liberia, where billboards with anti-­sanctions slogans were erected declaring that the sanctions policies destroyed hospitals (Bessler et al. 2004: 6–7). Another case is the Ivory Coast where owners of large newspapers connected to the ruling political elite of Pres-

Targeted sanctions   169 ident Lauren Gbagbo issued inflammatory articles about the involvement of the UN (Wallensteen et al. 2006). Hence, targeted sanctions can create a situation in which the sender loses narrative control over the sanctions’ rationale. To be sure, comprehensive sanctions can have the same effect. The problems illustrated here in fact represent a more profound challenge to the rationale of sanctions. While the sender with its shift to targeted sanctions had sought to make it easier to pursue a policy that would get support of the people in the target country (which was difficult to pursue under comprehensive sanctions), the illustrations above demonstrate that the problem is not yet solved, i.e. that the elite is still able to continue to manipulate the population which thereby makes it difficult for the sender to “sell” and get support for its sanctions policy. Trade consequences Most sanctions are implemented unilaterally. Unilateral sanctions are similar to multilateral sanctions in that they usually single out particular areas or sectors. A typical side effect of unilateral targeted sanctions is that they harm the sender’s own trade interests, yet are unable to change the behavior of the target. Not only do sanctions prevent companies from making profits through import and export, they also allow rival actors to fill the gap. A good example of this effect is the case of US targeted sanctions against the government of Myanmar. Sanctions were introduced in 1997 by the President Executive Order Prohibiting New Investment in Burma (President Executive Order 1997). As argued by Hadar (1998), US sanctions have had negative consequences both for the United States and some of Myanmar’s public and private sectors (for a more positive assessment, see ALTSEAN 2003). While the primary goal was to put pressure on the military government, the imposition of sanctions forced several US companies to withdraw from a lucrative market. Moreover, by reneging on existing agreements, US companies saw their reputation as reliable partners damaged, as they were no longer seen as trustworthy suppliers of goods and services. What is most problematic is that the sanctions did not really achieve much. Instead, the withdrawal from the Myanmar market only meant that other actors, primarily the Chinese government, could step in to fill the gaps (Hadar 1998). Thus, in addition to harming US companies, the Burmese people lost out as well, since US companies usually offer relatively high labor standards and better workplace conditions (Hadar 1998). While it may seem odd to look at the harm done to commercial interests as an unintended effect of sanctions, one could argue that the costs of disengagement are higher than the ones of engagement. This affects both the population in the target country, as well as the sender. When imposing targeted sanctions, senders might expect economic costs, yet still impose sanctions due to expected political effects that outweigh economic costs. The problem is, of course, that sanctions may have economic costs and little political impact. The answer to the question of whether consequences are unintended or simply not fully anticipated is with the sender.

170   M. Eriksson Missed opportunities for dialogue Imposing targeted sanctions typically curtails dialogue and exchange of information. Such a policy of isolation is usually also part of the strategic rationale of a sanctions regime. While this may increase pressure on the targeted group (e.g. an elite or rebel group), it may also backfire onto the sender, since maintaining communication can be advantageous for the sender in preserving leverage. Moreover, isolating a country or group can greatly impact the population in the target country. This seems to have been the case when imposing sanctions on Hamas. In the parliamentary elections of January 2006, a majority of Palestinians voted for Harakat al-­Muqawamah al-­Islamiyya (Hamas). Hamas consequently saw itself as the sole and legitimate representative of Palestine. The international community responded to the surprising election outcome in various ways. Most international actors withdrew their support from the Hamas government, and Israel imposed a political and economic blockade against Gaza. Unfortunately, the suspension of aid severely affected the Palestinian population, causing what some experts claimed to be a “tremendous humanitarian crisis” (House of Lords 2007: 66). According to one estimate the decrease of support cut the Palestinian authorities’ monthly budget from US$150 million to US$20 million or less (House of Lords 2007: 136). Due to the complex political and humanitarian situation in Gaza and the West Bank, Palestinians are, to a great extent, dependent on the government, and consequently suffered from the international withdrawal of support to the new government elect. Most importantly however seems to be that sanctions may have prevented international actors from engaging with Palestinians to promote peace. Following the US lead, the EU included Hamas on their terrorism list. This meant that no official relations could be maintained, and members of the organization would be unable to enter the EU. The EU was thus unable to talk to one of the biggest player in the Palestinian territories. Many Palestinians, as well as others, have questioned the legitimacy and the rationale of such measures. Some scholars have even suggested that by doing this, the EU has outmaneuvered itself from having effective influence in the region (Tocci 2007: 10). Moreover, the EU may have unwittingly strengthened more conservative forces within Hamas. A similar dilemma can be observed with regard to the EU’s listing of Sri Lanka’s Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) as a terrorist organization. As John Hanssen Bauer, a mediator in the conflict, publicly stated, the listing may have damaged chances for peace talks (BBCSinhala.com 2006). Unintended consequences for third parties Regardless of whether sanctions are targeted or comprehensive, third parties are also likely to be affected by unintended consequences of sanctions. This is rather common when mandatory UN Chapter VII sanctions are implemented, even though the effects vary. One typical unintended consequence for third parties is that neighbors of the country targeted are likely to be affected. Usually bordering countries are indi-

Targeted sanctions   171 rectly given heavy political and economic responsibility with regard to the carrying out of air, land, and sea inspections and monitoring in order to ensure that import/export restrictions on targeted commodities are effective. When neighboring countries fail to implement sanctions, the UN’s naming and shaming system will tarnish their reputation. For example in the sanctions regime set up against UNITA, a number of governments were publically named and shamed for not being able to implement the targeted sanctions stipulated by the Security Council (see Note by the President of the Security Council 2001). This is not common practice, but can be a measure for strengthening sanctions (see also the Volcker Reports10 naming and shaming a number of actors, including the UN itself, for their violations of the Iraq sanctions regime). Another effect on third parties may be a significant increase in cross-­border migration (and the problems concomitant with a sudden influx of a large number of people), as sanctions change economic dynamics in target countries. Examples include migration from Myanmar to Thailand; from the Palestinian territories to Egypt; from Zimbabwe to South Africa; from Haiti to the Dominican Republic; and from Sri Lanka to India. Sanctions may well have contributed to, or exacerbated, these effects. Sanctions can also harm the economic health of neighboring countries. For instance, if an aviation ban is imposed with the intention of putting pressure upon a regime, the ban will curtail trade between the target country and its neighbors. The aviation ban against Yugoslavia, for instance, had significant economic implications for Bulgaria and Romania (House of Lords 2007: 72). Again, this is not necessarily unique to targeted sanctions. What is interesting however is that the shift to targeted sanctions has not been able to solve this problem. Moreover, targeted sanctions can have unintended effects on private operators following inclusion on sanctions lists. Such effects can arise either because of wrongful listing practices and/or because of poor intelligence collection during the creation of a sanctions regime. In one particular case in Italy, a hotel included on the UN’s al Qaeda/Taliban sanctions list was forced to close down because of its alleged connection to terrorism-­related activities. Later though, the UN Sanctions Committee allowed the hotel to continue to operate (under close supervision of the Italian state) as it was unclear whether there had been sufficient grounds for blacklisting the hotel in the first place (House of Lords 2007: 129). In another case, the UN Angola Sanctions Committee placed a Portuguese company operating a school on a sanctions list for allegedly supporting the insurgent movement UNITA. Instead of closing the school, which would have affected all of its students and teachers, the company was permitted to continue its operations under the supervision of national authorities (House of Lords 2007: 129). These examples show that unintended consequences of targeted sanctions for third parties require more political and also scholarly attention. As also mentioned by Peter Andreas in the conclusion to his chapter in this book, the focus in the sanctions literature on senders and targets does not pay enough attention to third parties.

172   M. Eriksson

Conclusion Sanctions scholars and practitioners have traditionally focused on the effectiveness of sanctions. However, little attention has been paid to unintended consequences of targeted sanctions, despite the increasing number of negative impacts they seem to cause. Although distressing to policymakers, looking at unintended consequences is the precondition for improving targeted sanctions as an important security governance tool. This chapter has identified a number of unintended consequences. It underlines that targeted sanctions will always have side effects. Senders should take into account that no policy measure is perfect. However, there is little evidence that targeted sanctions are the only, or even main, cause of the problems highlighted in this chapter. A congregation of factors and background variables, on the side of senders, targets, and third parties, are likely to affect the outcome of sanctions. Thus, while one can make plausible arguments about “failures” of targeted sanctions, such instruments can never be blamed alone. To do so more convincingly, more empirical studies are needed. Another finding is the difference between non-­anticipated and unintended consequences. In some cases, senders of sanctions seem to have anticipated negative consequences, yet not necessarily intended their occurrence. It was fairly obvious, for example, that the “War on Terror” would negatively impact on human rights. It must also be noted that the damage inflicted by sanctions’ unintended consequences can vary. Even when targeting only a small number of individuals, the economic, political, or legal repercussions can be dramatic, and potentially undermine the entire sanctions system (this has been the case with the terrorist list and the ensuing human rights problems). Targeting can cause tremendous human suffering of listed individuals following wrongful listing measures, as was the case, for instance, with those Swedish citizens targeted by financial UN sanctions in connection to their involvement with al-­Barakaat. While the UN Security Council and the EU are struggling to cope with complex political emergencies that require various types of security governance mechanisms such as targeted sanctions, such measures seldom come without problems. Regrettably, while the international community is trying to avoid negative effects, the complex circumstances in which sanctions are implemented will most likely continue to cause unintended negative effects. To avoid problems as much as possible, targeted sanctions must more effectively hit their targets. This chapter supports the view of Peter Andreas in this volume that senders need to be more aware about negative side effects when implementing sanctions. In this regard, permanent assessment mechanisms can contribute to more effectiveness and the avoidance of negative consequences before and after the implementation of sanctions. Targeted sanctions are problematic. But their effects are still preferable to the effects of non-­targeted, comprehensive sanctions. Targeted sanctions hold significant potential to change the behavior of targets in non-­violent ways. But it is crucial to avoid, or mitigate, the negative consequences of targeted sanctions.

Targeted sanctions   173

Notes   1 A special thanks for comments and editorial advice goes to Cornelius Friesendorf.   2 The Interlaken Process on Financial Sanctions; the Bonn-­Berlin Process on Arms Embargoes; and the Stockholm Process on the Implementation of Targeted Sanctions (documentation of all three processes are online, available at: www.smartsanctions.se).   3 R.T. Naylor (1999) analyzes the difficulties of avoiding negative unintended consequences when imposing sanctions. See also Bessler et al. (2004) for a discussion on sanctions assessments.   4 United Nations Security Council Resolution (UNSCR) 1130 (1997).   5 Author telephone interview with UNITA representative, summer 2007.   6 See the Sanctions Assessments Handbook. Online, available at: http://ochaonline. un.org/.   7 This was an extension of a sanctions regime established in 1999 against al Qaeda and the Taliban.   8 A good account for how the US government identified entities to be targeted with sanctions can be found in the 9-11 Commission report.   9 The UN terrorism list was enforced by Council Regulation 2199/2001. 10 Paul Volcker was the Chairman of the Independent Inquiry Committee set up by the UN in 2004. The reports can be downloaded from the Independent Inquiry Committee website. Online, available at: www.iic-­offp.org/documents htm.

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174   M. Eriksson Brzoska, M. (2008) “Measuring the Effectiveness of Arms Embargoes,” Peace Economics, Peace Science and Public Policy, 14(2): 1–32. Cameron, I. (2003) “UN Targeted Sanctions, Legal Safeguards and the European Convention on Human Rights,” Nordic Journal of International Law, 72(2): 1–56. Cameron, I. (2008) “Respecting Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms and EU/UN Sanctions: State of Play,” Report Commissioned by the European Parliament, Policy Department External Policies, Directorate-­General for External Policies of the Union. Cortright, D and G. Lopez with J. Wagler, R.W. Conroy and J. Dashti-­Gibson (2000) The Sanctions Decade: Assessing UN Strategies in the 1990s, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Cortright, D. and G.A. Lopez with L. Gerber (2002a) Sanctions and the Search for Security: Challenges to UN Action, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Cortright, D. and G.A. Lopez with L. Gerber (2002b) Smart Sanctions: Targeting Economic Statecraft, Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Doxey, M.P. (1996) International Sanctions in Contemporary Perspective, Basingstoke and New York: Macmillan and St. Martin’s Press. Doxey, M.P. (2007) United Nations Sanctions: Trends and Problems, Halifax: Centre for Foreign Policy Studies, Dalhousie University. Drezner, D.W. (2003) “How Smart are Smart Sanctions?,” International Studies Review, (5): 107–110. Elliott, K.A. (2002) “Analyzing the Effects of Targeted Sanctions,” in D. Cortright and G. Lopez (eds.) Smart Sanctions: Targeting Economic Statecraft, New York: Rowman & Littlefield. Elliott, K.A, G.C. Hufbauer and J.J. Schott (2007) Economic Sanctions Reconsidered, Washington, DC: Peterson Institute. Eriksson, M. (2006) Experiences from the al-­Baraqaat Case, Commissioned Paper to the Expert Roundtable on Strengthening UN Targeted Sanctions and Due Process, Meeting held by the Government of Germany, Switzerland and Sweden, New York, January. Eriksson, M. (2007) Targeting the Leadership of Zimbabwe: A Path to Democracy and Normalization?, Uppsala: Uppsala University, Department of Peace and Conflict Research. EU Council Common Position 2005/792/CFSP. EU Council Common Position 2007/338/CFSP. European Court of Justice (2008) Joined Cases C-­402/05 P and C-­415/05 P Yassin Abdullah Kadi and Al Barakaat International Foundation vs. Council and Commission, 3 September. Fitzgerald, P.L. (2007) “Smarter ‘Smart’ Sanctions,” Penn State International Law Review, 26(1): 37–56. Fruchart, D., P. Holtom, P. Wallensteen, S.T. Wezeman and D. Strandow (2007) United Nations Arms Embargoes: Their Impact on Arms Flows and Target Behavior, Stockholm and Uppsala: Stockholm International Peace Research Institute and the Department of Peace and Conflict Research, Uppsala University. Galtung, J. (1967) “On the Effects of International Economic Sanctions: With Examples from the Case of Rhodesia,” World Politics, 19(3): 378–416. Haass, R. (1997) “Sanctioning Madness,” Foreign Affairs, November/December, 76(6): 74–85. Hadar, L.T. (1998). “US Sanctions Against Burma: A Failure on All Fronts,” Cato Institute Trade Policy Analysis, 1, 26 March. Hawkins, D and J. Lloyd (2003) “Questioning Comprehensive Sanctions: the Birth of a Norm,” Journal of Human Rights, 2(3): 441–454.

Targeted sanctions   175 Hondora, T. (2006) “Zimbabwe Sanctions: are they Political or Economic?,” New Zimbabwe.com, 3 November. House of Lords (2007). Impact of Economic Sanctions: Evidence. Memorandum and Witness – “Evidence” provided to the House of Lords Select Committee on Economic Affairs, 2nd Report of Session 2006–2007, House of Lords Paper 96-II, London, May. Keeley, G. (2007). “Gibraltar Hitch Halts Embargo on North Korea,” Sunday Telegraph, 2 April. Kirshner, J. (1997) “The Micro Foundation of Economic Sanctions,” Security Studies, 6(3): 32–64. Marty, D. (2007) United Nations Security Council and European Union Blacklists, Document 11454, 16 November, Brussels: EU Parliamentary Assembly and the Committee on Legal Affairs and Human Rights. Naylor, R.T. (1999) Economic Warfare; Sanctions, Embargo Busting, and their Human Costs, Boston: Northeastern University Press. Niblock, T. (2001) Pariah State and Sanctions in the Middle East, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. President of the Security Council (2001) “Addendum to the Final Report of the Monitoring Mechanism on Sanctions against UNITA,” note by the President of the Security Council, S/2001/363, 18 April. Shagabutdinova, E. and J. Berejikan (2007) “Deploying Sanctions while Protecting Human Rights: Are Humanitarian ‘Smart’ Sanctions Effective?,” Journal of Human Rights, 6(1): 59–74. Tierney, D. (2005) “Irrelevant or Malevolent? UN Arms Embargoes in Civil Wars,” Review of International Studies, 31: 645–664. Tocci, N. (2007) “What Went Wrong? The Impact of Western Polices Towards Hamas and Hizbollah,” Center for European Policy Studies, Policy Brief, 135, July. Tostensen, A. and B. Bull (2002) “Are Smart Sanctions Feasible,” World Politics, 54: 373–403. Traynor, I. (2007) “Germany Pushes for Lifting of EU Sanctions on Uzbekistan,” Guardian, 14 May. United Nations Security Council Resolution (1997) (UNSCR) 1130. United Nations Security Council Resolution (2001) (UNSCR) 1343. United Nations Security Council Resolution (2006) (UNSCR) 1695. US Congress (2003) “Burmese Freedom and Democracy Act,” Public Law 108–61_July 28, 2003, Public Law 108–61, 108th Congress, Washington, DC: US Congress. Vries, A. de (2002) “EU Sanctions against Yugoslavia, 1998–2000,” in D. Cortright and G. Lopez (eds.) Smart Sanctions: Targeting Economic Statecraft, New York: Rowman & Littlefield. Wallensteen, P. (2008). “Save the Arms Embargo,” Policy Brief, 14. Wallensteen, P., M. Eriksson and D. Strandow (2006) Sanctions for Conflict Prevention and Peace Building: Lessons Learned from Côte d’Ivoire and Liberia, Uppsala: Department of Peace and Conflict Research. Wallensteen, P., M. Eriksson and C. Staibano (2004) Routes to Democracy in Burma/ Myanmar: The Uppsala Pilot Study on Dialogue and International Strategies, Uppsala: Department of Peace and Conflict Research, Uppsala University. White House (1997) “Presidential Executive Order 13047 of May 20, 1997 Prohibiting New Investment in Burma, Presidential Documents 28301,” Federal Register, 62(99).

9 The privatization of force and its consequences Unintended but not unpredictable Jörg Friedrichs

Introduction Unintended consequences can be fairly unpredictable.1 This is hardly surprising, given the contingencies and complexities of the social world. Sometimes, however, they are entirely predictable. What seems like unpredictability is often simply the result of a failure to see the wider picture. Take for example a carp in its pond. From the perspective of the brute animal, ending as Christmas dinner is neither an intended nor a predictable consequence of snapping at that luscious worm. But let us now assume that the carp was endowed with a rudimentary form of practical reason. If this was so, the animal in the carp would still be tempted to follow the stomach and bite. To the carp as a human-­like reflective being, however, the result of getting caught would be predictable. A clever carp might therefore just nibble the worm and get away with it. The example of the reflective carp suggests that seeing the wider picture is a necessary, although by no means a sufficient precondition for getting a grip on unintended consequences. It will not help in every situation. But it may sometimes help against those undesirable consequences which can be avoided by anticipating effects that are predictable from a higher vantage point. Humans are sometimes, although by no means always, able to ponder the unintended but predictable consequences of their plans, and to adjust their actions accordingly.

Figure 9.1  The reflective carp: part I (courtesy of Horst Friedrichs).

The privatization of force   177 The privatization of force is a case in point. When private security guards are entrusted with the protection of gated communities, or when mercenaries are hired to replace regular soldiers, nobody has the intention of destabilizing social order or undermining the morale of the troops. Similarly, no US decision-­maker intended to destroy the prospects for nation building when, in Iraq, local sheikhs were deputized to fight insurgents and empowered to police their own communities. Nevertheless, this is precisely what is bound to happen should the sheikhs become warlords (Friedrichs and Friesendorf 2009). From a narrow perspective, it may not matter to an individual whether its premises are protected by the public police, by a private security service, or by a neighborhood militia. From a broader perspective, it matters a lot and has unintended but entirely predictable consequences. When the monopoly of force is handed over to private actors, this drastically transforms the fabric of political, social, and economic relations. When we see the wider picture, such unintended effects are not unpredictable. Better concepts will help to see the wider picture. Contrary to conventional wisdom, force can be divested from the state not only towards the market but also to people. Most authors think about the privatization of force only in terms of the market taking over public functions from the state. Empirically, however, this is not sufficient. In addition to Max Weber’s public monopoly of force, it is useful to imagine two different ideal types of private force. Not only is it possible to think of a commercial market for protection and security where force is a tradable commodity (commodification of force); one can also envisage a plurality of externally competing and internally cohesive groups taking over security governance and organizing the protection of their members in an otherwise anarchic social environment (community self-­help). For analytical purposes, it is thus useful to construct three ideal types where force is concentrated in the hands of political, economic, or societal actors. The ideal types are the monopoly of force, the commodification of force, and community self-­help. To begin with, I develop these ideal types. Next, I show how it is possible to understand transformations in the real world in relation to them. Subsequently, I offer six empirical cases where the privatization of force, whether to the market or to people, has drastic implications which can already be observed: private military contracting, private policing, prison privatization, gated communities, gangs, and Sharia enforcement. Finally, I show that a close realization of the ideal type of commodification (“Force, Inc.”) is neither possible nor desirable. As the conclusion reveals, the privatization of force may lead to some deeply ironic effects. It ultimately does not only erode the fundamental raison d’être of the modern state, but it is also self-­defeating for society and the market itself. Seeing the wider picture can help to avoid, or be better prepared for, those consequences of private force which may be unintended but are nevertheless predictable.

Ideal types Much has been written on the privatization of force (for example Jones and Newburn 1998; Singer 2003; Avant 2005; Bryden and Caparini 2006; Verkuil

178   J. Friedrichs 2007). Unfortunately, most of this literature suffers serious distortions from conceptually impoverished and mutually exclusive binaries: state versus market, public versus private, principal versus agent. Such dichotomies are ill-­adapted to the complexity of real-­world phenomena.2 As an alternative strategy, I propose to follow the common practice of assuming a conceptual triangle constituted by state, market, and society (Friedrichs 2005). Further, I propose to follow the lead of Max Weber (2004 [1904]: 387–404) in using ideal types as conceptual benchmarks. The result of these two strategies is a triad of ideal types: the state monopoly of force, the commodification of force, and community self-­help. It is important to bear in mind that ideal-­types are not real types. Ideal types are “concepts and judgments that are not empirical reality, nor represent such reality, but which allow it to be ordered in thought in a valid manner” (Weber 2004 [1904]: 402). The heuristic purpose is to determine “in each individual case how close to, or far from, reality such an ideal type is” (Weber 2004 [1904]: 388). Ideal types are possible in conceptual imagination, but they hardly ever occur in reality. Nonetheless, they are useful because constellations and transformations in the world can be understood in relation to them.3 Monopoly of force Let us start from the ideal type of the state monopoly of legitimate force. Max Weber (1994 [1919]: 309–316) defines the modern state as a human association that successfully claims the monopoly of legitimate physical force in a given territory. Insofar as the state, in the perception of those subject to its rule, holds the monopoly of legitimate force, violence becomes a means of last resort and political order becomes possible. It is important to note that the Weberian monopoly of force is embedded in a wider conceptualization of modern statehood, which is seen as a particular and historically contingent form of order.4 For Weber, the monopoly of force of the modern state is inextricably linked to its other two defining characteristics: territoriality and public administration. Force is thus monopolistically exercised by a territorial government reliant upon a bureaucratic class of state officials. At the most practical level, the monopoly of force is embodied by the police and the military as the internal and external branches of government. The private use of force is tightly regulated or prohibited. As any other ideal type, the monopoly of force has always been a conceptual abstraction rather than empirical reality. Nevertheless, there are familiar Territoriality Modern statehood

Internal branch (police)

Monopoly of force Public administration

Figure 9.2  Modern statehood.

External branch (military)

The privatization of force   179 real-­world approximations. The totalitarian autocracies of Hitler and Stalin come to mind (Arendt 2004 [1951]; Friedrich and Brzezinski 1965), or contemporary North Korea. But there are more positive examples as well. In democratic countries, the monopoly of force has been “tamed” or “domesticated” by the tradition of constitutional checks and balances and due to a secular process of civilization (Elias 2000 [1939]). The western European welfare state of the post-­war era, for example, has kept and in part still keeps a fairly close approximation to the monopoly of force without any totalitarian excesses. Commodification of force The next ideal type is the commodification of force, that is to say a free market where force is traded as a commodity. In the ideal-­typical case of such a free market of violence, public force is either residual or entirely absent. To the extent that the use of force is regulated at all, such regulation must come from the market itself. There are tendencies, for example in the United States, towards the commodification of force, but so far there is no real-­world example of a truly self-­ regulating market of violence. Private guards and gated communities in California or South Africa offer merely a glimpse of a world where force is a commodity available to the highest bidder. We have to turn to fictional literature if we want to gain a more concrete idea of how this might look like. A science-­fiction classic from the 1950s (Pohl and Kornbluth 1955) depicts such a libertarian dystopia. In this novel, government is entirely subservient to business. There are bloody industrial feuds and commercial vendettas to settle accounts among powerful corporations. The public police have been replaced by private protection companies, but you won’t be protected by them unless you have paid in advance a contribution commensurate to your personal risk-­level. The following passage (ibid.: 34–35) gives a flavor. Surprised at my calm, I called the Metropolitan Protective Corporation. “Are you a subscriber, sir?” their operator asked. “Yes, dammit. For six years. Get a man over here! Get a squad over here.” “One moment, Mr Courtenay . . . Mr Mitchell Courtenay? Copysmith, star class?” “No,” I said bitterly. “Target is my profession. Will you kindly get a man over here before the character who just took a shot at me comes back?” “Excuse me, Mr Courtenay,” said the sweet, unruffled voice. “Did you say you were not a copysmith, star class?” I ground my teeth. “I’m star class,” I admitted. “Thank you, sir. I have your record before me, sir. I am sorry, sir, but your account is in arrears. We do not accept star class accounts at the general rate because of the risk of industrial feuds, sir.”

180   J. Friedrichs Community self-­help The third ideal type is force exercised on behalf of social groups, where both the territorial state and the capitalist market are failing or have already failed. In such a quasi-­Hobbesian situation, people take their refuge to community self-­ help. They turn to community leaders who organize patronage networks, offer a certain amount of protection, and enforce a degree of cohesion. These leaders will vie with the leaders of rival communities – and/or with rival leaders of their own community – for turf. Real-­world approximations can be observed in Somalia and Afghanistan. In places like Iraq, communities are traditionally policed by local sheikhs; institutionalized patronage networks enable a modicum of order (McCallister 2008). Sharia justice and various forms of customary law offer another fallback position in Muslim societies. In places like West Africa, where tribal and religious codes are more erratic, state failure and economic meltdown lead to more anarchic situations (Kaplan 2001: 3–57). The scenario would almost certainly be even worse in Western societies where the social glue of traditional norms has been eroded for centuries. Urban gangs are already taking control in marginalized swaths of Western countries. Again, we can turn to fiction in order to understand how this would look in the extreme case. The second part of the apocalyptic Mad Max trilogy – Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior – vividly portrays a lawless world where both the state and the capitalist market have crumbled, and where shattered hordes of reckless individuals try to survive and appropriate scarce resources in a violent environment (Hayes et al.: 1981).

Real-­world transformations Let us now move from static to dynamic analysis. As we have seen, the privatization of force comes in two categorically different forms. There is privatization of force from state to market, and from state to people. In the ideal-­typical case of privatization to the market, force is transformed from a matter of public administration into a commodity available to the highest bidder. In the ideal-­typical case of privatization to people, the public provision of security is replaced by a patchy situation of community self-­help. In empirical reality, security governance falls short of such extremes. The real world is characterized not only by different forms but also by different degrees of privatization. As Figure 9.3 suggests, it is possible to categorize possible configurations of order by graded continua. Real-­world cases can then be located between the ideal-­typical extremes, and privatization can be represented as a movement from state to market or people within this tri-­polar conceptual space. From state to market A mild form of market privatization is “new public management,” or the introduction of market orientation into the public sector. Since state ownership is

The privatization of force   181 Commodification

Market

Outsourcing force New public management State

Monopoly of force Certified autonomy Managed segmentation Community self-help

People

Figure 9.3  Forms and degrees of privatization.

preserved, most people do not even see this as privatization. A more radical form is the “outsourcing” of public functions and the transfer of ownership from the public to the private sector. This is the most common understanding of privatization. The most radical form of privatization is commodification. While under “outsourcing” a service is still under nominal public control, “commodification” means that it becomes a scarce resource available only to those who can afford it. From state to people Similarly, there are discrete stages in the move of legitimate force from state to people. In the mildest form, a state may grant a residual right for certain groups to settle internal disagreements as long as none of the parties involved in a dispute invokes either the judiciary or the official forces of order. The next stage is reached when a state devolves part of its authority to societal segments, but keeps the final say when inter-­community issues are at stake. In the extreme case, the state dissolves into a patchwork of communal groups where competing local strongmen organize protection rackets and raise rival claims to the pacification of circumscribed areas and particular tribal or confessional groups. In reality, the two processes are not mutually exclusive. For example, gated communities protected by private security guards can coexist with areas patrolled by neighbourhood watches, and local strongmen can be backed by professional mercenaries. Latter-­day pirates off Somalia’s shores are rooted in traditional clan relationships and, at the same time, closely intertwined with transnational illicit markets (Menkhaus 2009). “Warlord politics” (Reno 1998; Marten 2006) and “new wars” (Kaldor 2006; Münkler 2005) are in a messy position at the center of the triangle where none of the ideal types seems to apply.5 Despite the existence of this empirical gray zone, the next section shows that the distinction between privatization to markets and privatization to people is useful.

182   J. Friedrichs

Empirical sketches To fill my conceptual framework with empirical content, I now present a number of thumbnail sketches. These are highly preliminary. Further research is needed to produce more detailed case studies. Nevertheless, even a summary discussion of concrete manifestations of private force can provide a glimpse of the practical utility of my conceptual framework. Wherever possible, I present evidence not only from the United States and Europe, but also from other parts of the world. In what follows, I sketch the six empirical cases that I found most representative and illuminating: private military contracting, private policing, prison privatization, gated communities, gangs, and Sharia enforcement. Private military contracting Private military contracting, often pejoratively referred to as “mercenaries,” is the most conspicuous case of privatization to the market. However, it is important to note that military contracting is about outsourcing rather than commodification. This is so because most services, especially as they relate to the use of force, are not tradable commodities available to the highest bidder but only to legitimate state clients. Private military contracting is a global phenomenon, but at the same time geographically highly differentiated. Contractors from all over the world typically work for corporations headquartered in Western countries. These corporations are contracted by states, most prominently the United States. Their area of deployment is primarily outside the West, for example in Iraq or Afghanistan. In recent years, there has been a flurry of literature on private military firms (Singer 2003; Avant 2005; Wulf 2005; Kinsey 2006; Chesterman and Lehnhardt 2007; Alexandra et al. 2008; Carmola 2010), and it is clear that the current US military presence in Iraq and Afghanistan could hardly have been sustained without companies such as Blackwater (Scahill 2007), now renamed as Xe. However, only few countries other than the United States have been ready to delegate combat activities to private contractors. In theory but not in practice, even the United States has limited the involvement of private military contractors to support functions (Petersohn 2008). There has been less military outsourcing in the rest of the world. With the partial exception of Britain, there is little enthusiasm for private military contractors in western Europe. The same applies to Japan and the industrializing countries in South and East Asia, from where little or no military outsourcing is reported.6 During the 1990s, in a few African countries – namely Angola and Sierra Leone – corporations used private military firms to enforce a stable business environment and control resources (Reno 1998). In 2004, mercenaries tried to stage a coup d’état in Equatorial Guinea (Roberts 2006). Despite these events, the involvement of mercenaries at the behest of business interest is still the exception rather than the rule. Private military contractors are sometimes

The privatization of force   183 recruited by the governments of developing countries, most of which are officially opposed to what they continue to call “mercenaries” (United Nations 2008a, 2008b). Private policing While military contracting is mostly (although not entirely) limited to outsourcing, private policing represents a mild form of commodification. Private security services are generally available to those able to afford them. However, it is important to note that private policing in most cases happens in a highly regulated environment where the legal rules for the legitimate use of force are rigorously set by the state. In the United States and Britain, the “private police” reached rough numerical equality with the public forces of order by the late 1960s and 1970s, respectively (Spitzer and Scull 1977: 18; Draper 1978: 23).7 In 2008, there were 633,710 public police officers and 1,046,760 private security guards in the United States (with security guards defined as those who “guard, patrol or monitor premises to prevent theft, violence or infractions of rule”).8 A majority of security guards work as contractors employed by private security firms. There are concerns that private security guards, most notably those who protect critical infrastructure such as military bases, are often underpaid and not properly trained. Some in the United States are also worried that the largest employers, Securitas and Wackenhut, are foreign-­owned companies (Parfomak 2004).9 In most continental EU member states, the public police are still more numerous than private security guards. In 2004, the police were outnumbered in only four out of 24 continental EU countries (Button 2007: 111).10 With the exception of the post­soviet states of eastern Europe (including Russia), the private security industry is more stringently regulated in continental Europe than in the United States, United Kingdom, Canada, or Australia (Button 2007: 122; Krahmann 2006: 200). The situation is similar in Japan, where the degree of regulation and control of the private sector is even tighter than in Europe (Yoshida 1999; Yoshida and Leishman 2006). In least developed countries, especially in Africa, various forms of community self-­help are the dominant kind of private policing. Although transnational corporations often rely on the services of private security companies (Abrahamsen and Williams 2007, 2009), multi-­choice policing (Baker 2007) and warlord politics (Reno 1998; Marten 2006) are more prevalent than the commercial provision of security. Prison privatization Prison privatization is a case located somewhere between new public management and outsourcing. Prisons are sometimes farmed out to private facilitators, but their control is not something money can buy for private citizens however rich they may be. Prison privatization therefore is a far cry from outright commodification.

184   J. Friedrichs In the last third of the twentieth century, large commercial companies have (re)gained a stake in the management of prisons.11 Once again, this is particularly true for the United States and Britain. Mainly due to the increasing prison population, since the 1980s several states and counties, predominantly in the South of the United States, have outsourced prisons to private firms. More recently there has been a slowdown of this trend at the state and county level, while federal prisons have increasingly come to rely on private firms during the presidency of George W. Bush. Following intense lobbying efforts and bolstered by the ideology of new public management, Britain came to emulate the example of the United States in the 1990s and contracted out several prisons in England and Wales. Both in the United States and in the United Kingdom, prisons are now often run by private security companies. In either country, between 5 and 10 percent of the prison population is detained in private prisons (Jones and Newburn 2005; Wood 2007). Critics are concerned about an expanding “penal-­industrial complex,” where companies such as the Corrections Corporation of America, Wackenhut Corrections Corporation, or UK Detention Services have a vested interest in the further growth of the prison population. Private prisons have spread to Anglophone countries such as Australia and South Africa. Other Western countries have also experimented with prison privatization, but so far the Anglophone countries are at the forefront. Only few prisons in continental Europe are directly operated by the private sector (Mehigan and Rowe 2007: 363–365).12 While there may be further scope for prison privatization in Western countries, different penal cultures and state traditions in Asia militate against a spill-­over. Some developing countries might offer limited business opportunities, but poverty, instability, poor human rights records and corruption in most of these countries pose practical and ethical obstacles. From the viewpoint of authoritarian rulers who want to control their prison apparatus, outsourcing prisons into the hands of – typically Western – companies is clearly not a good idea. Nor does it seem to be a good idea from the viewpoint of Western donors to support prison privatization in countries where even public prisons pose huge challenges to various attempts at security sector reform. Gated communities The phenomenon of gated communities is a beacon of commodification. The relative safety of fortified compounds is indeed a commodity available to wealthy individuals. In general, gated communities are characterized by the following security features: Entry control, such as gates, traffic barriers, “no admittance” signs and guardhouses; hardened perimeters, including walls, fences and other types of border such as lakes; and internal surveillance, which might mean armed patrols but could also be alarm systems or video cameras. (McKenzie 2006: 17–18)

The privatization of force   185 However, it is important to note that gated communities tend to be firmly embedded in their socio-­political environment. For example, they generally rely on the public protection of private property. Although segregated residential areas have a long tradition in many parts of the world, since the early 1990s they are big business in the United States (Le Goix and Webster 2008). Their epicenter is probably still the American “Sunbelt,” but they have spread all over the United States (Low 2004). Beyond the United States and Canada, the pattern of gated communities has been merged with existing local traditions and adapted to a variety of specific local circumstances. Gated communities are particularly attractive in industrializing countries or regions where there is a high level of insecurity and social inequality, for example in Latin America, South Africa, Lebanon, China, and Russia. In destitute places, there is less scope for them except as a privilege for the happy few. The same is true about highly secure places, where there is less reason for social segregation. Although gated communities have spread from Latin America to Spain and Portugal, other western European countries, including the United Kingdom, are less permeable (Glasze et al. 2006). For the present analytical purposes, it is important to note that “privatopia” (McKenzie 2006) is not only a libertarian but to some extent also a communitarian utopia. Despite their commercial outfit, (segre)gated communities sometimes deserve the predicate “community.” In the United States, they are often characterized by elaborate schemes of private residential governance. Typically, there are homeowner associations holding periodical meetings and directed by a board with decision-­making authority. The high degree of social regulation and control may even lead to “condo wars” between homeowners pursuing libertarian ideals and those more prone to communitarian values. Gated communities are therefore as close to commodification as it gets, but in some cases they are also a mirage of local community life. They typically recognize the authority of the state as the last resort, for example, when there is a serious criminal incident or when there is need for litigation in a “condo war” between quarrelsome neighbours.13 Gangs Due to their notorious penchant for brutal violence, gangs are a chilling form of privatization to people. Representing an extreme form of community self-­help, gang-­controlled areas are the phenomenological opposite of gated communities. Or are they? Taking the favelas of Rio de Janeiro as an example, one can also view them as distorted mirror images of fortified compounds. At the gates of Rio’s gang-­controlled areas, there are checkpoints to discourage inroads by the police and repel attacks by rival gangs. Inhabitants live in constant fear of physical assault and violent death, but for their protection the inmates of “gangland” mostly rely on the very same mobsters that make their life so dangerous. “Gangland” is similar to mafia-­controlled areas in that people usually do not resort to the public forces of order. The police are seen by many as so corrupt that they are just another gang with better arms but less local knowledge.

186   J. Friedrichs Urban gangs are a global phenomenon, from US ghettoes to Latin American slums and from Parisian suburbs to African or Asian-­Pacific shantytowns. Although it is often hard to tell whether they are about “community self help” or rather about “help yourself,” they are a rewarding object of research from the standpoint of political sociology because they enjoy a perverse form of authority in their social environment, viz. “illicit authority” (Hall and Biersteker 2002). Unfortunately, however, there is a desperate lack of tough-­minded social analysis. There is a tendency to either demonize gangs as scary breeding grounds for organized crime (Kemp 2007), or alternatively to romanticize them as “resistance from below” to capitalism and globalization (Hagedorn 2005, 2007, 2008). While all of this may be true in some cases, the crucial point about gangs is that they willy-­nilly perform a vital governance function for marginalized people (Rapley 2006). Sharia enforcement Sharia enforcement is an important form of privatization to people. When a Muslim society is threatened by rampant anomy or state failure, the enforcement of Islamic criminal law by religious courts is a possible fallback position. In some countries, such as Saudi Arabia, Sharia enforcement is limited to certified autonomy. In other places, such as Nigeria, it represents a precarious form of managed segmentation. In yet other places, such as Somalia, it comes down to full-­blown community self-­help. To start with the most extreme and most interesting example, Somalia has been gangland ever since the ousting of Siad Barre in 1991. During the first 15 years, the indigenous tradition of social organization by clans had morphed into “warlord politics” (Reno 1998; Marten 2006). By 2005, however, an alternative presented itself: the Union of Islamic Courts. A federation of Sharia courts, backed by a military branch, provided basic law enforcement to the population and was able to wrest power from rival clans in large parts of Mogadishu and hinterland. For the first time in 15 years, the reestablishment of public order seemed possible. Due to the Islamist radicalism of a minority, however, the episode was ended by a US-­backed military intervention of Ethiopian forces in 2006. In the next couple of years Mogadishu fell back into warlord politics under an increasingly contested military occupation (Barnes and Hassan 2007; Menkhaus 2007a, 2007b), but since the retreat of the Ethiopian forces in 2008/9 Somalia’s Islamist fighters are back with a vengeance.14 For our analytical purpose, the most relevant cases are of course those like Somalia, where Sharia criminal justice has been applied as a full substitute of effective political authority. Similar examples include Chechnya in the inter-­war period from 1996 to 1999, and Afghanistan under the Taliban. In the North-­West Caucasus, attempts to establish Sharia criminal law and customary forms of tribal adjudication and dispute settlement have been suppressed by Russian state authorities (Comins-­Richmond 2004). However, it is important to note that Sharia criminal justice does not always amount to full-­blown community self-­help. It can exist both within and without

The privatization of force   187 a state, and it can have both stabilizing and destabilizing effects. For example, it is officially sanctioned in Saudi Arabia and Iran where it does not pose any challenge to the regimes. In Nigeria, Sharia law has been sponsored by local authorities challenging the authority of the federal state. At the behest of local governors, Sharia criminal justice was reintroduced in the northern Muslim territories of the country in 1999/2000. With the resigned toleration of the central state, there have been several thousand casualties in subsequent clashes between Muslim and non-­Muslim Nigerians (Harnischfeger 2008). As in the case of gangs, there is a shortage of tough-­minded social analysis. Supporters of Sharia justice are wrong in seeing it only in terms of Islamic rectitude. Critics are equally wrong to see it only in terms of human rights violations or the oppression of women (Marshall 2005). To understand how Sharia enforcement works, one has to understand how Islamic law is rooted in the idea of divine sovereignty. According to this religious tradition, the immutable law of God needs to be enforced regardless of whether those wielding secular power approve it or not (Peters 2005; Weiss 2006). This common belief makes Sharia law a powerful instrument in the hands of religious authorities to establish acceptable forms of security governance. Sharia enforcement can thus work either with the explicit approval of the state as in Saudi Arabia, in partial defiance of the central state as in Nigeria, or indeed in the absence of a workable state as in Somalia. The thumbnail sketches discussed in this section show considerable variation along cultural, geographic and functional lines. Nevertheless, it is possible at a very high level of generalization to extract some trends. In highly developed countries (HDCs), with the United States and Britain in the vanguard, it seems that the privatization of force mostly moves from state to market. In least developed countries (LDCs), and particularly in Africa and the Arab world, the privatization of force tends to move from state to people. In newly industrializing countries (NICs), it is hard to tell in general terms whether the privatization of force is moving towards the market or rather towards people. The main explanation for these differences is probably that the distinction between state and market, state and civil society, and market and civil society is most elaborate in HDCs. The distinction is less elaborate in NICs, and least elaborate in LDCs.

Force, Inc. The monopoly of force has always been an ideal type rather than empirical reality. But there have been close approximations to it. The same applies to community self-­help. Exclusive reliance on community self-­help without an economic infrastructure or a political superstructure is hard to imagine, but it is possible to find close approximations. The issue is different with regard to the commodification of force. It is possible, in a science-­fiction novel, to fancy a system entirely based on force as a commodity available on the free market, but there are strong reasons to argue that in the real world full commodification or “Force, Inc.” (Rosky 2004) is neither possible nor desirable.

188   J. Friedrichs Full commodification is impossible My first contention is that full commodification of force, or even a close approximation to it, is impossible as it would undermine the very foundations upon which the commonwealth, including the capitalist market itself, has been built. To bring this home, let us take as a starting point the imagery of the state of nature. We can assume the Hobbesian “war of all against all,” when life was “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short” (Hobbes 1957 [1651]: 82). In such a hypothetical pre-­social world, the risk of violence is endemic and there is no security worthy of that name. Only self-­help can provide a partial remedy against the endemic risk of physical assault. Even the strongest man must be afraid of being overwhelmed by weaker men, perhaps while asleep. To escape from such dystopia, Hobbes has it that humans subject themselves to the sovereign enforcement of peace and security. Thereby, a prosperous commonwealth becomes possible. Alternatively, we can assume with John Locke that even in the absence of government humans would form social institutions to limit their insecurity (Locke 1966 [1690]). In fact, this is what community self-­help seems to be all about. Either way, it emerges that there is no security worthy of that name without the social and/or political control of force. Security is possible only to the extent that the logic of self-­help is transcended and the use of violence is regulated by socially shared and/or politically enforced norms. Where the Hobbesian state of nature has been overcome, individualistic forms of violence become anti-­social behavior. The canonical solution to the problem of uncontrolled violence in the absence of coercion is not so much community self-­help but rather the modern state, where the monopolization of legitimate force has three important consequences: society is internally pacified; private property is protected; and contracts are enforced. Over the centuries, this has provided the necessary institutional infrastructure for commerce and, eventually, a capitalist market and industrial society to emerge. Ironically, however, the capitalist market has an inherent tendency to turn everything into a tradable commodity (Polanyi 2001 [1944]), from land and labor to leisure and love. As we shall see, this implies a risk that the market may undermine its own foundations by eroding society and colonizing or marginalizing the state. Paradoxically, the full commodification of force would lead back to the very logic of individual self-­help that had to be overcome for society to become pacified, for property to become protected, for contracts to be enforced, and for the capitalist market to emerge in the first place. The tendency of the market to “commodify” whatever is endowed with a value is often deplored. The romantic regrets that the commodification of sexuality leads to an impoverished substitute for true love, which cannot be bought. The nostalgic deplores that commodification deprives both art and everyday life of their essence (Pound 1972: Canto XLV). The philosopher argues that the exchange value of commodities is corrosive of the intrinsic worth, or dignity, of

The privatization of force   189 moral goods (Kant 1964 [1785]: 102). All these are important concerns. But it is only when force becomes a tradable commodity that the market definitively undermines its own socio-­political foundations. There is nothing wrong with a limited private role in the provision of security. Hardly anybody takes issue with the existence of snappish watchdogs or barbed wire at property lines. There is a right for legitimate self-­defense, and in some countries citizens are allowed to carry guns for that purpose. In the early phase of modern statehood mercenaries and pirates played an important role in military affairs, while peasant uprisings and banditry ravaged marginal zones (Thomson 1994; Percy 2007; Hobsbawm 1959, 1969). The monopolization of force progressed slowly, and it was not until the nineteenth and twentieth centuries that non-­state usages of violence became largely eradicated. Nevertheless, the extensive replacement of private violence by public force is an important secular achievement. For centuries, the state monopoly of force has been the historically dominant solution to the problem of uncontrolled private violence. Markets and societies have flourished precisely for that reason. When seen against this backdrop, it is clear that the full commodification of force is practically impossible. While the market may offer the individual some protection against particular risks, it can never provide for security at the level of society as a whole. Self-­help to attain one’s own security regardless of the security of others is at best an asocial, and at worst an antisocial quest. When commodification goes too far, the use of force will follow the logic of accumulation and not the logic of protection. This would end the relative pacification of society, which in turn is a precondition for a functioning capitalist market. Full commodification of force would thus undermine the very foundations upon which the commonwealth, including the capitalist market itself, has been built. Full commodification is undesirable My second contention is that full commodification of force is not only impossible but also undesirable. In legal and philosophical circles there has been an entire debate on the desirability of commodification, with the goal of “articulating a principled line between what can and cannot permissibly be sold” (Cohen 2003: 689). My own position is less ambitious. My aim is not to draw an absolute red line on the passage of public functions to the market. Nor is it for me as an academic to determine the exact demarcation between the public and private provision of security. Instead, the boundaries between public and private should be subject to open democratic debate. Nevertheless, the commodification debate is useful because it offers an inventory of helpful arguments.15 To begin with, there is a cultural and normative case that security should be a political good in a democratic society. It should be tailored towards civic needs and commonly held principles, its enjoyment should be nonexclusive, and dissatisfied citizens should react by expressing “loyalty” through “voice.” The market, by contrast, stresses individual choice and is inherently asocial. Market exchange is impersonal and aims at the satisfaction of individual needs. Goods

190   J. Friedrichs are primarily tailored towards consumerist wants, their enjoyment is exclusive, and rather than raising “voice” dissatisfied customers react by seeking “exit” from the business relationship in question (Anderson 1993: 141–167).16 Insofar as the use of force – the exclusion of junkies from a public place or shopping mall, for example – is meant to convey a specific social message such as “just say no,” “respect the rule of law” or “three strikes and you are out,” its conversion into a commercial service risks undermining the social purpose of the legitimate use of force (Rosky 2004: 965). For security to be governed in a democratic way the public, and ultimately the state, has an important role to play (Loader and Walker 2007). Moreover, there is a problem with asymmetrical access to security as a commodity. There is an increased risk that the people most in need of security are systematically excluded, with fatal consequences. This is supported by economic theory. As long as the provision of security is in the public domain, it is either a “public good” or a “club good” (Krahmann 2008). In a democratic society, security is a public good. Nobody is systematically excluded from its enjoyment, and nobody’s enjoyment is reduced by somebody else’s enjoyment. In a less democratic society, security may be a “club good” for a privileged class, while others are excluded. When security is provided by the market, however, it can never be a public good. Instead, it is either a “club good” or a “private good.” For example, it is a “club good” in the case of gated communities. In the case of a burglar alarm, it is a “private good” that is consumed exclusively and cannot be enjoyed by outsiders. Security is unlikely to be truly for the common good unless it is viewed as a public good. Further, there is a problem with the inherently expansive logic of the market. The provision of security by the market risks being driven by supply rather than need. This may be a problem even when security is publicly provided, for example when there is a military-­industrial complex. However, the problem is exacerbated when security is provided as a commodity, because on the market supply tends to create its own demand. Like other market actors, private security providers are set to engage in marketing, lobbying, and public relations to increase the demand for their products. Thus, the expansive dynamics of the market may contribute to the further de-­legitimization and atrophy of the public sector where it is already at its weakest, for example, in Africa (Leander 2005). In more developed parts of the world, where the commercial supply of security and force is matched by a consumer culture, the commodification of force is likely to lead to an endless spiraling of private supply and demand (Loader 1999). Finally, security is a very special kind of good. There are potentially dangerous consequences to its commodification. Even the “father” of liberalism, Adam Smith, understood security as the most fundamental function of the state. He saw external security or “defense” as the first duty of the sovereign state, and internal security or “justice” as the second (Smith 1976 [1776]: 689–723).17 Smith saw this as so self-­evident that he did not provide any reasons, but it is safe to assume that he viewed external and internal security as necessary for the proper func-

The privatization of force   191 tioning of commerce, as well as “for the benefit of the whole society” (Smith 1976 [1776]: 814). Smith surmised that the state had to collect revenues to cover the expenditures connected with the fulfillment of these essential tasks. This line of argument will sound most convincing to those who, with Max Weber, believe that the modern state does or should exercise the monopoly of the legitimate use of force.18

Conclusion Regardless of whether force moves from state to market or to people, its privatization has palpable consequences. Most of these are unintended, but when we see the wider picture they are not unpredictable. It does not come as a surprise if the introduction of market logic into security governance makes the world more similar to the ideal type of commodification. Nor should it take us by surprise if the devolution of security governance to social groups brings out certain features of community self-­help. At the very least, we should be aware that the privatization of force comes with some deeply ironic effects. It ultimately does not only erode the public monopoly of force, but it is also self-­defeating for society and the market itself. First, states allowing the privatization of force unwittingly erode their most fundamental raison d’être, which is the task of providing public security. A modern state abandons its core task when it does not guarantee security as a public good. Second, firms producing and consuming security as a tradable commodity undermine the institutional foundations of the markets on which they ultimately rest. A pacified environment is a key infrastructural requirement for the market, but the market is unable to provide it by itself. And third, communal groups relying for their security on self-­help contribute to an anarchic situation where the quest for existential security is bound to remain elusive. A local strongman may be able to protect you from ordinary thugs, but he may not be able to protect you from the rival strongman of the neighborhood across the street. Logically, ontologically and historically, organization in social groups has always been there (Guilane and Zammit 2005); then there was organization by political apparatuses, which eventually morphed into the modern state (Osiander 2007); and only then were the conditions in place for a capitalist market society to emerge (Giddens 1985: 190–191; Rosenberg 1994; Teschke 2003). Community self-­help can indeed emerge spontaneously; political monopolization of force rests on demanding social preconditions; and governance by capitalist markets presupposes both an elaborate social and political infrastructure. There can hardly be even the semblance of a monopoly of force without a prior process of civilization and concentration. Even more so, a capitalist market cannot thrive without demanding infrastructural preconditions such as a pacified society and, crucially, a considerable degree of security provided by the political system. Take this away and the entire edifice on which capitalist market society rests is likely to crumble. Remember the story of the carp? The poor animal understood that it was fair game for a Christmas dinner, but was still compelled to follow its stomach and

192   J. Friedrichs

Figure 9.4  The reflective carp: part II (courtesy of Horst Friedrichs).

bite. This is similar for political, economic and societal actors when it comes to the privatization of force. Neoliberal politicians instinctively stick to neoliberal policies, greedy entrepreneurs are hooked on short-­term profits, and the knee-­ jerk reaction of brave people to a worsening security situation is to engage in get-­tough solutions such as neighborhood watches or armed citizen militias. Mindful of the imminent danger, the reflective carp resorted to just nibbling the worm and eventually got away with it. Such strategic self-­restraint is much more difficult in the case of the privatization of force because there are serious collective action problems involved. Politicians want to win elections, entrepreneurs want to maximize their profits, and local citizens want to protect their homes and families regardless of the transformative consequences their choices may have for the system as a whole. But if they see the wider picture, these unintended consequences are at least not unpredictable for them. Seeing the wider picture can help, if not entirely to avoid, then at least to be better prepared for the unintended consequences of private force.

Notes   1 Thanks to Barbara Harriss-­White, Cornelius Friesendorf, Colin Leys, Jack Porter, Philipp Müller and Walter Richmond, as well as Melanie Zimmer and the other participants to the ECPR panel on “The Diffusion of Authority? Changing Patterns of International Governance” (Lisbon, 15–18 April 2009), for their helpful comments.   2 For a plea in defense of the public–private dichotomy see Jones and Newburn 1998: 28–53.   3 A methodology that differentiates between ideal types and real-­world cases is also helpful for reasons of intellectual honesty. One should be careful to draw fair comparisons between regulation by states, markets, and societies. For example, it is not fair to compare an idealized vision of a perfectly competitive market to the caricature of a corrupt public sector, as many economists do. Nor is it fair to oppose an idealized vision of the commonwealth to an apocalyptic vision of the “late capitalist” market, as some leftist scholars do when they criticize the neoliberal juggernaut.   4 For an impressive attempt to extrapolate a comprehensive Staatstheorie from Weber’s oeuvre see Anter 1995.

The privatization of force   193   5 Attempts to reduce such situations to market logic (Jean and Rufin 1996; Elwert 1999; Olson 2000; Berdal and Malone 2000) are unconvincing insofar as “economies of violence” are part of a wider syndrome of socio-­economic and socio-­political meltdown.   6 On the regulation of military contractors see Private Security Regulation.Net. Online, available at: www.privatesecurityregulation net (accessed 20 March 2009).   7 For later surveys see South 1988; Johnston 1992; Jones and Newburn 1998. In the United States and United Kingdom, the phenomenon is not entirely new. In both countries, there was a tradition of private policing in the nineteenth century. In the United States, this persisted well into the twentieth century. By the era of the Great Depression, however, public policing had become the norm even in the United States.   8 Bureau of Labor Statistics, national employment and wage data from the occupational employment statistics survey by occupation, May 2008. Online, available at: www. bls.gov/news release/ocwage.t01 htm, (accessed 10 February 2010).   9 Securitas is based in Sweden; Wackenhut is owned by G4S, headquartered in the United Kingdom. 10 Hungary, Poland, Luxembourg, Estonia. 11 Private prisons are not a new phenomenon. In medieval and early modern England, gaols were typically bestowed by the Crown to private gaolers. The system was abolished 1877. In the United States, prisons were leased and contracted to private entrepreneurs from the early nineteenth well into the twentieth century. By 1940, US prisons were formally turned over to public hands (Mehigan and Rowe 2007: 356–358). 12 There are a few borderline cases, for example in France, Belgium and Germany. 13 According to our scheme (Figure 9.3), gated communities in Western countries are a case of certified autonomy rather than managed segmentation or community self-­help. 14 “The rise of the Shabab,” The Economist, 18 December 2008. 15 For early contributions to the debate see Marx 1968 [1867]; Simmel 1999 [1900]. For an attempt to apply and expand the Marxian theory of commodity fetishism to the field of security see Spitzer 1987; see also Zedner 2009: chapter 5; for more general contributions see Anderson 1993; Sunstein 1997; Sandel 2000; Ertmann and Williams 2005. 16 On exit, voice and loyalty see Hirschman 1970. 17 In Great Britain the idea of outsourcing war to private actors was discussed and roundly rejected in the nineteenth century (Coker 2001: 191–192). 18 Even the libertarian Nozick (1974) comes down on such lines.

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10 Conclusion Analyzing and avoiding unintended consequences of security governance Cornelius Friesendorf and Christopher Daase

Introduction This book underlines that unintended consequences are a by-­product of security governance. As the contributions show, unintended consequences are perceived primarily as negative, for policy initiators and for policy targets. In this concluding chapter, drawing on the empirical results, we first discuss the impact of unintended consequences. In a second step, we suggest ways of explaining unintended consequences. Finally, we discuss strategies for avoiding negative unintended consequences.

Understanding unintended consequences In the introduction to this book, we argued that unintended consequences can be split into three heuristic categories (see Table I.1): the question of whether policy initiators and/or third actors (including policy “targets”) feel the brunt of governance efforts; the desirability of unintended consequences; and the question of whether such consequences help fulfill or frustrate policy intentions. With regard to the first element, the chapters corroborate the common-­sense assumption that unintended consequences can hurt numerous groups and individuals, including those promoting policy initiatives. Mikael Eriksson’s analysis underlines that sanctions, even if targeted, can yield consequences that hurt the sponsors and targets of sanctions as well as third actors. Peter Andreas shows that comprehensive sanctions against Yugoslavia bolstered Milošević’s grip on power, thus undermining attempts to change the politics in the region. While the sponsors of sanctions were negatively affected (the Yugoslav war imposed high costs on other countries), the prime victims of the sanctions were Yugoslav citizens. Yet while some groups within a country suffer from the effects of security governance initiatives, others thrive. In Yugoslavia, illicit dealings have benefited those who were brutal or cunning enough and who had friends in high places, while most ordinary citizens found themselves on the losing end. In a different context, Benjamin S. Buckland emphasizes that migrants and would-­be migrants suffer from new forms of migration control. At the same time, human

Conclusion   199 smugglers and traffickers benefit from efforts to keep unwanted migrants out, as these efforts increase risks and thereby unintentionally inflate the profits of the smuggling/trafficking industry, under the condition of relatively stable demand for cheap labor and services. Another aspect of unintended consequences pertains to desirability. Many unintended consequences are undesirable from the point of view of policy initiators. Ursula C. Schroeder shows that the Bush administration, instead of reforming and building sustainable and democratically controlled state security institutions in the two countries it invaded, has provided unsystematic security assistance to Iraq and Afghanistan. The most obvious unintended consequences of state-­building failures have been fierce insurgencies in both countries that frustrated the goals the Bush administration had set out to achieve. There are even instances of blowback. Thus, some of the militias and auxiliary forces created by the United States have turned against the Iraqi and Afghan governments and their Western allies (on Afghanistan, see Wilder 2007). Some of the chapters show that unintended consequences become pertinent only after a long time. Jörg Friedrichs argues that the privatization of security erodes the foundations upon which private businesses rest. While companies may benefit in the short-­term, the privatization of security may hit back at a later stage. Such temporal asymmetries are problematic with regard to the avoidance of unintended consequences (see further below), as actors may value short-­term gains higher than long-­term negative effects, especially if their occurrence and impact remains far off and rather abstract. In the Yugoslav case, sponsors of sanctions probably underestimated the pernicious effects of criminalization (to which sanctions have been a major contributor) on long-­term stability in the Balkans. It is not easy to get the spirit back into the bottle. These are negative unintended consequences. But security governance can also yield positive unintended consequences. Thomas J. Biersteker shows that measures against terrorist financing are fraught with problems related to their implementation and the nature of terrorism. Yet even though measures such as sanctions against individuals and groups may have a marginal effect on terrorism, beyond tactical success, and even though such measures yield negative unintended consequences, they may be beneficial as well. For instance, the institutional counter-­terrorism infrastructure could help produce evidence that can be used against money launderers and tax evaders. This leads to the “double effect” phenomenon (see Aoi et al. 2007a: 13). Many initiatives have both positive (intended and unintended) outcomes and negative unintended consequences. For a policy initiator, positive outcomes may outweigh anticipated negative consequences. In this case, policies that cause collateral damage or even blowback may be continued. Policymakers who allow or promote the partial privatization of migration control, as described by Benjamin S. Buckland, may not intend to violate the human rights of migrants who fall victim to the vagaries of a partially privatized system. But policymakers seem to accept this consequence since they value the presumed “positive” effect – a reduction in irregular migration from poor to rich countries – more highly.

200   C. Friesendorf and C. Daase Thomas J. Biersteker shows that the regime established to counter the financing of terrorism has, among other effects, increased operational costs for financial institutions. The regime promoters, to the extent that they considered this risk, decided to accept it. Florian Kohstall analyzes another negative, yet still tolerable, effect. While World Bank officials may deplore the fact that international reform efforts cannot break the deadlock of authoritarianism or may actually reinforce authoritarianism, they are nevertheless able to push their policy agenda forward. This gain seems to be valued more highly than the inadvertent support that international actors lend to authoritarian governments such as that of Mubarak in Egypt. The sanctions against Yugoslavia are another example. The governments imposing the sanctions regarded the sanctions’ contribution to state and societal criminalization as “a regrettable but tolerable side-­effect” (Peter Andreas); tolerable because the sanctions were seen as relatively successful (even with a minimalist definition of success, such as the absence of a humanitarian crisis). The third heuristic category that helps to understand unintended consequences of security governance is whether such consequences help fulfill or frustrate policy intentions. None of the unintended consequences examined in this book clearly help to fulfill the initial intention of decision-­makers whose activities have led to the consequence. Instead, some of the consequences have frustrated original intentions (as has been the case with sanctions; see the chapters of Peter Andreas and Mikael Eriksson). Still, obvious “blowback” effects (initiatives that hurt their sponsors at a later stage) do not feature prominently in this book. Most of the unintended consequences discussed in the chapters, when analyzed from the vantage point of initial intentions, are ambiguous or of neutral value. Susan E. Penksa shows that contemporary peace operations have blurred divisions of labor between armed forces. Thus, while the military has been policized, the police has been militarized, due to factors that include the hostile security situation in war-­torn countries and the transformation of regional security institutions. On the one hand, militarized law enforcement – an unintended consequence of international involvement in war-­torn countries – may help stabilize such countries by deterring or challenging spoilers of stabilization and peacebuilding efforts. On the other hand, militarized law enforcement contradicts the Security Sector Reform (SSR) norm of separating the police from the military. This example once more underscores the ambiguity of unintended consequence: short-­term gains often come at the cost of long-­term losses. This book has largely eschewed the discussion over intention. Ascertaining modes of knowledgeability is tricky since observers, even those close to policy initiators, often do not know what policy initiators intended in the first place. The same holds true for the initiators themselves. Indeed, many initiatives, whether in foreign policy or daily life, do not follow from the clear setting of goals. Or, those taking action may have mixed motives, making it difficult to relate unintended consequences to one predominant initial intention. Furthermore, intentions may change over time, allowing actors to present consequences

Conclusion   201 as negligible or as part of the original plan. Security governance compounds such complications due to the large number of actors and their divergent intentions; a specific outcome may be intended by one governance stakeholder but not by another. These analytical problems notwithstanding, this book offers some insights into modes of knowlegeability. Jörg Friedrichs distinguishes between intention and predictability. He argues that the problematic outcomes of privatizing security are not intended by those pushing forward privatization (after all, these outcomes run counter to actors’ long-­term interests). However, individuals and institutions may be able to anticipate or, although imperfectly, even predict the unintended consequences of their actions.

Explaining unintended consequences A variety of factors give rise to security governance efforts. From a functionalist point of view, security governance is the best, and possibly only, way of coping with today’s problems. But this view only captures part of the picture. The growing importance of security governance, as opposed to traditional foreign policy, is also enabled by dynamics that are not, or merely indirectly, related to the problems security governance addresses. For instance, security governance hinges on the privatization of security functions traditionally reserved for the state, with private businesses, such as private military and security companies (PMSC), becoming major security – or insecurity – providers. Also, security governance would not matter as much as it does in the absence of NGOs that make their presence felt in policy setting, implementation, and evaluation. Explaining unintended consequences of security governance requires taking into account these factors. Security governance gives rise to a variety of unintended consequences, as this book has shown. To explain why this is the case, the analyst must strike a balance between parsimony and idiosyncrasy. Even though there are common patterns in the causation of unintended consequences, any attempt to develop a grand theory positing hypothesized, testable relations between causes and effect would be futile. This is because causal paths are too diverse and complex, and because there are too many different types of unintended consequences. In particular, positivist, variable-­based theorizing would soon hit the empirical wall. Mechanism-­based research is one way of getting closer to an explanation of unintended consequences. To explain how causes and effects are related, the causal mechanisms operating between causes and effects need to be examined. We define a causal mechanism as a non-­deterministic causal account that convincingly explains how a cause and an effect are related. Mechanism-­based research, which reflects the epistemology of scientific realism, does not eschew explanation. Indeed, it leads to better explanations than standard, positivist approaches (see Yee 1996; Dessler 1991). Mechanism-­based research renders explanations more fine-­grained and plausible by focusing on the structure that gives meaning to “variables.” Mechanism-­based explanations thus reveal the social “cogs and wheels” that link causes and effects (Elster 1989: 3).

202   C. Friesendorf and C. Daase Mechanism-­based research is not a straightforward exercise due to the obscure nature of mechanisms. These “involve physical, social, or psychological causal processes that ultimately cannot be directly observed. We can only hypothesize about underlying causal mechanisms and make imperfect inferences about them on the basis of observed data” (Bennett and George 2001: 139). If analyzing mechanisms is difficult, analyzing the mechanisms behind the unintended consequences of security governance is even trickier. This is because the large number of actors involved (policy initiators, implementing agencies, and policy addressees) compounds problems of empirical messiness and contingency. Attributing causes to observed phenomena becomes especially problematic when much time has elapsed between security governance efforts and their presumed effects (on this problem see, in a different context, Clausewitz 2003: 133). The more time passes, the more factors intervene between policy initiatives and outcomes, obscuring the relative causal impact of the initiatives and the mechanisms initiatives set in motion. Process tracing helps to get a grip on the causal mechanisms of unintended consequences. This methodology identifies the causal mechanisms that intervene between security governance efforts and their presumed unintended consequences (see, more generally, George and Bennett 2005: 206). The method requires analyzing a lot of data and inferring from multiple, sketchy evidence instead of single strong evidence (Gaddis 2001: 324). To provide a convincing causal story, process tracing must disclose the forces that have led to a specific outcome. This account can be chronological. But often, causal mechanisms do not follow a simple chronological order. In this case, analysts must distinguish between the chronological process leading to unintended consequences, and the causal forces underlying this process. For the causal account to be plausible, empirical black boxes must be illuminated, or at least discussed (Boudon 1998). Counter-­factual reasoning might help to assess the relative causal impact of specific factors and mechanisms, and to “test” the plausibility of alternative explanations. In other words, empirical research should show that without a specific mechanism, an effect would not have occurred, or would have occurred along different spatial or temporal paths. The mechanism would thus shown to be necessary for shaping an outcome. Mechanisms are not always sufficient because other factors – including contingent events and processes – contribute to unintended consequences as well (see Goertz and Starr 2003). Unintended consequences are usually a product of a multitude of policies and background conditions. They are social phenomena, requiring a holistic perspective that leaves room for idiosyncrasies, catalysts, and other contributing factors. As Peter Andreas argues in his chapter, the sanctions against Yugoslavia were not the only cause of state and societal criminalization. But they were an important cause, without which levels of criminalization would have been lower. Different causal mechanisms lead to different unintended consequences. Discovering mechanisms is first and foremost an empirical task. The chapters in this book underscore the diversity in the types of unintended consequences and in their causal paths. Yet, without downplaying the differences, the chapters also reveal

Conclusion   203 common patterns. Most importantly, explaining unintended consequences means studying (a) policy initiators and (b) how the environment in which external actors intervene responds to security governance efforts. As Robert Merton has remarked, the consequences of purposive action “result from the interplay of the action and the objective situation, the conditions of action” (Merton 1936: 894). To explain unintended consequences of security governance, one needs to showcase the causal mechanisms that constitute the interplay between these two elements. With regard to the first element, security governance actors are a hybrid lot. As noted in the introduction, security governance is a complex system involving a variety of different actors. To be sure, even traditional state action, domestically and internationally, has never been straightforward, as states have never been unitary actors. A US official once said about the Carter administration: “There isn’t any government down there to manage. There is a series of sub-­ governments pursuing single interests of one kind or another” (Lloyd Cutler, quoted in Gillon 2000: 35). Also, transnational interagency cooperation is not new. Police forces, for example, have been cooperating across borders for centuries (Andreas and Nadelmann 2006). Still, governance has acquired new momentum. The end of the East–West conflict, the transformation of sovereignty, technological advances, and other factors have enhanced the scope of governance (both geographically and with regard to the actors involved). Moreover, transnational security risks such as terrorism and state failure have made effective, efficient, and legitimate security governance more urgent. The complexity of security governance systems hampers attempts to ensure commonality of purpose – which in turn makes unintended consequences likely. As Mikael Eriksson shows, sanctions can yield dissatisfying outcomes due to a lack of unity among sending states. Moreover, and paradoxically, while diffuse actor constellations cause problems, the failure to properly integrate all those able to influence security governance outcomes is even more problematic. The smuggling that helped to bust the embargo against Yugoslavia was not least due to the inability and unwillingness of countries in the region to implement the sanctions (and this is a case where the monitoring and enforcement of sanctions, as Peter Andreas shows, were seen as having worked well). Also, there is a lack of learning. This problem is acute even when relatively few actors are involved. The Bush administration, when deciding to disband Iraq’s security forces (see the chapter of Ursula C. Schroeder), could have extrapolated the possible consequences from other cases of post-­war stabilization missions that underline the need to ensure public order, whether post-­war Germany, Bosnia, or Kosovo (see Zaalberg 2006). But the Bush administration ignored historical lessons, due to a fatal blend of ideology and hybrids (see Chandrasekaran 2007; Ricks 2006). Yet even in cases of multilateral intervention, learning has often been impeded by turf battles, the failure to exchange information, and other shortcomings. Susan E. Penksa discusses some of the problems that have challenged international stabilization efforts in Bosnia and Kosovo, although her chapter also highlights that institutions are able to optimize their performance.

204   C. Friesendorf and C. Daase If security governance systems are complex, so are the environments that governance stakeholders intervene in. One does not have to be an aficionado of chaos theory to acknowledge that the outcomes of interventions in complex systems cannot be predicted precisely. Robert Jervis and others have provided numerous examples illustrating the surprising effects of interventions in complex systems (see Jervis 1997). With regard to security governance, unintended consequences are all the more likely since one complex system (a security governance arrangement incorporating numerous actors) intervenes in another complex system (the environment to be governed). Uncertainty is multiplied. To shed light on unintended consequences of security governance, one must therefore explain how an environment responds to security governance efforts. This requires, as a first step, an understanding of the environment itself. Several chapters of this book underline that external stimuli set in motion responses from the actors that are to be brought under control. Often, these actors are able to stymie governance by way of stealthy and shrewd responses. In other words, the environment that is to be regulated adapts to regulation efforts. This is particularly the case with regard to illicit economies and activities, which exhibit an impressive resilience to regulation efforts. The chapters of Peter Andreas, Thomas J. Biersteker, and Mikael Eriksson all provide insights into how criminalized actors adapt to political, economic, law enforcement, and normative pressure. Benjamin S. Buckland’s chapter similarly reveals attempts by governance addressees to circumvent the intention of governance initiators. Migrants take higher risks to migrate in the face of stepped-­up migration control, while smugglers and traffickers constantly innovate to amass profits. Ursula C. Schroeder’s analysis of US and British security assistance policies in Iraq and Afghanistan holds valuable clues for understanding the violence in the two countries. After all, clandestine and semi-­clandestine actors such as militias, insurgents, and criminal groups have exploited the failure of Western states, especially the United States, to (re-)build states and establish the rule of law. Certainly, innovation is not confined to illicit realms. Jörg Friedrichs argues that society will adapt to the privatization of security, with those wealthy enough insulating themselves from a “Mad Max” scenario by buying a modicum of security. Florian Kohstall shows that authoritarian governments can tweak international reform agendas. Susan E. Penksa sheds light on the ability of institutions to innovate, in order to better address problems and to stay in business. And Ulrich Schneckener discusses negative outcomes that unbalanced statebuilding strategies, that is, strategies that concentrate on one set of policies only, can yield. As mentioned above, the diversity of unintended consequences and of their causal paths would undermine any attempt to formulate mechanisms that cover all eventualities – whether through inductive or deductive research. But knowing that unintended consequences can result from the peculiarities of a security governance system, the environment this system attempts to alter, and the interaction between these two elements provides a heuristic framework within which specific causal mechanisms can be discerned.

Conclusion   205 One possible typology distinguishes between mechanisms that pertain to the perceptions of governance stakeholders (cognitive mechanisms), to networks among stakeholders (relational mechanisms), to the material means available to stakeholders (resource mechanisms), and to evasive strategies of policy targets (adaptation and resilience mechanisms) (see Tilly 2001). These mechanisms feature, in various combinations, in the chapters of this book. Cognitive mechanisms are important because those devising and implementing governance initiatives often lack the knowledge that would allow them to better anticipate how the environment that is to be regulated will respond to regulation efforts (as is the case with sanctions). Also, policies may be biased, and give priority to one policy area while neglecting the others (as has been the case with statebuilding). Relational mechanisms matter because cooperation problems are one of the pathologies of security governance. This is obvious, for instance, when looking at civil–military cooperation in peace operations. Resource mechanisms are relevant, too. As is the case with sanctions, security governance stakeholders generally do not have the political or material capacity to properly implement decisions and to prevent policy targets from evading sanctions. This leads to adaptation and resilience mechanisms: Many unintended consequences result from the ability of policy targets (these can be individuals, groups, or markets) to survive regulation efforts or attacks, often by changing their forms and functions. To refine this very rough typology of the causal mechanisms behind unintended consequences, more empirical case studies are needed (with process tracing being the most promising methodology). More case studies would allow formulating more generic mechanisms and developing a more fine-­grained typology. When working on these case studies, students of unintended consequences should pay attention to the various levels at which intentions can be distorted. Ulrich Schneckener sees the roots of unintended consequences of statebuilding strategies at both the headquarters and field levels. Often, micro causes lead to macro effects. Individuals traveling in cars and airplanes spur climate change. Announcing a financial crisis can become a self-­fulfilling prophecy when the announcement leads account holders to withdraw their deposits (Boudon 1977). Macro effects, in turn, can impact on micro decisions – micro causes and macro effects may constitute each other (see Hedström and Swedberg 1998: 21; Daase 1999: 255–268). The privatization of security is one example: The drive to privatize everything, including security, gives rise to a private protection industry. This industry, in turn, may either lead to a reversal of the free market ideology or further weaken the state monopoly on the legitimate use of force.

Avoiding negative unintended consequences of security governance This book largely reflects an analytical understanding of security governance, not a normative one. Scholars like Anne-­Marie Slaughter laud security governance as the most viable way of dealing with today’s problems (Slaughter 2004).

206   C. Friesendorf and C. Daase This book, in contrast, started off from an agnostic point of view, describing security governance as a new mode of problem-­solving and leaving open the question as to whether security governance efforts fulfill or frustrate policy objectives, and whether unintended consequences are positive or negative. But now, with the empirical results at hand, we move from the analytical to the normative. The chapters of this book have shown that many unintended consequences are negative, undermining the security of states, groups, and individuals (while at the same time creating new winners). This section briefly explores ways of avoiding negative unintended consequences of security governance. Not doing so would be the equivalent of researching climate change, nuclear technology, tourism, and many other issues that have negative consequences, without discussing opportunities for improvement. Offering clues is not the same as prescribing magic pills. For the issues discussed in this book, and for many other pressing contemporary problems, no magic pills are available, unfortunately. If traditional foreign policy causes negative unintended consequences (one example is the security dilemma during the Cold War), so does security governance. The chapters of this book may make sobering reading for anyone espousing security governance as the best contemporary policy mode. Even refined security governance tools such as targeted sanctions are not immune to unintended consequences, as Mikael Eriksson shows. There are many obstacles to avoiding costly unintended consequences of security governance. As the double effect phenomenon illustrates, unintended consequences are often the result of trade-­offs. Also, analysts of unintended consequences have the benefit of hindsight; it is always easy to criticize afterwards. In contrast, policymakers must take decisions under conditions of insufficient and/or contradictory information and time pressure. Adding to these difficulties, there are political constraints, including public opinion, campaigns of opposition parties and transnational activist coalitions, and diverging interests among security governance stakeholders. Not doing anything may sometimes be better than doing something. But policymakers cannot be completely passive in the face of pressing problems, even if they wanted to. Also, one cannot do nothing: not intervening in an ongoing war has numerous political, economic, humanitarian, and normative unintended consequences. The “do no harm” principle should inform not only development work, but security governance as well (Aoi et al. 2007b: 274–275). But translating this mantra into practice is anything but easy. Complacency is another problem. Future generations in affluent countries will feel the effects of climate change, and poor people in poor countries are doing so already. Yet, most governments and ordinary citizens are unwilling to take drastic measures, such as change their lifestyles, in order to help slow down climate change. Hence, the “tragedy of the commons” will continue to haunt humanity (Hardin 1968). Short-­term thinking and acting is not only, and not even primarily, a problem in “underdeveloped” countries. The short life cycle of democratically elected governments provides incentives to prioritize short-­term gains over long-­term costs – and many unintended consequences are visible only

Conclusion   207 in the long run. As this book shows, international interventions to reduce the risk of violence, whether through sanctions, financial instruments, or the deployment of international security forces, yield unintended consequences. To avoid such consequences, preventing conflict in the first place would be the most logical approach. However, democratic systems provide few incentives for systematic conflict prevention (Schnabel 2002). The same mistakes are therefore repeated time and again (on the failure to learn from experience from past international rule of law efforts, see Carothers 2006). Moral hazards are a further obstacle to avoiding policy fallout. Often, actors know that something is not going to work, but continue walking along well-­ trodden paths. The “wars” against drugs and illegal migration, for example, are deeply flawed and have numerous negative consequences that harm the security of citizens in countries of origin, transit, and destination. But the financial-­ bureaucratic incentives for governments, international organizations, and even some NGOs to continue implementing policies that concentrate on coercion are greater than the incentives to systematically explore alternative paradigms, such as harm reduction in the field of drug policy and the use of trade instruments to improve economic conditions in countries where unwanted migrants come from. Arguably the main challenge for security governance stakeholders is to better predict how the environment that is to be regulated will respond to governance efforts, and to calibrate policies accordingly. Even if governance participants share the same views and interests, and have no tolerance for negative unintended consequences, outcomes may nevertheless be surprising; due to an inability to anticipate how exactly the environment will frustrate governance efforts. Better anticipation, therefore, requires a better understanding of the environment, that is, of the “nature of the problematic situation” (George 2000: 75). But this is difficult. During the Cold War, Western negotiators often had problems understanding the dynamics within the Kremlin. Western donor countries, and even specialized bodies such as the World Bank, arguably know even less about countries such as Egypt, which leaves room for unintended consequences of international reform efforts (see the chapter of Florian Kohstall). Understanding the multiple clandestine actors that constitute the phenomena of terrorism, state failure, or organized crime is even more challenging. Security forces fighting terrorists and insurgents need to understand their enemy (Richardson 2006). The same holds true for those formulating and implementing security governance initiatives more generally. The persistence of state-­centric views is understandable, given that state-­to-state interaction is much easier to comprehend than state-­tosociety or society-­to-society interaction. But the state-­centric view ignores large patches of contemporary international politics. Due to these obstacles, the odds are against the avoidance of unintended consequences. Yet even though panaceas do not exist, there are ways of avoiding costly negative unintended consequences, or at the very least reducing their destructiveness once negative consequences have become apparent. The first step – and the main aim of this book – is to raise awareness about unintended consequences. Security governance stakeholders often have to act in the heat of

208   C. Friesendorf and C. Daase the moment. Nevertheless, they should consider the long-­term impact of their actions. One factor enabling a shift in thinking and acting is an understanding of one’s own biases. Security governance efforts are not simply functional responses to real-­world problems; they are also the product of idiosyncratic perceptions and of ideologies. For instance, more critical reflection by those adhering to a free market system would caution against privatized security governance and its consequences, some of which are revealed by Benjamin S. Buckland and Jörg Friedrichs in this book. This is only the first step, however. As mentioned above, incentive structures make actors prioritize short-­term gains over long-­term losses. Also, many unintended consequences affect primarily the powerless. It is therefore no surprise that double effects are accepted, given that at least in the short-­term, policy initiators and their support bases are relatively insulated from negative unintended consequences (long-­term effects are a different matter, of course: blowback tends to have a long time span). To reduce the occurrence of negative unintended consequences, another element is needed: accountability. Without accountability, greater awareness about unintended consequences does not necessarily translate into greater caution. Security governance stakeholders should be held accountable for their failures, including failures that become apparent at a much later stage (this requires, in turn, the definition of longer-­term benchmarks of success and failure). A government, NGO, or corporation judged successful may thus be seen as a failure when taking into account the long-­term impact of these actors’ policies. Several accountability mechanisms are conceivable. The strongest statutory accountability and oversight institutions are situated on the national level. National parliaments and courts can correct or even sanction costly policies or wrongdoing. International organizations have oversight mechanisms, too. So do NGOs, who are scrutinized especially by their donors. These mechanisms are important. However, many unintended consequences are the result of collective failure, and the actions giving rise to these consequences do not clearly fall into the jurisdiction of specific countries. Due to the large number of actors, it is often difficult to blame any one single actor for policy failure, not even to speak of long-­term negative consequences. In “international protectorates” for instance, international and domestic actors engage in blame-­games, accusing their international and/or domestic partners of ineffective and inappropriate behavior (see Friesendorf 2010). Security governance thus fosters collective irresponsibility. When governance arrangements are diffuse, transparency and control can best be established through public discourse that evaluates the achievements, failures, and unintended consequences of governance. Discourses, despite globalization, tend to be confined to national realms. Greater scrutiny of security governance systems thus hinge on the evolution of an international public sphere (Habermas 2007 [we thank Nicole Deitelhoff for suggesting that we refer to this chapter]). This, in turn, requires informed citizens, journalists, researchers, and civil society organizations. Importantly, public debates on the pros and cons of security governance need to be inclusive. As this book shows, unintended con-

Conclusion   209 sequences benefit some and harm others. There should be a public debate on who is winning and who is losing, whether the losses would be, or were, worth the gains, and from whose point of view. Most of the chapters of this book examine instances of governance with government. This is arguably the most promising type of governance, given that governance by government is not sufficiently inclusive and that governance without government suffers from problems of functionality as well as legitimacy. However, to avoid negative unintended consequences, governance with government must include the public(s). Those trying to hold actors accountable may frustrate the abrogation of responsibility by retrieving manifestations of revealed preferences, such as policy statements, laws, memoranda of intent, and mandates. The stated intentions of policy initiators are the prime vantage point for judging whether an outcome was wanted and planned, or not. Even if the original intentions of individuals and institutions often remain controversial, actors can be taken at their own words (this does not supplement judging actors by their deeds, of course). In addition to discursive control mechanisms, there should be institutionalized checks and balances. Crucially, strong monitoring and evaluation mechanisms need to be put in place (see Aoi et al. 2007b: 274). These should be enabled to detect negative unintended consequences as early as possible. Depending on the form and function of such mechanisms, monitoring and evaluation units could inform security governance stakeholders and the general public about who is doing what, where, when, and why; they may also suggest or implement remedies (see Friesendorf 2009). Also, potential losers of governance efforts may be incorporated into policy formulation and implementation. Thomas J. Biersteker argues that increased scrutiny of Muslim charities to counter terrorist financing has led to a general reduction in donations to charities. This unintended and undesirable effect may have been prevented if Muslim organizations had been consulted on the role of charities. Similarly, a more inclusive consultation process and more systematic investigation could have reduced the number of times that individuals and corporate entities were erroneously listed and had their assets frozen. After all, the consequences of designations, such as the disruption of remittance flows to poor countries, can be severe. Making governance more inclusive is challenging. The environment that is to be regulated may lack representatives, or its complex structure may hamper the identification of actors that deserve to be incorporated into governance arrangements (it would not make sense to ask terrorists to participate in counter-­terrorism). Also, there are trade-­offs with regard to the size of governance systems: The incorporation of more actors may enhance the legitimacy of governance, but at the cost of greater unwieldiness. Steering large policy networks towards a common goal is difficult in the absence of hierarchy (Kenis and Provan 2006). Even legitimacy may suffer from greater inclusiveness: The more actors participate in governance, the harder it becomes to pinpoint sources of unintended consequences. The challenge is therefore to find the right equilibrium between integration and control.

210   C. Friesendorf and C. Daase Complementary to more institutional and public scrutiny of security governance, the risk of negative unintended consequences can be reduced by various measures. An important stop would be to enhance cooperation and coordination between the various actors constituting security governance networks. Many implementation problems and unintended consequences arise from a lack of coordination and communication between the decision-­making and operational levels (see Halperin 1974 on bureaucratic challenges to implementation; on bureaucracy more generally, see Crozier 1963). This risk would be reduced if decision-­makers were more familiar with the situation on the ground. As mentioned above, it is crucial to understand the nature of a problem, including the capacity of individuals, groups, and markets to innovate (on the ability of policy targets to learn, see Kenney 2007 and Hoffmann 2006). Only such an understanding can lead to better predictions as to how systems respond to external interference. One way of better anticipating the future is to refine scenario-­building techniques. Scenarios will always be imperfect. After all, those creating the scenarios cannot imagine the multiple ways that actors and markets may respond to security governance initiatives. Or, these ways are too non-­linear to model. Still, scenarios may lead to greater caution, by alerting decision-­makers and implementers to the possibility of bad surprises (the fourth and fifth types of Thomas J. Biersteker’s typology of unintended consequences). Scenarios, to cover eventualities, may incorporate lessons from the past. At the same time, scenario-­ builders need to be aware of their own cognitive path dependencies and think outside of the box. Wrong historical analogies, for example, may create more damage than not drawing any analogies at all.

Conclusion Analyzing unintended consequences of security governance contributes to three types of science (on these types, see Funtowicz and Ravetz 1992). Post-­normal science underscores how uncertainty undermines rational problem solving. Unintended consequences of security governance put a question mark behind prediction, whether by policy-­makers or researchers, and oblige us to accept uncertainty as an essential feature of modernity. Without denying the possibility of scientific explanation and successful governance, works on unintended consequences enrich debates on the complexity of globalization and the role of research. Normal science seeks theoretical and empirical knowledge. Analyzing unintended consequences leads to a better understanding of governance and of the problems governance is seeking to address. By discussing the phenomenology and causation of unintended consequences, this book sheds light on dynamics of international affairs that are unwieldy study objects, yet too important to ignore. Empirical and theoretical knowledge contributes to applied science as well, by providing security governance stakeholders with clues as to what works and

Conclusion   211 what does not. Through an examination of unintended consequences, scholars can contribute to smarter decisions (see Smoke and George 1973), and help make security governance more effective, efficient, and legitimate. The authors of this book raise awareness about the potentially problematic dynamics of the seemingly “good thing” security governance, and explore ways of limiting damage.

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Index

Abdallah, Galal Abdel Hamid 31, 34 accountability 6, 94–5, 208–9 active measures: counter-trafficking 144 adaptation and resilience mechanisms 205 Adelman, Howard 140–1 Afghanistan: accountability of security assistance programs 95; community self-help 180; coordination and policy coherence 42–3; duration of strategies 90; hijacked assistance 91, 92; Mujahideen 129; PMCs 94; police force 43; police training 94; security system reform 55; Sharia enforcement 186; and SSR 89; UNSCR 1368 128 agenda setting stages: security assistance missions 88–91 aid dependency 74 al Barakaat International Foundation 133, 135, 164, 172 al Qaeda: and CFT regime 131; funds transfer 129, 131; lethality of terrorism acts 130; Operation “Enduring Freedom” 10 Al Qaida/Taliban Sanctions Committee 127–8 Albania 112–13, 116 Anderson, M.B. 83 Angola 159, 182 anti terrorist financing measure (CFT) see CFT (combating the financing of terrorism) regime anti-trafficking see counter-trafficking Aoi, C. 7 applied science 210–11 Arar, Maher 165 Arkan (Ražnatović, Željko) 109 arms embargoes 162–4 Army School of the Americas 91

ASEAN (Association of South East Asian Nations) 143 asylum norms 151, 152 asylum seekers 151–3 Australia: counter-trafficking 137; prison privatization 184; refugees 152; trafficked people 147–8, 149–50 authoritarianism 21–2, 23, 29 autocracy 23–4, 35 aviation ban: Yugoslavia 171 awareness raising 207–8 Babić, S. 112 Babović, Budimir 115 Badrawi, Hossam 32, 33, 34 Badrawi, Nadia 32, 34 Bali process on People Smuggling, Trafficking in Persons and Related Transnational Crime 143 Balkans 83, 89 Barcelona Process 22 Bauer, John Hanssen 170 Berman, Jacqueline 143 Biersteker, T.J. 168 Bigo, Didier 140 Blackwater (now Xe Services) 93, 182 Blagojević, M. 112 “blowback” effects 1, 5, 135, 199, 200 Bokan, Vladimir 118 border management: and securitization 139–41 Bosnia 10, 71, 72 Bosnia-Herzegovina (BiH): civil society structures 7; EU operations 46–8; multilateral assistance missions 89; sanctions 107; security gap 44 “bottom-up approach”: Egyptian education reform 27, 28

Index   215 bottom-up processes: statebuilding strategy 69–70 Boudon, Raymond 63 Brazil: trafficked labor 150; women 148–9 Broader Middle East and North Africa Initiative 22 Brolan, Claire 145 Brooks, R.A. 105 Bucharest Summit 41 Bulgaria 112–13, 171 Burma see Myanmar Bush administration: and financial regulation 132; financing of terrorism 127, 132; foreign policy doctrine 67 CACI 93 Canada 153 Carothers, T. 42 carp, reflective 176, 191–2 carrier sanctions 15, 144, 153 causal mechanisms 201–2, 204–5 CFT (combating the financing of terrorism) regime: effects 130–1; evolution 127–8; financial re-regulation 128–9; legitimacy 134; objectives 129–30; unintended consequences 131–6 change: analysis of 11 charitable organizations: and CFT regime 129, 133 Chechnya 186 checks and balances 209 Chetail, Vincent 153 Cholewinski, Ryszard 141 cigarette smuggling 117, 118 CIMIC (civil–military cooperation) 39–43; see also military–police interface civil liberties 70 civil society 24 civil society first: statebuilding strategy 66, 69–70, 72 civil–military cooperation (CIMIC) see CIMIC classical security transfers 84–5, 86 Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA) see CPA CoE (Convention Explanatory Report) 143, 147 cognitive mechanisms 205 coherence: and statebuilding 76 Cold War years: security transfers 84–5 colonialism: security transfers 84 combating the financing of terrorism (CFT) regime see CFT (combating the financing of terrorism) regime

commodification of force 179, 187–91 community self-help 180, 191 complacency 206 comprehensive approach: NATO 41 Comprehensive Development Framework 24 comprehensive sanctions 157 comprehensive security sector reform 84, 85–6 conflict management 69 constabulary forces 44–5 contingent factors 12 Convention Explanatory Report (CoE) see CoE Convention on Action against Trafficking in Human Beings 143 Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees 151 cooperation: of governance networks 210 coordination: of governance networks 210; and statebuilding 76 Corrections Corporation of America 184 corruption 24, 71, 144 Cortright, D. 106, 107, 157 Council Directive 142 Council Framework Decision 142, 147 counter-factual reasoning 202 counter-terrorism aid 86–7 Counter Terrorism Executive Directorate (CTED) see CTED counter-terrorism policies: effects of 9 counter-trafficking: Australia 137; limitations of analysis 138–9; protocols 141–3; shortcomings 7; unintended consequences 144–54 counter-trafficking governance: history 139–43; nature of 139–43 Countering the Financing of Terrorism 130 CPA (Coalition Provisional Authority) 71 Crawford, N.C. 105 crime prevention operations 47 criminalization: of migrants 145–6 criminalizing effect: of sanctions see sanctions Crosland, Beth 152 CTED (Counter Terrorism Executive Directorate) 128 Cyprus 111 Dafiment Bank 110 DDR programs 68 de-institutionalization 71 demobilization 68

216   Index Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK) see DPRK democratization: liberalization first strategy 65, 67; and Middle East 21; World Bank 23 demoralization 103 deployment gaps 43 deportations 150 deregulation 71 development aid: instruments 22, 25 Ðinðić, Zoran 118–19 Ðinkić, M. 111 disarmament 68 disengagement 77 dispute settlement 69 divergent sender interests: sanctions 159–60 “do no harm” debate 83, 206 donor policies: autocracy and 23–4 “double effect” phenomenon 199–200, 206 DPRK (Democratic People’s Republic of Korea) 160 drug industry 12 Đukanović, Milo 117 Đukić, Radoje 113, 115 duration: of security strategies 90, 95 dynastic power transfer: Egypt 21–2 DynCorp 93–4 Dziedzic, M. J. 43 Eckert, Sue 130, 168 Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) see ECOWAS economic consequences: targeted sanctions 166–8 economic elite: and liberalization first strategy 71 ECOWAS (Economic Community of West African States) 143 ECRE (European Council on Refugees and Exiles) 152 educational systems 67 EGF (European Gendarmerie Force) 44 Egmont Group 128 Egypt: development aid 22–3, 22–4; dynastic power transfer 21–2; education reform 22, 25–36; liberalization 23; National Committee 28–9; US foreign aid 85 Eide, Kai 42 elections: Bosnia 71; Egypt 21, 33; liberalization first strategy 67, 70–1; Palestine 170 elite formation: FRY 117–18 Elster, Jon 6

empowerment 70 “Enduring Freedom” operation 10 enforcement gaps 43 Engineering and Technical Education Program (ETEP) 30 environments: complexity 204 Equatorial New Guinea 182 ESDP (European Security and Defence Policy) 46 ETEP (Engineering and Technical Education Program) see Engineering and Technical Education Program Ethiopia 85 Etzioni, Amitai 68 EU (European Union): and Afghanistan 90; and DPRK 160; and Hamas 170; security assistance policies 87; security sector reforms 86; trafficking and smuggling 142–3, 147; Zimbabwean sanctions 167–8 EU operations: Bosnia-Herzegovina (BiH) 46–8 EU Police Mission (EUPM) see EUPM EUFOR (EU Military Force) 46–8 EULEX mission: Kosovo 50–4 EUPM (EU Police Mission) 46, 47, 48 EUPOL (European Union Police Mission) 90 European Council on Refugees and Exiles (ECRE) see ECRE European Gendarmerie Force (EGF) see EGF European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP) see ESDP European Union (EU) see EU European Union Police Mission (EUPOL) see EUPOL evaluation mechanisms 209 evaluation stage: policy cycle 95–6 expertise transfer 22, 24–5, 30 external actors: and statebuilding 73–4, 75, 77–9 FATF (Financial Action Task Force) 127, 128, 129 Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (FRY) see FRY “filibuster strategy” 75 Financial Action Task Force (FATF) see FATF financial intelligence: and CFT regime 129–30 financial re-regulation: and security governance 128–9

Index   217 force, privatization of see privatization of force Foreign Policy Analysis 6 foreign policy doctrine: Bush administration 67 fragile statehood 62, 65, 77 Friesendorf, C. 46 FRY (Federal Republic of Yugoslavia): assessments of sanctions 106–7; elite formation 117–18; financial schemes 110–11; lifting and legacy of sanctions 115–19; oil 108–9; sanctions evasion 103; sanctions imposition 107–15; sanctions “success” 106; see also Yugoslavia Gallagher, Anne 148 Galtung, J. 105 gangs 185–6 GAO (Government Accountability Office) 138–9 gated communities 184–5 Gbagbo, Lauren 169 Germany: and Afghanistan 89, 90; and EU sanctions 160 global war on terror (GWOT) see GWOT Goldsmith, A. 55 Goodwin-Gill, Guy 138 governance: definitions 2; by government 3, 4, 209; with government 3–5, 128–9, 134, 209; inclusive 209; without government 3, 4, 209 “governance agenda”: World Bank 24 Government Accountability Office (GAO) see GAO Greece 113 GWOT (global war on terror) 86–7, 164, 165 Hadar, L.T. 169 Haiti 62, 86, 93 Hamas 170 Hayek, Friedrich von 5 health reform program: Egypt 34 health systems 67 “hearts and minds” actions 40 HEEP (Higher Education Enhancement) 25–7, 31–4 Helal, Hani Mahfouz 31 Hibou, Béatrice 23 Higher Education Enhancement Program (HEEP) see HEEP higher education reform: Egypt 22, 25–36

Higher Education: The Lessons of Experience 26 “hijacked assistance” 91–3 Hills, A. 82 Hobbes, Thomas 188 Horn of Africa 85 human rights: and CFT regime 133–4; and civil society 70; and counter-trafficking policy 139, 141–3; and immigration 140–2; and targeted sanctions 164–6 Human Rights Watch 152 human trafficking see counter-trafficking humanitarian action: and military forces 40 humanitarian aid: and unintended consequences 5 humanitarian damage: and smart sanctions 105–6 Hungary 113 ideal types: privatization of force 177–80 identification: of migrant groups 152–3 Idris, Salah 165 illegal immigrants 140–1 illegal immigration 150 IMF (International Monetary Fund): accountability 6; CFT measures 128, 129 immigration: and securitization 139–41 implementation research 6 implementation stage: security assistance policies 93–5 inclusive governance 209 Indonesia 91 informal structures: and statebuilding 78 input legitimacy 77 institutional gaps 43 institutionalization first: statebuilding strategy 66, 68–9, 71–2, 73 intention: ascribing 154; defining 138; modes of 10–11; unintended consequences 200–1 inter-state collaboration: international institutions and 4 interception: counter-trafficking 144 international institutions: and inter-state collaboration 4 international military involvement: peace support operations 43–6 International Monetary Fund (IMF) see IMF International Organization for Migration (IOM) see IOM international politics: and unintended consequences 5

218   Index international security assistance: development of 84–7; literature on 82–3; and policy cycle 87–96; recent forms of 82; unintended effects of 83, 88–97 international statebuilding: overview 62–4; strategies 64–70; unintended consequences 63–4, 70–9 IOM (International Organization for Migration) 143 Iran 186 Iraq: accountability of security assistance programs 94–5; armed forces 92; community self-help 180; hijacked assistance 91–2; liberalization first strategy 71; PMCs 93; police force 92; police training 94; security capacity 90; UN sanctions 157 “Iraq Study Group Report” 92 Iraq War 10 Islamist fundamentalism 26 isolationist policies 170 Israel 85, 170 Italy: and Afghanistan 89; people smuggling 141–2; sanctions list 171; trafficked people 147 Ivory Coast 168–9 Jane’s Intelligence Review 114 Japan: and Afghanistan 89; and DPRK 160; and Egypt 22; military outsourcing 182; private security sector 183 Jervis, Robert 63 Jones, S.G. 48 Kadi case 133 KBR 95 Kermabon, Yves de 51 Kertes, Mihalj 109 KFOR (Kosovo Force) 48–50, 53–4 Khan, A. 120 Kirshner, J.J. 105 Klotz, A. 105 knowledgeability: modes of 10–11 Koser, Khalid 152 Kosovo: end state 55; EULEX mission 50–4; military–police interface: (1999–2008) 48–50; (2008–2009) 53–4; security gap 44; UNMIK (United Nations Mission in Kosovo) 86 Kosovo Force (KFOR) see KFOR KP (Kosovo Police) 48, 50, 53 labor abuse cases 149–50

Latin America 85, 91 law and order functions 41, 43 law enforcement operations 46–7 “lead agencies” 77–8 Leakey, Commander 46 learning, lack of 203 legal challenges: and CFT regime 133–4 legal norms 103 legitimacy: and CFT regime 134; and governance 6; of governance without government 4; of institutionalization strategy 69; and statebuilding 76–7; targeted sanctions 158, 160 lethality of terrorism acts: operational costs and 130 liberalization: Egypt 23 liberalization first: statebuilding strategy 65–7, 70, 72–3 Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) 170 Liberia 93–4, 159, 167, 168 Licht, S. 107 limited pluralism 29 local actors: and statebuilding 74–5 local ownership 74, 77, 83, 95–6 local power structures: statebuilding 74–5 Locke, John 188 Lopez, G.A. 106, 107, 157 LTTE (Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam) see Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam Luković, Milorad 118–19 Macedonia 112–13, 114–15 Mack, A. 120 McKenzie, Evan 184 Magureanu, Virgil 114 Marjanović, Marco 109 market economies 65 mechanism-based research 13, 201–2 mechanisms 205 men: and trafficking 149–50 mercenaries 182–3, 189; see also PMCs Middle East 21 Middle East Partnership Initiative 22 migrants 144–6 migration: and sanctions 171 migration management policies 138 Milanović, Dafina 110 militarized law enforcement: phenomenon of 47, 49, 55 military–civil cooperation 90 military forces: and police training 94; role of 39; and transnational crimes 39–40 military involvement: law enforcement

Index   219 operations 46–8; peace support operations 43–6 military–police interface: Kosovo 48–50, 53–4 militia infiltration: Iraq 92 Millennium Challenge Account 67 Millennium Development Goals 67 Milošević, Marko 109, 117 Milošević, Slobodan 108, 118–19 MINUSTAH (United Nations Stabilization Mission in Haiti) 86 miscategorization: of migrants 152–3; of trafficked people 146, 148–50 “mission creep” 73 Mitchell, Timothy 23 modern statehood 178 money laundering 7, 132 monopoly of force 178–9 Montenegro 116–17 moral hazards 207 Morrison, John 152 MPRI 93 MSUs (multinational specialized units) 44, 49, 54 Mubarak, Gamal 21, 32–3, 34 Mubarak, Hosni 21 Mugabe, Robert 168 Mujahideen 129 multi-level politics: and statebuilding 73–7 multilateral assistance missions 89 multinational specialized units (MSUs) see MSUs Muslim Brotherhood 33 Muslim charitable giving 133 Myanmar 166, 169 naming and shaming system: UN (United Nations) 171 National Agency for Quality Assurance and Evaluation 27 National Committee: Egypt 28–9, 32–4 National Democratic Party (NDP) see NDP National Democratic Party (NDP) congress 21 National Security Strategy 67 National Union for the Total Independence of Angola (UNITA) see UNITA NATO: Bucharest Summit 41; Cold War years 84–5; comprehensive approach 41; Kosovo 48–54; MSUs (multinational specialized units) 44 Naylor, R.T. 116

NDP (National Democratic Party): Egypt 28, 32–4 neo-classical security assistance 84, 86–7 “neo-Wilsonianism” 67 Nepali women 148–9 networks 88 “new public management” 181–2 NGOs: and civil society first strategy 70, 72; and legitimacy 77 Nigeria: Sharia enforcement 186; trafficked people 147; women 148 normal science 210 OCHA (Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs) 161 OFAC (Office of Foreign Asset Control) 127 Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) see OCHA Office of Foreign Asset Control (OFAC) see OFAC oil: and sanctions in FRY 108–9 1267 Monitoring Team 129 Operation “Enduring Freedom” 10 operational costs: financial institutions 132–3; and lethality of terrorism acts 130 operative planning: and statebuilding 76 Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) see OSCE OSCE (Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe) 143 Othman, Omar Mohammed 165 output legitimacy 77 outsourcing: force 181–2; security transfers 93–5 oversight: lack of 94–5 Pacurar, Andi 145 Pakistan: and US assistance 86–7 Palermo protocols 141–2 Palestine 170 para-state structures 75 “participatory approach” 29 patronage networks 180 peace activists 70 peace support operations: civil–military coordination 39; international military involvement 43–6; and unintended consequences 5 peacekeeping: UN and regional organizations 4 Pearson, Elaine 149

220   Index people smuggling 141–3; see also countertrafficking Perito, R.M. 94 Petković, Dragan 112 PMCs (private military companies) 6, 10, 93–4, 95 PMU (project management unit) 31–2 police forces: and CIMIC literature 41; international 44–5 police training 94 policy coordination: security governance 3 policy cycle: and security assistance 87–96 policy formulation stages: security assistance missions 91–3 policy termination 95–6 policymakers: Egypt 30–1 political attention: to statebuilding 75–6 political utility: and CFT regime 130 Popper, Karl 5 Portugal: gated communities 185 positivism 11, 12 post-conflict reconstruction: and civil society 70; civil–military coordination 39, 40; first steps 68; and international assistance 83, 87; security sector governance programs 86; and unintended consequences 5 post-normal science 210 “postmodern military” 41 poverty reduction 67 power-holders: and liberalization first strategy 70–1 prison privatization 183–4 private actors 3, 4 private military companies (PMCs) see PMCs private military contracting 182–3; see also PMCs private policing 183 private security contractors 4 privatization: and liberalization first strategy 71; of security assistance 93–5 privatization of force: commodification of force 179, 187–91; community self-help 180; empirical sketches 182–7; ideal types 177–80; monopoly of force 178–9; real-world transformations 180–1; from state to market 180–1; from state to people 181; unpredictability of 177 problem definition stages: security assistance policies 88–91 process tracing 202, 205 project management unit (PMU) see PMU prostitution 148–9

protocols: counter-trafficking 141–3 public security gaps 92 public–private partnerships 5 pyramid schemes 110, 116 rally-around-the-flag effect 10, 159, 168 Ražnatović, Željko (Arkan) 109 re-trafficking 146, 148, 150 reflective carp 176, 191–2 Refugee Protection and Border Security 140 refugees 151–3 relational mechanisms 205 rent-seeking behavior: and statebuilding 74 repatriation: of trafficked people 146–8 rescue: of trafficked people 146–8 Resolution 53/111 141 resource allocation: and statebuilding 76 resource mechanisms 205 Rice, Condoleeza 67 Rio de Janeiro 185 Robinson, Anthony 115 Roma Rights Case 153 Romania 112–14, 171 Romaniuk, Peter 128 Rowe, D.M. 105 ruling elite: and liberalization first strategy 70–1 SAARC (South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation) 143 Said, Mohsen Elmahdy 30–1, 34 Saikai, Mahmoud 152 Salt, John 143 SAMs (sanctions assistance missions) 107 sanction evasion 159 sanctions: criminalizing effect of 102–3, 104, 108–15, 116–20; financial 132; imposition of 107–15; lifting and legacy 115–19; scholarly debate 103–7 sanctions assistance missions (SAMs) see SAMs sanctions lists: and international terrorism 164–6 Sassen, S. 146 Saudi Arabia 186 Sayed, Fatma H. 26 scenario-building techniques 210 Schengen Implementing Agreement (SIA) see SIA Securitas 183 security assistance policies 84–7 security first: risks of 90; statebuilding strategy 66, 67–8, 71, 72–3

Index   221 security gaps 43–4, 92 security governance: definition 2, 87–8; effectiveness 7; efficiency 7; financial re-regulation and 128–9; legitimacy 6; literature on 6–8; ownership 3; plurality of actors 3; policy coordination 3, 42; structures 3–5; unintended consequences and 8 security governance actors 203 security guards 183 security policy: global 2 security sector reform 68 security system reform (SSR) see SSR Selden, Z. 105 Serbia 116–19; sanctions 166–7 Sharia enforcement 186–7 Shehab, Moufid 28–9 Sheptycki, J. 55 Shiite militia 91–2 SIA (Schengen Implementing Agreement) 142 Sierra Leone 86, 182 SIEV 5 137 Singer, P.W. 93 Slaughter, Anne-Marie 7, 88, 205 smart sanctions 105–6, 157 see also targeted sanctions Smith, Adam 5, 190–1 smugglers 144–6 smuggling 103, 111–12, 115, 116–18; see also counter-trafficking smuggling protocols 141–3 “soft” security governance 22 Solana, Javier 47 Somalia: and CFT regime 133; community self-help 180; humanitarian interventions 62; pirates 181; Sharia enforcement 186; and US assistance 85 South Africa: gated communities 179, 185; prison privatization 184 South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation (SAARC) see SAARC South Vietnam 85 Spain: and EU sanctions 160; gated communities 185 spoiler groups 74, 75, 200 Sri Lanka 170 SSR (security system reform) 41–3, 45, 82, 85; see also international security assistance state monopoly of force 178 statebuilding: overview 62–4; strategies 64–70; unintended consequences 5, 63–4, 70–9

statehood, modern 178 Steinmeier, Frank-Walter 160 stereotyping: of trafficked people 146, 148–50 strategic planning: and statebuilding 76 Strazzari, F. 115 structural adjustment 23 structural adjustment programs 5, 24 structures: security governance 3–5 Subotić, Stamko “Cane” 118 Sunni militia 92 support networks: and terrorism 129–30 Taliban 7 Tampa affair 152 targeted sanctions: arms embargoes 162–4; assessments 161; dialogue opportunities 170; economic consequences 166–8; and human rights 164–6; implementation problems 159–61; legitimacy 158, 160; policy interest in 105–6; rationale 158–9; sanctions lists 164–6; senders 168–70; shift to 157–8; and third parties 170–1; trade consequences 169; types of 158; unintended consequences 159, 161–72 targeting: international security assistance 91–3 tax evasion investigations 132 Taylor, Charles 159, 167 Tempus Egypt 31 termination: security transfer 95–6 terrorism: CFT regime see CFT (combating the financing of terrorism) regime; and illegal immigration 141; sanctions lists 164–6, 170, 172 terrorism acts: operational costs and lethality 130 third sector empowerment 22, 24, 25, 30 Tierney, D. 162, 163 timber ban, Liberia 167 Timor Leste 83, 86, 91 trafficked people 146–50 traffickers 144–6 trafficking see counter-trafficking trafficking protocols 141–3 training: police and military 94–5 transfer of funds 129 transformational diplomacy 67 transparency: establishing 208; and sanctions lists 164; security governance 6, 88; training programs 94–5 Travaux Preparatoires 151 Tunisia: and autocracy 35

222   Index Uçarer, Ernek M. 151 UK (United Kingdom): Afghanistan 89, 92; and EU sanctions 160; Iraq 96; prison privatization 184; private policing 183; refugees 153; trafficked people 147, 150 UK Detention Services 184 UN (United Nations): arms embargoes 163; CFT regime 129; Iraq sanctions 157; Kosovo 48–54; Liberian sanctions 167; Myanmar sanctions 169; naming and shaming system 171; peacekeeping 4; Resolution 53/111 141; sanctions 102, 167, 169 UN Security Council Resolutions (UNSCRs) see UNSCRs UNAMSIL (United Nations Mission in Sierra Leone) 86 “uncivil society” 102–3, 111 underground economy 102, 108 UNDP (United Nations Development Program) see United Nations Development Program UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees) 139, 143 unintended consequences: analyzing 10–13; avoiding negative 205–10; CFT regime 131–6; counter-trafficking 144–54; definition 9; dimensions of 9–10, 198–201; “double effect” phenomenon 199–200, 206; explaining 201–5; intentions 200–1; and international politics 5; and international statebuilding 63–4, 70–9; lack of research 6; negative 199, 200, 205–10; positive 199–200; and security governance 8; and structural adjustment programs 5; study of 1–2; targeted sanctions 159, 161–72; types of 9–10; ubiquity of 5–8; unpredictability 176–7 UNIOSIL (United Nations Integrated Office in Sierra Leone) 86 UNITA (National Union for the Total Independence of Angola) 159, 171 United Nations Development Program (UNDP) 24 United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) see UNHCR United Nations Integrated Office in Sierra Leone (UNIOSIL) see UNIOSIL United Nations Mission in Kosovo (UNMIK) see UNMIK United Nations Mission in Sierra Leone (UNAMSIL) see UNAMSIL

United Nations Stabilization Mission in Haiti (MINUSTAH) see MINUSTAH United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor (UNTAET) see UNTAET United States Agency for International Development (USAID) see USAID UNMIK (United Nations Mission in Kosovo) 48–53, 86 UNSCRs (UN Security Council resolutions): UNSCR 1267 127–8; UNSCR 1343 167; UNSCR 1368 128; UNSCR 1373 128; UNSCR 1535 128; UNSCR 1695 160 UNTAET (United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor) 86 US military: police training 94 USA (United States of America): accountability of security assistance programs 94–5; Afghanistan 90; “blowback” 5; CFT (combating the financing of terrorism) see CFT (combating the financing of terrorism) regime; classical security assistance 86–7; Cold War years 84–5; Egypt 21; foreign aid 84–5; gated communities 185; Government Accountability Office (GAO) 138–9; GWOT (global war on terror) 9, 86–7; and Mujahideen 129; and Myanmar sanctions 169; PMCs 182; prison privatization 184; private policing 183; security assistance 84–5 USAID (United States Agency for International Development) 25, 26 Uzbekistan 160 variable-based research 11–12 Vienna Process 141 Vinell Corporation 93 violence: and statebuilding 74 Vork, Richardt 113 Vries, Anthony de 166 Wackenhut 183 Wackenhut Corrections Corporation 184 Wallensteen, P. 116 “war on terror”: effects of 9; see also GWOT warlord politics 177, 181, 183, 186 Washington Consensus 65 Watson Institute Targeting Terrorist Finances research group 129 weapons of mass destruction (WMD) see WMD

Index   223 Weber, Max 177, 178 Wei Tang case 148 Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation 91 Withers, G.A. 87 “witness-bondage” 146, 153 witness protection 147–8 WMD (weapons of mass destruction) 6 Wolfensohn, James D. 24 Wolfsberg Groups 128, 129 women migrants: and misidentification 148–9 women’s associations 70 Woodward, S. 107 World Bank: accountability 6; CFT measures 128, 129; and democracy

promotion 23–4; and Egypt’s reform program 22, 25–36; expertise transfer 24–5; “governance agenda” 24; PMU 31; social reforms 24; Strategic Compact 24 World Trade Center bombing 129 Xe Services (formerly Blackwater) 93, 182 Yugoslavia: arms embargoes 162, 163; aviation ban 171; humanitarian intervention 62; sanctions 166–7; see also FRY Zaalberg, T.W.B. 39 Zimbabwe 167–8