Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration: Bringing State-building Back In 9781409437383, 9781315601656

Table of contents :
Cover
Contents
List of Figures
List of Tables
Notes on Contributors
Preface and Acknowledgements
List of Abbreviations
Introduction
1 Tajikistan: DDR in a Context of Authoritarian Peace
2 DDR in Mozambique: A Success Without the First ‘D’
3 Afghanistan: ‘Chaotic’ Peacekeeping and DDR
4 The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Technical Drift?
5 The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Facade of Collaboration?
6 Settlement Without Disarmament in the Philippines: The Unheralded Outcomes
7 Colombia’s Paramilitary DDR and its Limits
Conclusions
Index

Citation preview

POST-CONFLICT DISARMAMENT, DEMOBILIZATION ANd REINTEGRATION

Global Security in a Changing World Series Editor: Professor Nana K. Poku, John Ferguson Professor, Department of Peace Studies, University of Bradford, UK Globalisation is changing the world dramatically, and a very public debate is taking place about the form, extent and significance of these changes. At the centre of this debate lie conflicting claims about the forces and processes shaping security. As a result, notions of inequality, poverty and the cultural realm of identity politics have all surfaced alongside terrorism, environmental changes and bio-medical weapons as essential features of the contemporary global political landscape. In this sense, the debate on globalisation calls for a fundamental shift from a status quo political reality to one that dislodges states as the primary referent, and instead sees states as a means and not the end to various security issues, ranging from individual security to international terrorism. More importantly, centred at the cognitive stage of thought, it is also a move towards conceiving the concept of insecurity in terms of change. The series attempts to address this imbalance by encouraging a robust and multi-disciplinary assessment of the asymmetrical nature of globalisation. Scholarship is sought from areas such as: global governance, poverty and insecurity, development, civil society, religion, terrorism and globalisation. Other titles in this series: Canadian Foreign Policy in Africa Regional Approaches to Peace, Security, and Development Edward Ansah Akuffo ISBN 978-1-4094-3452-8 Victims as Security Threats Refugee Impact on Host State Security in Africa Edward Mogire ISBN 978-0-7546-7820-5 Africa’s New Peace and Security Architecture Promoting Norms, Institutionalizing Solutions Edited by Ulf Engel and J. Gomes Porto ISBN 978-0-7546-7605-8 (hbk) ISBN 978-0-7546-7606-5 (pbk) Foreign Interventions in Ethnic Conflicts Robert Nalbandov ISBN 978-0-7546-7862-5

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration Bringing State-building Back In

Edited by ANTONIO GIUSTOZZI London School of Economics, UK

First published 2012 by Ashgate Publishing Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business Copyright © 2012 A Antonio Giustozzi has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the editor of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised 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. Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Post-conflict disarmament, demobilization and reintegration : bringing state-building back in. -- (Global security in a changing world) 1. Nation-building--Africa--Case studies. 2. Nation-building--Asia--Case studies. 3. Confidence and security building measures (International relations)- History--20th century. 4. Confidence and security building measures (International relations)--History--21st century. 5. World politics--1989 I. Series II. Giustozzi, Antonio. 327.1'7-dc23 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Post-conflict disarmament, demobilization and reintegration : bringing state-building back in / [edited by] by Antonio Giustozzi. p. cm. -- (Global security in a changing world) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4094-3738-3 (hardback) 1. Nation-building--History. 2. Peace-building--History. 3. Disarmament--History. 4. Nation-building--Case studies. 5. Peace-building--Case studies. 6. Disarmament--Case studies. I. Giustozzi, Antonio. JZ6300.P67 2012 327.1'7--dc23 2011043438 ISBN 9781409437383 (hbk) ISBN9781315601656 (ebk)

Contents List of Figures    List of Tables   Notes on Contributors   Preface and Acknowledgements   List of Abbreviations   Introduction  

vii ix xi xiii xv 1

1

Tajikistan: DDR in a Context of Authoritarian Peace   Anna Matveeva

29

2

DDR in Mozambique: A Success Without the First ‘D’   Lorenzo Striuli

41

3

Afghanistan: ‘Chaotic’ Peacekeeping and DDR   Antonio Giustozzi

57

4

The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Technical Drift?   Ben J. Shepherd

73

5

The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Facade of Collaboration?   87 Zoë Marriage

6

Settlement Without Disarmament in the Philippines: The Unheralded Outcomes of the GRP–MNLF Final Peace Agreement  99 Francisco J. Lara Jr 

7

Colombia’s Paramilitary DDR and its Limits   Francisco Gutiérrez Sanín and Andrea González Peña

113

Conclusions  

133

Index  

139

This page has been left blank intentionally

List of Figures 3.1

Weapons collected and verified in the DIAG programme  

67

6.1 6.2

Change in real GDP, ARMM vs. Philippines, 1997–2007   Actual growth in GDP vs. tax collections (1996–2006)  

107 108

7.1 7.2

Forced displacement in Colombia, 1997–2009   Political homicide in Colombia according to different sources, 1988–2004  

120 120

This page has been left blank intentionally

List of Tables 1.1

DDR programmes in the post-Cold War era  

7.1 7.2 7.3

Summary of statistics (Colombia)   Political homicide in Colombia   Forced displacement in Colombia  

2 124 125 129

This page has been left blank intentionally

Notes on Contributors Antonio Giustozzi is an independent researcher associated with the Crisis States Research Centre at the London School of Economics (LSE). He is the author of several articles and papers on Afghanistan, as well as three books: War, Politics and Society in Afghanistan, 1978–1992 (Georgetown University Press), Koran, Kalashnikov and Laptop: The Neo-Taliban Insurgency, 2002– 2007 (Columbia University Press) and Empires of Mud: War and Warlords in Afghanistan (Columbia University Press). He also edited a volume on the Taliban, Decoding the New Taliban (Columbia University Press, 2009), featuring contributions by specialists from different backgrounds. He is currently researching issues of governance in Afghanistan, from a wideranging perspective which includes understanding the role of army, police, subnational governance and intelligence system. Andrea González Peña is an economist and Master in Political Science (Universidad Nacional de Colombia). She is a lecturer at IEPRI (Instituto de Estudios Políticos y Relaciones Internacionales, National University of Colombia). Francisco Gutiérrez Sanín is a professor at IEPRI and CEHIS (Historical Studies Centre, External University of Colombia). He participated in the Crisis States Research Centre (LSE), as well as in the Economic Liberalization and Violence Program financed by the International Development Research Centre (IDRC), Canada. Recent publications include Lo que el viento se llevo – partidos y democracia en Colombia (Norma, 2007) and several articles in journals such as Journal of Politics and Society, Conflict and Security, International Journal of Political Science, Journal of Development Studies, Environment and Urbanization, Science and Society and others. Francisco J. Lara Jr is a PhD student associated with the Crisis States Research Centre (LSE) and has published ‘Inclusive Peace in Muslim Mindanao: Revisiting the Dynamics of Conflict and Exclusion’ (International Alert, 2009). His PhD research focuses on aspects of Philippine politics and society. Zoë Marriage is a Senior Lecturer in the Development Studies Department of the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), University of London, where she teaches on Security and convenes the MSc in Violence, Conflict and Development. Zoë has researched extensively in countries affected by conflict in Africa, and her current work investigates the relationship between security

xii

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

and development in the Democratic Republic of Congo. She is the author of Not Breaking the Rules, Not Playing the Game. International Assistance to Countries at War (Hurst & Co., 2006). Anna Matveeva is an associate fellow at the Crisis States Research Centre at the London School of Economics. Dr Matveeva acts as a consultant for the European Commission, the United Nations Development Program (UNDP), the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE) and European governments on political analysis and assistance programmes in conflict areas, and is a regular contributor to the Guardian’s Comment is Free. She recently acted as Head of the Research Secretariat for the Kyrgyzstan Inquiry Commission. She previously worked as a Research Fellow at the Royal Institute of International Affairs and as the UNDP Regional Adviser on Peace and Development in Central Asia. She has published extensively as an academic, including a Chaillot Paper for the European Union (EU) Institute for Security Studies on ‘EU Stakes in Central Asia’, a Chatham House Paper on ‘The North Caucasus: Russia’s Fragile Borderland’, and articles in International Affairs, Europe-Asia Studies, International Spectator and Problems of Post-Communism. Ben J. Shepherd was the David Davies of Llandinam fellow in the Department of International Relations at the LSE in 2009–10 and a former Central Africa research analyst for the Foreign and Commonwealth Office; he was posted to DR Congo for two years. In 2011 he was Director of Studies at the Great Lakes Course, organized by the European Interagency Security Forum. Lorenzo Striuli is an independent researcher and analyst based at the CASD (Centro Alti Studi Difesa) in Rome and has published extensively on military and security affairs. He deployed to Mozambique in 2006 for a study commissioned by CASD. He regularly heads research projects for the Italian Military Centre for Strategic Studies (CeMiSS); he also acted as a consultant at the Institute of Military Maritime Studies (ISMM) of the Italian Navy. He has, for a number of years, lectured and organized professional and academic postgraduate educational projects concerning international relations and politics. In this role, he was recently the course director of a European Security and Defence College’s Pilot Course on Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration and Security Sector Reform. He has published several essays, research reports and articles in press strictly oriented to the fields of military and strategic studies. The main focuses of his interest are related to the study of military organizations, military doctrine, strategic studies and the analysis of weapon systems.

Preface and Acknowledgements This volume is part of the output of the Crisis States Research Centre (CSRC) at the LSE and particularly of its Phase 2 (2006–2010). The Centre was wholly funded by the UK Department for International Development (DFID) during this Phase. Within the Centre’s programme, a major stream of work concerned the role of security in state-building. The main thrust of that stream was the role of armies in state-building and in elite bargaining, but part of the work also focused on aspects of international intervention in post-conflict situations. The centre decided that Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration (DDR) programmes were an appropriate aspect of the impact of international intervention to look at. In commissioning this series of case studies, we did not aim for comprehensive accounts of DDR programmes in these six countries; such accounts already exist, and readers could easily access them if needed. What we asked the contributors to do was to discuss specific aspects of DDR programmes, mostly neglected in the existing literature, and to look at DDR programmes from an angle different from the usual one; that is not from a technical angle, but from a political-historical one. The introduction discusses this in much greater detail, but in short we wanted to assess various DDR programmes in the light of their impact on state-building, both in terms of their contribution to elite bargaining and to the formation of political settlements, and in terms of laying the ground for the (re-)emergence of a state bureaucracy. This volume therefore would not have happened without the generous contribution of the Department for International Development. It would also not have happened without the decision of the CSRC’s Director, Prof. James Putzel, to commit resources to it. The editor and contributors, therefore, thank both for their support. We also would like to thank the CSRC’s Administrator, Wendy Foulds, for her help in managing the whole effort. Finally, thanks to the publisher, Ashgate, and their team for their help in turning the manuscript into a book.

This page has been left blank intentionally

List of Abbreviations AFP Armed Forces of the Philippines ALiR Armée de Libération du Rwanda AMODEG Mozambique Association of Demobilised Soldiers ANBP Afghanistan New Beginning Programme ARMM Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao AUC Autodefensas Unidas de Colombia Bacrim criminal bands BJE Bangsamoro Juridical Entity (Philippines) CCF Cease-Fire Commission (Mozambique) CCJ Comisión Colombiana de Juristas (Colombia) CIA Central Intelligence Agency (US) CIDA Canadian International Development Agency CNDP National Congress for the Defence of the People (Democratic Republic of Congo) CNR Commission on National Reconciliation (Tajikistan) CODHES Consultoría para los Derechos Humanos y el Desplazamiento (Colombia) COMINFO National Information Commission (Mozambique) COMPOL National Police Affairs Commission (Mozambique) CONADER National Commission for Disarmament, Demobilization and Reinsertion (Democratic Republic of Congo) CORE Reintegration Commission (Mozambique) CPA Comprehensive Peace Agreement CSC Supervision and Control Commission (Mozambique) DDR Disarmament, Demobilisation and Reintegration DDRRR Disarmament, Demobilisation, Repatriation, Reinsertion and Rehabilitation (Democratic Republic of Congo) DIAG Disarmament of Illegal Armed Groups (Afghanistan) DPKO see UNDPKO Democratic Republic of Congo DRC ELAS Greek People’s Liberation Army FADM Armed Defense Forces of Mozambique Mozambican Armed Forces FAM FARC Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia Armed Forces of the Democratic Republic of Congo FARDC FDLR Forces Democratiques pour la Liberation du Rwanda FMLN Frente Farabundo Marti de Liberación Nacional (El Salvador)

xvi

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

FNL Forces Nationales de Liberation (Burundi) FPA Final Peace Agreement (Philippines) FRELIMO Frente de Libertação de Moçambique GPA General Peace Agreement (Mozambique) GRP Government of the Republic of the Philippines IAGs Illegal Armed Groups ICFM International Council of Foreign Ministers (OIC) ICG International Crisis Group IDDRS Integrated Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration Standards ILO International Labour Organisation IMU Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan IPA International Peace Academy (New York) ISAF International Security Assistance Force (Afghanistan) JDC Jamoat Development Committees (Tajikistan) JICA Japan International Cooperation Agency KOGG Committee of State Border Protection (Tajikistan) M-19 Movimiento 19 de Abril MILF Moro Islamic Liberation Front MNLF Moro National Liberation Front MONUC United Nations Organization Mission in the Democratic Republic of the Congo NDS National Directorate of Security (Afghanistan) OAS Organisation of American States OIC Organization of the Islamic Conference OMON riot police (Tajikistan) ONUSAL United Nations Observer Mission in El Salvador PCF Parti Communiste Français PCI Partito Comunista Italiano Political Lethal Violence in Colombia (database) PLV PNP Philippine National Police PRM Police of the Republic of Mozambique Rassemblement Congolais pour la Democratie RCD RENAMO Resistência Nacional Moçambicana Rwandan Patriotic Front RPF RRDP Rehabilitation, Reconstruction and Development Programme (Tajikistan) System of Information on Forced Displacement (Colombia) RUT SALW Small Arms and Light Weapons Registro Único de Población Desplazada SIPOD SISE State Information and Security Service (Mozambique) SPCPD Southern Philippines Council for Peace and Development Sudan People’s Liberation Movement/Army SPLM/A SRSG Special Representative of the UN Secretary-General

List of Abbreviations

xvii

SSR Security Sector Reform UNAMA United Nations Assistance Mission to Afghanistan UNDP United Nations Development Programme UNDPKO United Nations Department of Peacekeeping Operations UNICEF United Nations Children’s Fund UNMIS United Nations Mission in Sudan UNMOT United Nations Mission of Observers in Tajikistan UNO National Opposition Union (Nicaragua) UNOCHA United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Assistance UNOMOZ United Nations Operation in Mozambique UNOPS UN Office of Project Services. UNTOP United Nations Tajikistan Office for Peacebuilding USAID US Agency for International Development USPI United States Protection and Investigation UTO United Tajik Opposition ZANU Zimbabwe African National Union ZAPU Zimbabwe African People’s Union

This page has been left blank intentionally

Introduction DDR: Is it Relevant? Is the Debate Over? Among practitioners and academics, views about DDR (Disarmament, Demobilisation and Reintegration) programmes tend to be quite polarised. A string of failures or under-performing programmes resulted in widespread scepticism concerning their viability and the ‘value for money’ that they represent. It is not infrequent to hear the refrain that UN-led or UN-styled DDR programmes are hardly relevant in today’s international politics and in the world of state-building. The opposite view is that everything is fine with DDR and that difficulties in implementation are due to the very difficult environment where internationally led DDR programmes are necessarily implemented; DDR programmes have been increasingly refined and the standard template is now so sophisticated and well developed that the debate on how DDR should look is almost over. As we shall show below, the debate is certainly not over. At the same time, DDR is not irrelevant either, if for no other reason than that it accounts for billions of dollars spent in recent years (see Table 1.1) and will probably account for billions more being spent in the future. International organisations (chiefly, but not only, the UN) are well prepared to keep unrolling DDR programmes in post-conflict environments, wherever host states have collapsed or are unable to cope. This book proposes to read DDR efforts in a new light, derived from the closer understanding of the workings of state formation and state-building that is emerging from ongoing research. Disarmament, Demobilisation and Reintegration Before ‘DDR’ The line from the UN with regard to conflict resolution and DDR is (perhaps unsurprisingly) that Demobilizing combatants is the single most important factor determining the success of peace operations. Without demobilization, civil wars cannot be brought to an end and other critical goals—such as democratization, justice and development—have little chance for success. (United Nations General Assembly, 2004: 61)

This view, however, is not really supported by the evidence. The peace agreement in Rhodesia (Zimbabwe) in 1980 is one clear exception. Arguably, the key to

2

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Table 1.1  DDR programmes in the post-Cold War era Country Afghanistan Angola Burundi Cambodia Central African Republic Chad Colombia AUC Congo Brazzaville Cote d’Ivoire DR Congo Eritrea Guinea-Bissau Haiti Indonesia (Aceh) Liberia Nepal Niger Philippines (Mindanao) Rwanda Somalia Sudan Uganda

Demobilised combatants 63,380 138,000 78,000 30,000 7,565 9,000 31,761 30,000 40,000 50,000 200,000 5,000 6,000 3,000 110,000 19,602 3,160 6,000 36,000 53,000 180,000 22,000

Cost (US$ million) 140.9 255.8 84.4 42.0 13.3 10.0 245.0 25.0 40.0 200.0 198.0 35.0 50.1 130.0 110.0 50.0 2.4 15.8 67.6 32.8 600.0 50.0

Per capita expenditure (US$) 2,223 1,854 1,082 1,400 1,758 1,111 7,714 833 1,000 1,333 990 7,000 8,350 43,333 1,000 2,551 759 2,633 1,878 619 3,333 2,273

Source: Escola de Cultura de Pau, 2008, 2009, and 2010.

success in that case was exactly the decision not to disarm the two opposed sides (Berdal, 1996). Mistrust between the insurgents and the Rhodesians was extreme and the situation proved very difficult to handle for the British-led mission. It could be argued that the failure to disarm later resulted in violence between the two former insurgent factions, ZANU (Zimbabwe African National Union) and ZAPU (Zimbabwe African People’s Union), with the latter using hidden stocks of weapons to wage a new insurgency from 1981 onwards (Ginifer, 1995; Stedman, 1993). However, it can equally be argued that it was the failure to reach a satisfying political settlement between ZANU and ZAPU that caused the violence; indeed as such a settlement was reached in 1987, the violence ceased and did not even re-emerge during the extreme turmoil faced by Zimbabwe in the early twenty-first century. This last point highlights a key aspect of post-conflict state reconstruction and rehabilitation, which is the role of leadership in enabling collective action.

Introduction

3

Without leaders, even dissatisfied and frustrated former combatants cannot do much, except turn into bandits who would not represent a direct threat to the state, even if they could still represent a major social problem in terms of drifting towards criminal behaviour.1 The ability of the leadership to control and restrain the rank and file could conversely be seen as a major asset in a post-conflict environment. Disbandment at all costs is therefore not always the best course of action, particularly when reintegration programmes are badly designed and/or when not all non-state armed groups are covered by the DDR effort. That the UN line quoted above does not stand up to scrutiny is confirmed by many other experiences of disarmament, demobilisation and reintegration, starting from those dating back to a time when the UN did not even exist. Some features of the ‘DDR’ efforts in Europe as the Second World War ended are particularly worth discussing. The closest match to the civil conflicts of the post-Cold War era was in the DDRing of partisan movements, particularly leftist ones in political contexts where centre-right regimes were being consolidated in power. In such cases, even if governments and soon-to-be opposition had not necessarily been fighting each other, the situation resembled a post-civil war context in many regards. Indeed, exactly because the partisan demobilisation context only partially resembles later civil war environments, such a comparison presents particular advantages as a test. Trust should not have been as big an issue in such contexts as in contexts where the two sides had actually been fighting each other until very recently. After all, most of the members of the post-war cabinets trying to demobilise the partisans had been allied with them until that point, at least in France and Italy. It is useful in this context to contrast the case of Greece, which collapsed post-war into a civil war, and that of Italy and France, where despite tension a new conflict was avoided. In the case of Greece, much was made at the time of discoveries by the Greek gendarmerie of weapons in north-western Greece, hidden there by the Communist-led ELAS (Greek People’s Liberation Army). The discoveries certainly contributed to the deterioration of the political climate, which was already getting rapidly polarised between the right and left wings (Koliopolus, 1999: 206–8). Undoubtedly ELAS had been hiding weapons in large quantities: after agreeing demobilisation in 1945, weapons for 30,000 men were hidden according to the most credible of various estimates (Close, 1995: 145). But did the situation need to degenerate into a civil war? British encouragement for the right wing, the widespread belief among British officials that ELAS would not settle for anything less than a revolution and Churchill’s own distaste for ELAS’ ‘bandits’ favoured the perception within the ranks of the new right-wing government that a policy of confrontation would be supported by their British allies (Close, 1995: 132–3). The Communists were undecided over whether to follow Soviet advice, that is to avoid a civil war, or Yugoslav advice, that is to go for armed struggle without hesitation. In the short term, a compromise in exchange for a share of 1  On the importance of leadership and organisation to enable collective action against the state, see Giustozzi, 2011.

4

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

power, or at least an end to harassment and white terror, would probably have satisfied them. The shift towards insurgency was slow and mainly driven by the reaction of ELAS’ members to the white terror sponsored by the government itself (Close, 1995: 150ff, 178; Vlavianos, 1992: 225ff). The lessons of the Greek experience are clearer when the Greek case is compared with that of France and Italy. The political line of the French and Italian communists was not too different from that of the Greek one, if we take into account the impact of the different contexts, for no other reason than that it was being ‘suggested’ from Moscow. The PCF (French Communist Party) strongly lobbied for the creation of a paramilitary force which would be based on its Patriotic Militia, as well as for the integration of its partisan army into the French armed forces. De Gaulle only agreed to the incorporation of a small portion of the partisans into the army. De Gaulle’s resistance resulted in tension between the different components of the transitional government, with the PCF initially refusing to obey De Gaulle’s order to disband its armed formations. Street demonstrations followed. Eventually the PCF opted to back down. The internal reporting of French security agencies over the PCF and its armed formations has not been made public yet, at least to my knowledge. American intelligence reportedly believed that, after formally disbanding its units in 1945, the PCF kept the majority of the weapons, that underground shock units were formed and that deliveries of weapons were still taking place in 1945. It also reported that the PCF controlled most of the police, particularly in Paris, and that it could use the Ministry of Armaments (the Minister was a communist at that time) for quick access to weaponry. The information might be true or not (Robrieux believes that it was exaggerated) but it is likely that De Gaulle and his supporters shared, at least in part, the same information. The debate about the PCF’s actual intentions is still open: was an armed insurrection being considered as an actual option at some point (Becker, 1981: 147ff; Robrieux, 1980: 181–3)? Rieber (1962: 188) believes that maintaining an armed force served different purposes for the PCF, given that the political environment remained very fluid (for example, Greece was sliding towards civil war as the PCF was being asked to disarm). An armed force, openly displayed or kept ‘secret’, could be used to increase the bargaining power of the PCF vis-à-vis the right wing, as well as in an actual conflict if a new war were to start in Europe. Evidence has been emerging in Italy in recent years that the PCI (Italian Communist Party) maintained an armed structure after 1945, possibly into the 1960s. The evidence comes almost entirely from police reports, with only a handful of members and former members admitting to its existence at least in some form, but many weapon caches have been discovered from 1945 onwards, lending credibility to the idea of at least some armed structure having stayed in existence (Donno, 2001). The controversy in Italy about the topic has been much politicised up to the 1990s. Donno and Zaslavsky argued that the structure did not have a merely defensive character, but was meant for offensive purposes as well (Zaslavsky, 2001: 90–1). Others argue that the military structure was

Introduction

5

decentralised and mostly left to the initiative of local groups of activists and former partisans (Bermani, 1996: 306ff). In reality, even if the aim of the leaders of the PCI had been to maintain bargaining power and deter a violent crackdown on the Communists, they would have needed to maintain a real underground military force, with developed capabilities. Considering that they had been kept out of the military and security forces of the new regime, anything short of that would not have achieved much and might even have been counter-productive, because it could have provided an excuse to the right wing without any serious deterrent power. Hence, even if the existence of a sophisticated underground military structure could be demonstrated, it would still tell little about the ultimate aims of the PCI. It could also be argued that the ultimate aims of the PCI would not matter either: few political organisations ever implement their ‘plans’ and instead have to interact with a complex environment, adapting to opportunities and confronting threats. The Italian police estimated the PCI’s armed military structure at 45–46 thousand men, almost all former partisans. It is clear that not even the most optimistic communist leader could have hoped to keep such a structure really secret, the more so as in order to maintain it frequent meetings would be required. The communists were aware of being infiltrated by the police and counter-intelligence. Hence, the deterrent value of the structure must have been paramount, in a context where the PCI (or the PCF) was ultimately asking little more in the short term than to be left in existence as a legal organisation. It should also be considered that in the early post-war years in Italy even the Socialists, the Christian Democrats and the monarchists were maintaining a paramilitary force, in addition to an army and a paramilitary (Carabinieri) where leftist influence was nearly nil and which were connected with the underground paramilitary. In this regard it is worth mentioning that the Catholic Church endorsed rather strongly the paramilitary organisation of the Christian Democrats (Pellizzaro, 1997; Sechi, 2006; Fiorani and Lega, 1998; Pacini, 2008). Sechi, not to be suspected of sympathy for the PCI, also points out how the experience of 1926, when all the Italian Communist leaders were arrested in one night by the fascist police, shaped the diffidence of the PCI towards ‘bourgeois democracy’ (Sechi, 2000: 58). More generally, many partisans were suspicious of the ultimate intentions of the Allies, not least because their behaviour sometimes suggested deep distrust of the leftist partisans (Bermani, 1996: 306ff). In the American Embassy the predominant attitude in 1945 seems to have been that the PCI would not see an armed coup against the government led by the Christian Democrats as a realistic option, the more so as the Americans estimated that the military force of the PCI had supplies of ammunition for just 10–14 days (Sechi, 1999: 70–4 and 2000: 70). Eventually the paramilitary structures of the PCF and PCI (assuming they actually existed) lost their value, as their equipment became increasingly outdated or rusty and the personnel with military experience aged. With the benefit of hindsight, therefore, the arrangements which supposedly allowed the PCI and the PCF to maintain an underground military structure in

6

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

exchange for peace can be described as a wise and ‘pragmatic’ course which allowed a rather virtuous political cycle to be started – at least compared to the alternative of civil war (Iastrides and Wrigley, 1995: 4). In the words of late Italian Communist leader Enrico Berlinguer, when asked why he opposed the publication of documentation concerning the Christian-Democratic paramilitary organisations, ‘it is necessary to preserve the present in order to achieve a more acceptable future; what is the purpose of uncovering old rugs?’2 Greece, by contrast, remained a prisoner of civil war politics even after the communist insurgency was completely crushed. One additional point worth making in connection with the above discussion is that, as Zaslavsky believed, one of the roles of the communist paramilitary organisation might have been to keep under control the former partisans, who in some cases had been drifting towards banditism and indiscriminate violence (Zaslavsky, 2001: 108). A wider point can be made that wars and even civil wars are not merely destructive processes, although they undoubtedly are that too. Wars are about developing one side’s own capacities as much as they are about weakening or destroying the other side’s. In the context of a civil war fought in an underdeveloped country, such build-up of capacity takes several forms, of which probably the most relevant one from the perspective of stabilisation and future social and political development is ‘organisational capital’. Such processes of organisational development are rare in times of peace, except when major social transformations such as industrial revolutions take place. Therefore, crosscommunitarian social organisations are in all likelihood in short supply in many post-conflict countries and might not emerge even many years after the end of a conflict. Disbanding those involved in conflict would not favour the emergence of a genuinely competitive national political system. The ‘replacement’ parties which are encouraged to form after DDR processes are over are typically mere shadows of the protagonists of the civil war, lacking organisational capability, particularly in rural areas. What takes place in most cases is a decay of organisational structures, with villages being once again left to their own devices, unable to participate actively in national politics. While such an outcome might suit particular political interests, it is not conducive to nation-building. Powerful, widely rooted organisations can represent a form of empowerment for large portions of the population, often regardless of their specific ideological leanings. Thus a neglected aspect of DDR which warrants more attention is the potential of transforming armed groups into mass political organisations, rather than into cadre parties staffed by the old leaderships of the warring factions and a small portion of what used to be their middle ranks.3 2  Giovanni Arcai, introduction: Fiorani and Lega, 1998: 9. 3  See on this point de Zeeuw, 2008.

Introduction

7

The Price of Respectability Even in more recent times, UN-sponsored or UN-styled DDR efforts have arguably been characterised by a big gap between a surface of UN respectability and a substance of preservation of military structures underground. UNDPKO’s4 view of the problem is typically understated: the weapons surrendered in the first waves of disarmament are either useless or of very poor quality. The quality and caliber of the weapons improves as the disarmament proceeds and mutual trust and confidence is gradually being built. The best weapons and forces are held in reserve for the last stages of the process, usually as a hedge against a return to conflict. (Lessons Learned Unit, 1999: 35)

In reality, in most cases the ‘best weapons’ are not surrendered at all even as the peace process reaches its conclusion. The case of El Salvador is well known because a hidden cache of the FMLN (Frente Farabundo Marti de Liberación Nacional) was revealed accidentally in 1993 (after the conclusion of disarmament) and the organisation then opted to hand over its (presumably) entire arsenal: a total of 114 caches were revealed in Honduras, El Salvador and Nicaragua (Berdal, 1996: 35– 6; Wrobel, 1997: 133–4). In reality, the hoarding of weapons by the FMLN was only the last in a series of violations of the peace agreement. The Treasury Police and the National Guard, which were supposed to be abolished under the terms of the agreement, were instead transformed by the government into the Military Police and the Frontier Guards respectively; moreover no former insurgents were to be incorporated into the army (and only a small number of them into the police) (Laurance and Godnick, 2000: 6). Caches continued to be discovered after 1993 (Godnick, 1998). In retrospect it appears obvious that the FMLN was never going to fully entrust its fate to a weak UN mission in the presence of Salvadoran armed forces which had been ruthless in their repression of the insurgency, which could still count on US backing (whereas the FMLN had lost its Sandinista backers) and which was maintaining a sizeable force of 30,000 in the army alone. Indeed, many observers had expected the FMLN not to fully disarm in order to maintain some bargaining power and for self-protection.5 Similarly, certain arrangements which would normally be seen as episodes of looting state property can also be read as instrumental to the maintenance of peace. Continuing with the Nicaraguan example, the first post-Sandinista president, Violeta Chamorro, broke with her own party (UNO – Union Nacional Oposidora) when the latter tried to change Sandinista laws which were part of the transition protocol: she vetoed the move. She was much criticised because this meant accepting the appropriation of state goods by Sandinista officials and officers as 4  United Nations Department of Peacekeeping Operations. 5  See, among others, a Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) document entitled ‘El Salvador: the FMLN arms inventory’, approved for release March 2001.

8

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

they left or were demobilised, but on the other hand she co-opted the Sandinista leaders into the ‘system’. Even if the reintegration of former combatants was essentially a failure, such co-optation (together with the co-optation of the Contra leaders) pre-empted the grassroots mobilisation of former Contra and Sandinista soldiers (the so-called Recompas and Recontras) from taking off and turning into a real threat.6 The case of Cambodia is somewhat different, since DDR collapsed shortly after its start because of the Khmer Rouge’s decision to withdraw from the process. However, it is clear that before the collapse all four factions involved in the process (including Hun Sen’s government) were cheating on disarmament (Wang, 1996: 73). The list of examples of peace processes characterised by the maintenance of underground paramilitary structures, or at least the hoarding of weapons which were supposed to be surrendered, is long, as some of the chapters of this book illustrate (Afghanistan, Mozambique). All this led Berdal (1996: 37) to consider that ‘in the short to medium term, disarmament in the strict sense is not only unrealistic, but potentially destabilising since it is unlikely ever to be uniformly and systematically implemented’; it is more important to consider the local balance of influence and power among contending factions. The political short-term rationale of balancing different factions as they emerge from a conflict to reassure them about their own security and about their ability to protect their core interests is, however, just one of several dimensions that the ‘peacemaker’ has to keep in mind. The state built around the peace settlement has to be viable too. In one perhaps extreme formulation: disarmament [cannot] be conducted in isolation. First there must be convincing reasons to disarm. … This is only likely to happen when individual security can be assured by a higher authority or regime in which the individual does not have to fend for himself. In a collapsed state, it is when a super-gang or military force which is superior to the sum of all the parties in the immediate area, possibly nation-wide, can establish itself. In some cases the regime that provides this condition may not be democratically elected, and may even behave in a brutal and unjust manner. The question that the designers and negotiators of a peace process have to decide is whether it is easier to bring a despotic regime into a peace process than the array of sub-factions and local gangs spawned by a partially successful disarmament process that has robbed the district of its supergang, which previously guaranteed individual security. (Alao et al., 1999: 59)

This passage was worth quoting at length because it highlights the contradiction between the need to achieve a political and military balance in the peace settlement 6  See Zúniga, 1994: 165–7. The author argues that the leader of the more radical wing of the Sandinistas, Tomas Borge, played a role in fomenting the Recompas. Assuming that this is true, it is interesting to point out that Borge and his group had been kept out of the division of the spoils.

Introduction

9

which concludes a conflict, and the negative impact that such a balance often has on the re-establishment of the monopoly of violence after a conflict is settled politically. Subnational monopolies of violence might create some stability in the short term, but inevitably in the absence of a national consolidation of the monopoly of violence a new crisis is bound to appear.7 Resolving this dilemma is not easy and is perhaps the main crux of the problem for the ‘peacemaker’. Engineering the architecture of the emerging security sector in such a way that factional interests are guaranteed, and that a monopoly of violence is still in place, is possible but not easy.8 Another problematic aspect of backdoor deal-making in DDR concerns the legitimacy of peace agreements. The tendency to rely on such behind-the-scenes deal-making has certainly been strengthened by the rigidity of UN templates. Before the UN took over DDR with its rigid templates and the need for worldwide respectability, a degree of flexibility in handling post-conflict settlements was more acceptable. In Yemen in 1970, for example, disarmament was never seriously considered on the basis that carrying weapons in that country is normal for every male, and hence there was no need to cheat (Wenner, 1993: 116). The same argument could not be used in Afghanistan 33 years later, despite the situation being very similar (see Chapter 3), nor in Nicaragua and El Salvador in the early 1990s, despite a UN publication admitting that It is very difficult to assert, however, to which extent were the arms kept for political purposes and not for other reasons such as tradition, personal security, commercial asset, a symbol of machismo, or for further personal revenge. The line between these purposes is very difficult to draw, after a decade-long and bloody dispute, and a political culture historically given to the use of force. (Wrobel, 1997: 34)

The same argument was used in Cambodia, but only ex-post to justify the UN failure to enforce disarmament (Wang, 1996: 75). In cases like Nicaragua and El Salvador, the social instability produced by the war as well as by various other developments conspired with the failure to fully disarm the warring factions to unleash a wave of criminal violence. In Yemen, by contrast, nothing like that happened despite the population being the most heavily armed in the world. In this regard two considerations are worth making. First, full disarmament of both the formerly warring factions and the population is not a realistic objective in postconflict situations and might never have been achieved in the context of negotiated settlements. Second, epidemics of criminal violence are arguably not the result of the mere availability of weapons, but of a complex confluence of factors in which the weakness of the state’s coercive power in handling small-scale violence is 7  On this point see Giustozzi, 2011. 8  On this dilemma see Giustozzi, forthcoming.

10

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

paramount.9 Hence, focusing on the state-building and state formation aspects of the post-conflict settlement is probably more productive than wasting energy and resources in the pursuit of the chimera of full disarmament. By ‘state formation’ we mean the process of establishing a monopoly of violence; state-building is instead the process of consolidating and managing that monopoly. Completely different ‘rules of the game’ apply to each process. The process of state formation usually includes: • a phase of early accumulation of armed force, with a local monopolisation of violence; • the expansion of such an armed force to become predominant throughout the territory of a given state, through conquest, co-optation and coalitionmaking; • the creation of a large standing army; • the subsequent or parallel elimination of major private or contracted armed forces. Once achieved, however, the monopoly has to be maintained. The management of coercive power has substantially different characteristics from its original accumulation: • it requires, or at least benefits from, the ‘taming of violence’ (Elias, 1982 and Bates, 2001), that is a process to bring under full control the military forces and discipline and ‘civilise’ them; • as the original charismatic leadership which engaged in the primitive accumulation inevitably wanes, the ruler is exposed to the risk of disloyalty of his own agents of coercion and has to protect himself against them; • as the state machinery expands and becomes more complex, management problems arise and the ruler is increasingly unable to rely purely on his direct, patrimonial control. Over time, several specialised functions of the state have emerged to deal with all these aspects of the monopolisation of violence, with the establishment of a complex system of procedural justice, of a police system, of a political intelligence system and of a subnational governance system. There are some important ‘developmental’ reasons for dealing with DDR successfully. One has to do with the consolidation of the state’s legitimacy. The ruling elite might see some advantage in improving the conditions of internal order for the population in general. Another has to do with the need to prepare the ground for specific aims of economic and social development. In this case the state would have

9  On this point see Giustozzi, 2011.

Introduction

11

to develop effective policing of its territory as a response to growing social differentiation or to regiment the population.10 Distinguishing between state formation and state-building reminds us that shortterm rationales may well come at the expense of longer-term developmental aims. While there is a strong short-term rationale for adopting a ‘facade’ policy towards disarmament and disbandment, there is also a medium- and long-term price to pay in terms of the legitimacy of the peace process and of the new or rehabilitated state which results from it. In the Salvadoran case, the military observers involved in the peace process justified their acceptance of unrealistic figures concerning the number of weapons held by the belligerents with the argument that all the agreements were based on trust, the task assigned to the military observers of ONUSAL (to verify compliance with the agreed upon timetable) had to be based on figures handed over by the parties. … [T]hey had to accept the inventory in good faith, because trust was the basis upon which the UN role, in monitoring the agreements, rested.11 (Wrobel, 1997: 133–4)

When the caches were discovered, however, the peace process underwent a serious crisis and might well have collapsed if the timing had been slightly different. Establishing to what extent the exposure of the cheating damaged the legitimacy of the process is hard, but the FMLN clearly suffered from it in the immediate aftermath, before recovering (Serrano, 1993a and 1993b). In turn, a failure of the FMLN to emerge as a leading political force in the 1990s would arguably have damaged the positive political evolution of El Salvador. The same case can be made for a number of other countries (see Chapter 3 on Afghanistan). Schools of Thought: Pragmatists vs the Modern Alchemists? There is consensus in the policy community that the primary aim of DDR programmes supported by the international community should be the prevention of conflict resurgence. In the words of a specialist, ‘there is a widespread – if empirically unfounded – conviction that DDR is causally associated with preventing renewed war in fragile post-conflict contexts, reducing victimisation and promoting durable reintegration of ex-combatants’ (Muggah, 2007). Beyond this, opinion diverges on how to achieve such aims. For the purpose of simplicity, we will identify four main ‘schools of thought’ on DDR. The first one, which we may describe as neo-liberal, advises that DDR assistance should be addressed to the reintegration of ex-combatants within productive activities of the private sector, within a context of re-establishment of law and order and diversification of the economy. The most representative examples of this type of approach are World 10  For further elaboration on this point see Giustozzi, 2011. 11  ONUSAL: The UN mission to El Salvador.

12

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Bank documents and publications (Collier, 2000; Collier and Hoeffler, 2002). This very influential school, taking inspiration from the work of Collier and others on ‘greed and grievance’ as causes of unrest, argues that overriding importance should be given to the economic incentive for the reintegration of ex-combatants (Jensen and Stepputat, 2001). Followers of the neo-liberal school tend to view the political and technical components of peace processes as separate (Hoffman and Gleichmann, 2000; Verwimp and Verpoorten, 2004). In particular, DDR is thought of as a set of managerial and administrative activities, and specific analysis of the causes of the conflict are somewhat redundant, given that it can be reduced to a problem of ‘greed’. This approach has the undoubted benefit of simplifying matters and probably because of this reason it has been dominant in the formulation of DDR programmes; it is also easily compatible with the tendency of UN agencies to rely on available, standardised templates. The limitations of this approach, particularly in its UN formulation, can be seen in the context of the DR Congo: Demobilisation was conceptualised in the Lusaka Agreement and the Pretoria Accords, and consequently in CONADER documentation, as a static problem: there was a caseload of combatants to be demobilised. The language of the agreements themselves, of UN Security Council reports, and to a lesser degree of CONADER (which accepts the relevance of the political and juridical environment), is of logistical and technical challenges, described in terms of numbers to be demobilised and the allocation of tasks. The approach treats demobilisation as a security issue, and as one that is internal to Congo, rather than acknowledging the multiple dimensions of the choice to disarm and the ongoing tensions, particularly with Rwanda, that make defection and remobilisation attractive. … The provision of material incentives on a personby-person basis appeals to individual rationality, disregarding the influence of political or psychological incentives or duties. As such, it does not take account of the shifting alliances and misplaces the decision-making process. … A further analytical restriction stems from the lack of attention paid to the internal dynamics of armed groups, the dynamics that exist between groups, and the differences in interests or activities. … Such variations in internal structure and external alliances imply that demobilisation will have different incentives and outcomes for different groups in terms of contingency plans, support networks and opportunity costs; but this variation is not reflected in the demobilisation programming.12 (Marriage, 2007: 289–90, 295–7)

Specific implementations aside, the most obvious limitation of the neo-liberal school is that not all post-conflict countries have much to offer in terms of job opportunities for former combatants. Often, entrepreneurs and businessmen have 12  CONADER: National Commission for Disarmament, Demobilization and Reinsertion (Democratic Republic of Congo).

Introduction

13

displayed a distinct lack of enthusiasm for hiring former combatants, expecting them to be more troublesome to handle than the typical workforce.13 This school of thought tends to argue that in order to effectively reintegrate former combatants, and therefore remove a potential threat to the peace process, it is well worth granting them special treatment. However, what former combatants might want in order to feel satisfied is probably not ‘reintegration into poverty’ or return to farming but something that allows them to maintain the higher social status they gained as combatants. Because such expectations can be very unrealistic (not least because ‘processes of demobilization … often use distorted, exaggerated narratives of what combatants can expect if they lay down their weapons’), offering a package which satisfies the former combatants is easier said than done (Porto and Parsons, 2003: 20, 25). The second school we may describe as developmental, which argues that root causes of conflicts must be addressed if reintegration is to be sustainable over time, which in turn might require a structural change in the power and economic relations of post-conflict societies, lest the peace process lead to the reproduction of the conditions which caused the conflict in the first place (Özerdem, 2002). The idea is that by disarming, the combatants are forging a new social contract with the government and the international community, which act as impartial mediators; the combatants surrender the security and economic surety that their weapons provide, in exchange for opportunities and assistance in finding new peaceful livelihoods. (Knight and Özerdem, 2004: 506)

This school of thought can be further subdivided into two, depending on the attitude towards neo-liberalism. Some authors argue that peace-building and neo-liberalism might be at odds because of the implicit social costs, making it wiser to postpone the implementation of neo-liberal policies until an institutional environment has been (re-)established which is able to legitimately regulate political and market competition. The argument has wide resonance beyond the ‘school’ itself (Pugh, 2000). Others, like Paris (2004), think that peace-building and neo-liberalism are not necessarily at odds and that it is just a matter of peace-building taking into account some realities on the ground and following the right sequencing. When it comes to formulating a viable alternative to the neo-liberal approach to DDR, however, the developmental school is much weaker. While it is easy to argue that grievances have to be taken into consideration (Pugh and Cooper, 2004), turning this statement in implementable DDR policies is more complicated. ‘Development agencies and donors may also, confusingly, link DDR and weapons reduction as either tied to, or substituting for, viable long-term development 13  As has been argued for the case of Burundi (Douma, 2008: 28). On the reluctance of potential employers see also Rossi and Giustozzi, 2006.

14

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

programmes—and “former combatants” as a creative and dynamic source of productive labour’ (Muggah, 2005). The typical ‘developmental’ argument, that DDR requires a holistic approach recognising the interconnections between the political, military/technical, security, humanitarian and socio-economic processes (Salomons, 2005), clashes with a reality of multiple agencies in competition with each other and often lacking even internal coherence.14 Sometimes, different approaches have been defended by different agencies operating in the same country. In the case of Congo, for example, the World Bank oddly supported a developmental approach, while UNDP’s project followed the ‘security first’ school (see below). The recent experience of DDR in Sudan and Haiti was described as being characterised by ‘weaknesses in political leadership within and outside the UN, the absence of clear direction from headquarters, competing understandings of DDR among managers and practitioners and confusion over financing mechanisms [which] have all limited effective integration.’ Even within the UN, tensions between DPKO and UNDP over the way to follow are the rule rather than the exception (Muggah, 2007). Who, therefore, could implement a development-friendly DDR? The weakness of the developmental school is compounded by the fact that it sets the bar for effective DDR programmes very high: [P]aradoxically by setting unrealistic aims and objectives for DDR programs, creating the expectation that DDR programs can, in practice, go beyond laying the groundwork for security to actually safeguarding and sustaining communities in post-conflict situations, policy makers and implementation agencies may inadvertently contribute to the failure of DDR. To what extent, within the timeframes of DDR processes can they realistically ‘help to deal with the postconflict security problems by providing ex-combatants with an alternative to the ways of making a living (livelihoods) and military support networks that they may have relied upon during the conflict?’ (Porto et al., 2007: 20–1)

The developmental school support fielding a comprehensive development package which benefits the whole of the target society, as opposed to the neoliberal typical preference for extensive benefits and reintegration assistance, lifting reintegrated combatants above the rest of society. The second choice is unfair and politically controversial. In the case of Bosnia, for example, the Office of the High Representative complained about the proportion of public expenditure that went to veterans of the conflict and the families of deceased soldiers, whereas others praised the fact that employment priority being given to veterans in Republika Srpska acted to ‘cushion society against a return to violence’; a similar situation occurred with regard to the formation of the Palestinian police force (Pouligny, 2004: 16). However, the first approach (developmental) is unrealistic, particularly 14  On the ‘scattered approach of the international community’ in Bosnia see Pietz, 2004.

Introduction

15

given that the record of development programmes in general in achieving their stated aims is very modest and that simply distributing aid resources widely would clash with the fact that resources are always limited. Although the oft-repeated UN line is that ‘reintegration is essentially a social and economic process with an open time-frame’ and often ‘necessitates long-term external assistance’,15 in practice, as argued back in 1996 by Mats Berdal, Experience since 1989 shows that once a government has disengaged from a demobilisation operation (say, by withdrawing its military, civilian and/or financial participation from a UN-sponsored field operation), it is difficult for it to sustain a commitment to long-term objectives whose effects are rarely discernible within the electoral cycle that often governs decision-making. (Berdal, 1996: 41)

The experience of the subsequent 14 years only confirms that assessment. It also remains true, in the light of the most recent developments, that it unrealistic to expect the full range of activities prescribed by the ‘developmental’ school to be fully integrated in one operation (Berdal, 1996: 41). This is particularly the case for post-conflict environments where the state has collapsed or has been seriously weakened; indeed several practitioners and authors of the different schools of thought agree that in such cases ‘the outcome of any DDR program depends predominantly upon the political context in which it is carried out’ (Knight and Ozerdem, 2004: 500). The two schools discussed so far at least have in common their predominant concern for reintegration rather than demobilisation. The two other schools focus instead on demobilisation. Politics first argues that political will, international commitment and a satisfying security environment are essential elements of the DDR process (Date-Bah, 2003; Kingma, 2004), including the viability of the socioeconomic reintegration of ex-combatants, although it recognises that in the long term economic factors are determinant to the stability of the reintegration process. When the political will is missing, DDR has no chance of being successfully implemented, as the case of Congo has recently demonstrated (ICG, 2001). In the recent case of Sudan, the reality on the ground was far more complex than anticipated … Neither the Sudanese government in Khartoum nor the Sudanese People’s Liberation Movement/Army (SPLM/A) in Juba demonstrated much serious interest in supporting DDR. The UNMIS DDR Unit soon discovered that there were far more armed groups than originally anticipated, including a combination of SPLA factions, pro-Khartoum militia, pastoral self defence groups and others 15  Porto and Parsons, 2003: 18, quoting United Nations Secretary-General (UNSG) (1998), The Causes of Conflict and the Promotion of Peace and Sustainable Development in Africa, Report of the UN Secretary-General, A/52/871 – S/1998/3/318 (New York : UN).

16

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration deliberately excluded from the CPA. The issue of civilian disarmament was exempt from the CPA, and the integrated DDR Unit struggled to define a coherent way forward. (Muggah, 2007)16

In other words, the political process should have precedence over DDR (Muggah, 2005); priority should be given to reaching a deal between political leaders (Adechi, 2004) and to the (re)construction of democratic structures (Cock, 2004). This school of thought has a major strength in recognising that the involvement of both local and international actors is problematic, and not just because the ‘international community’ considers DDR activities politically risky and physically dangerous. The interests of local and international actors can undermine as well as support the reintegration of ex-combatants. For example, local politico-military actors could seek to sabotage the effective reintegration of ex-combatants in order to maintain their power and influence, especially if they were not outright losers in the conflict settlement process (Tanner, 2000; Pouligny, 2004; Baaré, 2005; Koth, 2005; Salomons, 2005; Marriage, 2007; Giustozzi, 2008). There is also a danger of corrupt leaders using resources allocated to DDR to further their own agendas or reap economic benefits (IPA-UNDP, 2002; Paes, 2005). In most cases, the relationships of ex-combatants with their respective communities is key to the process, especially (but not exclusively) when the former armed groups transform into political parties as happened in Mozambique and several Latin American countries (Pouligny, 2004). Such points have, in part, been taken on board by the policy community. Although there are still those who argue that democratic and developmental values in international intervention should be supported even if they are often hijacked by leaders who want to legitimate their own intervention (Luckham, 2004), there is a growing consensus that the parties in conflict should develop an ownership of the DDR process by contributing to its planning and implementation (IPA-UNDP, 2002). The primary responsibility for DDR programmes rests with national actors; the UN’s role is to support the process as a neutral actor. National ownership is, however, broader than exclusive central government ownership. Genuine national ownership requires the participation of a wide range of State and nonState actors at the national, regional and local levels, including non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and civil society organizations (CSOs). (United Nations, 2006)

Some authors go even further and argue that ‘genuine ownership requires a national vision that situates DDR within a country’s own security and development aims and then seeks international assistance to complement local 16  UNMIS: United Nations Mission in Sudan. CPA: Comprehensive Peace Agreement.

Introduction

17

initiatives where appropriate’ (Edmonds et al., 2009). In the absence of this ‘national vision’ and of effective government, the risk is that national ownership might result in paralysis, or at least delays in implementation; the ‘institutional stand-off’ and ineffective centralisation experienced in DR Congo is a good example of this (Douma et al., 2008: 51). The success of the argument about the potential role of spoilers (hence the importance of ‘politics’) can also be judged by the fact that it has been appropriated by writers closer to other schools of thought who, for example, argued that the divergent and contradictory objectives often found in DDR programmes may have to be attributed to the interest of international actors for lootable natural resources and (geo)political power. In this view, it is not just local actors who should be suspected of greed, as argued by Collier and others, but international ones too (Duffield, 2001; Kuperman, 2001). Without going so far, others have noted that donors’ willingness to fund DDR programmes seems to depend to some extent on the influence they acquire in the process (Jensen and Stepputat, 2001). Often, donors end up settling for compromises in the implementation of DDR that turn the whole process into a ‘facade’ meant for international consumption, with little impact on the situation on the ground (Marriage, 2007; Giustozzi, 2008). Another strong point of the ‘politics first’ school is the criticism of the narrow measurement of the success of disarmament programmes, which are usually limited to the count of the number of weapons handed over (the ‘disarmament bias’). As a result, DDR can end up being a substitute for a genuine political process in the post-conflict period, where the achievement of formal disarmament is seen as sufficient for ensuring peace. (Muggah, 2005: 246). A fourth school emerges, in particular in the debate on post-conflict powersharing, which we shall call security first. Scholars from this school of international relations argue with Walter (1999) that ‘disaggregating the state and distributing the parts among the former rivals reduces the risks and uncertainties of early democratization’ and shares with the neo-liberal school much influence in policymaking circles. Needless to say, the developmental school is very opposed to the co-opting of warlords and former ruling elites into state structures, due to the risk that they might just renovate the social, political and economic contradictions that originated the conflict (Cooper, 2000). The developmental school identifies one of the main risks of the coalescence of liberal peace and ‘security first’ in the institutionalisation of violence (Keen, 2000). As in Somalia, the leading players within the ‘emerging political complexes’ might succeed in manipulating political, social and economic trends as well as international intervention (including demilitarization and reintegration) towards a new social order which could have little or no interest in allowing the revival of a central government and the rest of a military force rather than political legitimisation (Kingma, 2000; Duffield, 2001; Menkhaus, 2004). The issue that arises here is one of our understanding of the processes of state formation and state-building, which might not be sophisticated enough to fully grasp the difference between ‘emerging political complexes’ and state formation, for example. Certainly the ‘security first’ school is vulnerable

18

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

to the accusation of short-termism: the ‘disaggregation’ of the state could easily inhibit the establishment of a viable and effective (developmental) state, if not result in a new internal conflict in the medium and long term (Bryden, 2007: 16).17 The debate between the ‘security first’ approach and the proponents of longterm reform is evident in the case of various programmes of armed forces reform, whether the integration of selected former combatants into a new army or reform of the police force. These programmes can be said to have long-term aims if they provide the conflicting parties with reciprocal security guarantees or improve the relationship between the military/police and civilians (Call and Stanley, 2003). In practice, military and police assistance programmes often fail to deliver that (Giustozzi et al., forthcoming). Police reforms were not implemented in 8 out of 12 cases of peace agreements in which they had been included (Call and Stanley, 2003). It is also to be noted that the international community has little capacity to assist in police reform (Call and Stanley, 2003). The influence of the ‘security first’ school is evident when irregular militiamen are integrated into the police or the new armed forces without even appropriate screening, as has been the case in Kosovo and Afghanistan (Heinemann-Grüder and Paes, 2001; Giustozzi, 2003; Özerdem, 2003; Pouligny, 2004; Giustozzi, 2008) as well as Iraq (Giustozzi et al., forthcoming). In the case of Sierra Leone, the reintegration component was described as a ‘stopgap measure’ to allow the meeting of political and security objectives first and foremost (Klem, 2008: 28). One advantage of the ‘security first’ school is that it describes more accurately than most other schools what actually tends to happen on the ground during the implementation of DDR programmes. It is very difficult to achieve the combination in DDR and SSR (Security Sector Reform) of existing ‘good practice’ (whether as defined by the UN or by any other actor/commentator) with legitimacy in the eyes of local actors, who are usually suspicious that SSR might just imply ‘the imposition of western methods and approaches’ (Bryden, 2007: 7). Because ‘good practice’ is usually defined in terms of the views and the interests of international organisations and of the donors who fund the programmes, the gap between this and any solution which would appear legitimate to local actors is usually very wide. As a result, in any given DDR programme instance, policy-makers might have to privilege one or the other, based on their own priorities. If they opt for ‘good practice’, most of the time the programme either fails or develops the double path approach described above: the facade of respectability and the substance of shadowy local legitimacy. Of course, DDR implemented without substantial external involvement tends to ignore ‘international standards’ and to privilege the interests of local power players. Examples include both very successful cases of DDR and very unsuccessful ones. The Ethiopian DDR in the 1990s belongs to the first group and was praised at that time for its ‘responsive and flexible approach’, its ‘exemplary’ design of multiple strategies for reintegration, its ‘central coordination and decentralized implementation’ and its use of ‘highly motivated 17  For a discussion of state formation in the contemporary era, see Giustozzi, 2011.

Introduction

19

staff’, whereas the limited external assistance was criticised for the lack of a donor strategy (Colletta et al., 2004: Table 5.1). By contrast, the even more locally managed reintegration effort in Zimbabwe in the 1980s and 1990s was marred by high levels of corruption and inefficiency, with the known consequences on local politics (Mazarire and Rupiya, 2000). This book includes Tajikistan (Chapter 1) and Colombia (Chapter 7) as other examples of endogenously managed ‘DDR’ programmes, both of which were characterised by mixed results, but were certainly satisfying from the perspective of the ruling elite. The question which arises at this point is whether the best points raised by the different schools of thought in DDR can be synthesised in an approach which recognises the short-term priorities of ‘politics’ and ‘security first’, but also allows for some kind of hope of social and economic development to arise out of a peace process. Krause has pointed out how many of the most important and innovative peace and security activities of the UN system, including small arms initiatives, can be seen as the outward projection of a particular conception of the state and of state–society relations. … Similarly, the emphasis on ‘good governance,’ ‘human security,’ ‘security sector reform,’ and ‘democratization’ all underscore the fundamentally internal or domestic orientation of many multilateral initiatives, which while they may be framed or promoted at the global or multilateral level, rest crucially on a specific (liberal) understanding of state–society relations. In the case of small arms, most of the concrete initiatives—to constrain civilian possession of weapons, to reduce their availability for non-state actors, to restrict exports to states with a good record on conflict and human rights issues, and so forth—rest on a vision of the state as the primary provider of (and certainly not a threat to) security for people and groups. (Krause, 2004: 35)

The assumptions of UN interventionism may be shared or not; it may even be argued that UN interventionism is well past its heyday. This liberal understanding of state–society relations is, however, still the predominant one in the Western hemisphere, and its applicability to DDR needs to be discussed. In particular, the problematic assumption in much of this thinking is the presence of a benign state, as if states (benign or not) grow up spontaneously like mushrooms. Bringing the State Back In? What is common among the different schools of thought in contemporary DDR is the neglect of the role of DDR in state-building (and vice versa). The closest to that comes in the shape of the invocation of a linkage between DDR and SSR (BICC, 2000), or sometimes of a linkage between DDR and the establishment of legitimate political structures (Kingma, 2000; Adechi, 2004; Kingma, 2004). The process of DDR itself, however, is nearly always seen in isolation from state-

20

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

building, particularly as far as it pertains to the state as a bureaucratic construct. The standard argument to justify such neglect is that when the international community intervenes in DDR, it is because a state has failed in the host country or it has decayed to a condition where it is assumed to be unable to implement a DDR programme effectively. While this is of course true, the point here is that it is difficult to envisage post-conflict stabilisation in the absence of a viable state and that any post-conflict reconstruction should therefore be focused on state formation first and then state-building.18 If the state is not there or is in too bad a shape, why not make DDR part of the process of state reconstruction? The lack of interest in the integration of DDR into state-building is particularly surprising given that many authors and practitioners argue that from the organisational point of view it is better to have a single national civilian agency, operating at a decentralised level, neutral and fully representative, but supported by the international community (Colletta et al., 2004; Douma et al., 2008). The creation of ad hoc structures to handle demobilisations, which are then dismantled once the task is believed to have been achieved or funding ends, contributes little to the state-building effort and even hampers it. Even any capacity-building that might have taken place within the context of the DDR efforts (in terms of local staff hired, trained and accumulating experience) is usually dissipated when such temporary structures are dismantled. Even when plans have been made to have DDR agencies absorbed into the state’s social welfare structures these are not necessarily implemented, as shown by the case of Sierra Leone, and are generally attributed a limited or negligible importance (Klem, 2008: 28). Several chapters in this volume deal with the issue, highlighting how little has been done, despite some interesting experiments. In this regard it is worth highlighting the historical importance that demobilisation acquired in the development of European and North American states. It has been pointed out how getting rid of soldiers often proved even more difficult than mobilising them, and that all polities which mobilised mass armies faced this problem: While mobilising people for war and making them soldiers has been a major challenge for states, so has demobilising those soldiers after war, and retaining their political loyalty once they become veterans. The politics of military demobilisation have had a major impact on state formation and, in particular, the creation of welfare institutions in modern states. (Pereira, 2003: 389)

In order to pacify veterans, states made a number of concessions, ranging from the extension of electoral franchise to the creation of extensive benefits systems and social privileges for veterans (Campbell, 2003). In a sense, it could be argued that the demobilisation of mass armies in many cases heralded the beginning of the modern welfare state (Skocpol, 1992; Mann, 1993: 499ff; Orloff, 1993; Eisner, 18  On this point see Di John, 2008.

Introduction

21

2000). This model, of course, is not fully applicable to the case studies taken into consideration in this volume, as many of them involved the demobilisation of non-state armed groups rather than state armies. However, the numbers involved were often large enough to justify the comparison with the problems created by the reinsertion of mass armies, particularly when it is considered that mobilisation did not often occur evenly across the state’s territory and that it might have been concentrated in limited regions, where one could effectively speak of mass mobilisation. This volume is, in a sense, part of a wider stream of criticism of the so-called ‘liberal peace’ theories, which emphasise governance and top-down thinking about peace, rather than bottomup approaches. This accentuates reform processes associated with liberal– democratic free market frameworks, human rights and the rule of law, and development models. Guidance in, or control of, almost every aspect of state and society is provided by external actors, which construct liberal regimes through a mixture of consensual and punitive strategies. (Richmond, 2010: 23)

However, we are not particularly aligned with what Richmond calls the ‘fourth generation’ of peace-building theories, or ‘liberal-local hybridity’, ‘which aims to develop approaches which move beyond the replication of Westphalian forms of sovereignty as a response to conflict’ (Richmond, 2010: 26). Although the views of individual contributors to this volume may vary, the stress here is rather on revisiting the role of the state in post-conflict situations than on highlighting the potential for ‘civil society’. To the extent that we argue a greater role for non-state organisations, we think in terms of political parties and organisations with roots in the conflict just ended. Indeed, one path we would recommend for exploration is handling ‘reintegration without disarmament nor disbandment’ (that is the integration of armed groups into the security structure of the new state) in a way which is least disruptive of state consolidation. Our understanding of how to do this in practice is very limited, and the collection of chapters gathered in this book aims to enrich our knowledge in this regard. In an attempt to start pushing the debate on DDR towards new ground, the contributors of the chapters in this book have been asked to look at the impact of DDR in terms of: • • • • •

the legacy impact on administrative capability of a country; the contribution to the consolidation of political settlements; the shaping of post-DDR security architectures; the political role of veterans in post-conflict societies; the impact of DDR programmes on the legitimacy of peace processes.

22

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Of more than 60 DDR programmes launched around the world to date, the present selection of case studies inevitably deals with just a small sample. There is a degree of arbitrariness in every selection; in the case of this book we wanted a sample balanced geographically, but also representative in terms of the points highlighted above. Finding a number of case studies featuring the issues of our concern in a balanced way proved to be impossible. Unsurprisingly, the legacy of DDR processes on the administrative apparatuses of post-conflict countries fared poorly, as this is a concern only recently arising in the world of international intervention. The contribution of DDR programmes to the consolidation of political settlements, by contrast, features prominently in the case studies of Tajikistan, Mozambique, the Philippines and Afghanistan. The shaping of post-DDR security architectures is relevant to the cases of Afghanistan, the Philippines, Tajikistan, Mozambique and Congo DR. The impact on the legitimacy of DDR processes is the main topic of the Colombian case study, although it is also discussed in the Afghan case. Finally, the role of veterans is discussed in the Afghan and Mozambique chapters. The Congo DR case study has been split in two to reflect the authors’ highlighting of two different issues: how the frequent ‘technical drift’ of DDR operations ends up leaving no positive legacy whatsoever (B. J. Shepherd), and how the convergence of the ‘technical drift’ with local political interest can produce mere facades of successful collaboration, an argument echoed in the Afghan chapter as well. The Congo DR case study as a whole was meant as a negative test of what happens to DDR programmes when politics is completely expunged from the considerations of international organisations. References Adechi, W. 2004. Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration. Discussion Paper prepared for the Stockholm Initiative on Disarmament, Demobilization, Reintegration. Stockholm. Available at http://www.sweden.gov.se/sb/d/4890. Alao, A. et al. 1999. Peacekeepers, Politicians and Warlords: The Liberian Peace Process. New York: United Nations University Press. Baaré, A. 2005. An Analysis of Transitional Economic Reintegration. Swedish Initiative for Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration (SIDDR). Available at http://www.sweden.gov.se/content/1/c6/04/39/68/e2f4e518.pdf, accessed on 20 July 2005. Bates, R. H. 2001. Prosperity and Violence: The Political Economy of Development. New York: Norton. Becker, J.-J. 1981. Le parti Communiste veut-il prendre le pouvoir? La strategie du PCF de 1930 à nos jours. Paris: Seuil. Berdal, M. 1996. Disarmament and Demobilisation After Civil Wars. London: IISS. Bermani, C. 1996. Pagine di guerriglia: L’esperienza dei garibaldini della Valsesia. Istituto per la Storia della Resistenza e della societá contemporanea nelle province di Biella e Vercelli ‘Cino Moscatelli’.

Introduction

23

BICC. 2000. Security Sector Reform. Bonn: BICC. Bryden, A. 2007. Linkage Between DDR and SSR. Paper presented at the Second International Conference on DDR and Stability in Africa, Kinshasa 12–14 June 2007. Call, C. and Stanley, W. 2003. Military and Police Reform after Civil Wars, in J. Darby and R. MacGinty (eds) Contemporary Peacemaking: Conflict, Violence and Peace Processes. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Campbell, A. 2003. Where Do All The Soldiers Go? Veterans and the Politics of Demobilization, in D. Davis and A. W. Pereira (eds) Irregular Armed Forces and their Role in Politics and State Formation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Close, D. H. 1995. The Greek Civil War. Harlow: Longman. Cock, J. 2004. The Sociology of Demilitarisation and Peace-Building in Southern Africa, in P. Batchelor and K. Kingma (eds) Demilitarisation and PeaceBuilding in Southern Africa. Volume I: Concepts and Processes. Hants: Ashgate. Colletta, N. J. et al. 1996. The Transition From War to Peace in Sub-Saharan Africa. New York: World Bank. Collier, P. 2000. Policy for Post-Conflict Societies: Reducing the Risks of Renewed Conflict. Paper presented at The Economics of Political Violence Conference, organised by Princeton University and the Development Research Group, World Bank. Collier, P. and Hoeffler, A. 1992. Greed and Grievance in Civil War. New York: World Bank. Cooper, N. 2000. Demilitarisation after Post-Modern Conflicts, in M. Pugh (ed.) Regeneration of War Torn Societies. London: Macmillan. Date-Bah, E. 2003. Introduction, in E. Date-Bah (ed.) Jobs after War: A Critical Challenge in the Peace and Reconstruction Puzzle. Geneva: INFOCUS-ILO. Di John, J. 2008. Conceptualising The Causes And Consequences Of Failed States: A Critical Review Of The Literature. London: Crisis States Research Centre (LSE). Donno, G. 2001. La Gladio Rossa del PCI (1945–1967). Soveria Mannelli: Rubbettino. Douma, P. 2008. Reintegration in Burundi: Between Happy Cows and Lost Investments. Den Haag: Netherlands Institute of International Relations. Douma, P. et al. 2008. The Struggle After Combat. The Role of NGOs in DDR Processes: DR Congo Case Study. Cordaid. Duffield, M. 2001. Global Governance and the New Wars. London: Zed Books. Edmonds, M. et al. 2009. Disarmament, demobilization, and reintegration and local ownership in the Great Lakes. African Security 2 (2009), 29–58. Eisner, M. A. 2000. From Warfare State to Welfare State: World War I. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Elias, N. 1982. The Civilising Process. Volume 2: State Formation and Civilisation. Oxford: Blackwell.

24

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Escola de Cultura de Pau. 2008. DDR 2007. Bellaterra. Escola de Cultura de Pau. 2009. DDR 2008. Bellaterra. Escola de Cultura de Pau. 2010. DDR 2009. Bellaterra. Fiorani, A. and Lega, A. 1998. 1948: tutti armati. Cattolici e comunisti pronti allo scontro. Milano: Mursia. Ginifer, J. 1995. Managing Arms in Peace Processes: Rhodesia/Zimbabwe. Geneva: UNIDIR. Giustozzi, A. 2003. Military Reform in Afghanistan, in M. Sedra (ed.), Confronting Afghanistan’s Security Dilemma: Reforming the Security Sector. Bonn: BICC. Giustozzi, A. 2008. Shadow Ownership and SSR in Afghanistan, in Local Ownership and Security Sector Reform: DCAF Annual. Geneva: DCAF, 215–32. Giustozzi, A. 2011. The Art of Coercion. London: Hurst. Giustozzi, A. (ed.). Forthcoming. Double-Edged Swords: Armies and StateBuilding. Giustozzi, A. et al. Forthcoming. Missionaries of Modernity: Foreign Advisers from the 1920s to Afghanistan. Godnick, W. H. 1998. Illicit Arms in Central America. Program for Arms Control, Disarmament and Conversion at the Monterey Institute of International Studies. Prepared for an international workshop of the British American Security Information Council (BASIC): Small Arms and Light Weapons: An Issue for the OSCE, Vienna, 9–10 November 1998. Heinemann-Grüder, A. and Paes, W-C. 2001. Wag the Dog: The Mobilization and Demobilization of the Kosovo Liberation Army. Bonn: BICC. Hoffmann, B. and Gleichmann, C. 2000. Programs for the Demobilization and Reintegration of Ex-Combatants: Changing Perspectives in Development and Security. Bonn: BICC. Iatrides J. O. and Wrigley L. 1995. Greece at the Cross Roads: The Civil War and its Legacy. University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press. ICG. 2001. Disarmament in the Congo: Jump-Starting DDRRR to Prevent Further War. Nairobi/Brussels: ICG. IPA–UNDP. 2002. A Framework for Lasting Disarmament, Demobilization, and Reintegration of Former Combatants in Crisis Situations. New York : International Peace Academy. Jensen, S. and Stepputat, F. 2001. Demobilising Armed Civilians. Copenhagen: Centre for Development Research. Keen, D. 2000. Incentives and Disincentives for Violence, in M. Berdal and D. Malone (eds) Greed and Grievance. London: Lynne Rienner. Kingma, K. 2000. Demobilization and Reintegration Experiences in Africa, in N. Pauwels (ed.) War Force to Work Force: Global Perspectives on Demobilization and Reintegration. Baden-Baden: Nomos Verlagsgesellschaft. Kingma, K. 2004. Demobilisation, Reintegration and Peace-Building in Southern Africa, in P. Batchelor and K. Kingma (eds), Demilitarisation and PeaceBuilding in Southern Africa. Volume I: Concepts and Processes. Hants: Ashgate.

Introduction

25

Klem, B. 2008. The Struggle After Combat. The Role of NGOs in DDR Processes: Sierra Leone Case Study. Cordaid. Knight, M. and Özerdem, A. 2004. Guns, camps and cash: Disarmament, demobilisation and reinsertion of former combatants in transitions from war to peace. Journal of Peace Research 41(4), 499–516. Koliopolus, J. S. 1999. Plundered Loyalties: Axis Occupation and Civil Strife in Greek West Macedonia, 1941–1949. London: Hurst. Koth, M. 2005. To End a War: Demobilization and Reintegration of Paramilitaries in Colombia. Bonn: BICC. Krause, K. 2004. Facing the Challenge of Small Arms: The UN and Global Security Governance, in R. M. Price and M. W. Zacher (eds) The United Nations and Global Security. New York: Palgrave. Kuperman, A. J. 2001. The Limits of Humanitarian Intervention: Genocide in Rwanda. Washington: Brookings Institution Press. Laurance, E. J. and Godnick, W. H. 2000. Weapons Collection in Central America: El Salvador and Guatemala. Bonn: Bonn International Center for Conversion. Lessons Learned Unit (Department of Peacekeeping Operations). 1999. Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration of Ex-Combatants in a Peacekeeping Environment: Principles and Guidelines. New York: United Nations. Luckham, R. 2004. The international community and state reconstruction in wartorn societies. Journal of Conflict, Security and Development 4(3), 481–508. Mann, M. 1993. The Sources of Social Power: Volume 2. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Marriage, Z. 2007. Flip-flop rebel, dollar soldier: demobilisation in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Conflict, Security and Development 7(2), 281–309. Mazarire, G. and Rupiya, M. R. 2000. Two wrongs do not make a right: A critical assessment of Zimbabwe’s demobilization and reintegration programmes, 1980–2000. Journal of Peace, Conflict and Military Studies 1(1). Menkhaus, K. 2004. Vicious circle and the security development nexus in Somalia. Conflict, Security and Development 2(4), 149–165. Muggah, R. 2005. No magic bullet: A critical perspective on disarmament, demobilization and reintegration (DDR) and weapons reduction in postconflict contexts. The Round Table 379(94), 239–252. Muggah, R. 2007. Great expectations: (dis)integrated DDR in Sudan and Haiti. Humanitarian Exchange Magazine 37 (April 2007). Orloff, A. S. 1993. The Politics of Pensions: A Comparative Analysis of Britain, Canada and the United States, 1880–1940. Madison: University of Wisconsin. Özerdem, A. 2002. Disarmament, demobilisation and reintegration of former combatants in Afghanistan: Lessons learned from a cross-cultural perspective. Third World Quarterly 5(23), 961–975. Özerdem, A. 2003. Vocational training of former Kosovo Liberation Army combatants: For what purpose and end. Conflict, Security and Development 3(3), 383–405.

26

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Pacini, G. 2008. Le organizzazioni paramilitari nell’Italia repubblicana (1945– 1991). Roma: Prospettiva Editrice. Paes, W-C. 2005. The challenges of disarmament, demobilization and reintegration in Liberia. International Peacekeeping 2(12), 253–61. Paris, R. 2004. At War’s End: Building Peace After Civil Conflict. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pellizzaro, G. P. 1997. Gladio Rossa. Roma: Settimo Sigillo. Pereira, A. W. 2003. Armed Force, Coercive Monopolies, and Changing Patterns of State Formation and Violence, in D. Davis and A. W. Pereira (eds) Irregular Armed Forces and their Role in Politics and State Formation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pietz, T. 2004. Demobilization and Reintegration of Former Soldiers in Post-War Bosnia and Herzegovina. An Assessment of External Assistance. Hamburg: IFSH. Porto, J. G. and Parsons, I. 2003. Sustaining the Peace in Angola: An Overview of Current Demobilisation, Disarmament and Reintegration. Bonn: BICC. Porto, J. G. et al. 2007. From Soldiers to Citizens: Demilitarization of Conflict and Society. Aldershot: Ashgate. Pouligny, B. 2004. The Politics and Anti-Politics of Contemporary ‘Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration’ Programs. Geneva: Centre d’Etudes et de Recherches Internationales Sciences Po/CNRS. Pugh, M. 2000. Introduction: The Ownership of Regeneration and Peace-Building, in M. Pugh (ed.) Regeneration of War-Torn Societies. London : Macmillan. Pugh, M. and Cooper, N. 2004. War Economy in a Regional Context: Challenges of Transformation. London: Lynne Rienner. Richmond, O. P. (ed.). 2010. Advances in Peacebuilding: Critical Developments and Approaches. New York: Palgrave. Rieber, A. J. 1962. Stalin and the French Communist Party 1941–1947. New York: Columbia University Press. Robrieux, P. 1980. Histoire intérieure du parti communiste. Paris: Fayard. Rossi, S. and Giustozzi, A. 2006. Disarmament, Demobilisation and Reintegration of Ex-Combatants (DDR) in Afghanistan: Constraints and Limited Capabilities. London: Crisis States Research Centre (LSE). Salomons, D. 2005. Security: An Absolute Prerequisite, in G. Junne and W. Verkoren (eds) Post-Conflict Development: Meeting New Challenges. London: Lynne Rienner. Sechi, S. 1999. Truman, la politica dei sacrifici e l’apparato militare del PCI. Nuova Storia Contemporanea 6 (1999). Sechi, S. 2000. L’esercito rosso: il Dipartimento di Stato e l’apparato militare del PCI. Nuova Storia Contemporanea 3 (2000). Sechi, S. 2006. Compagno cittadino: il PCI tra via parlamentare e lotta armata. Soveria Mannelli: Rubbettino. Serrano, O. 1993a. Repercussions of the Managua arms cache. Revista Envío 145 (August 1993).

Introduction

27

Serrano, O. 1993b. On all fronts: Indecision winning. Revista Envío 146 (September 1993). Skocpol, T. 1992. Protecting Soldiers and Mothers. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Stedman, S. J. 1993. The End of the Zimbabwean Civil War, in R. Licklider (ed.) Stopping the Killing: How Civil Wars End. New York: New York University Press. Tanner, F. 2000. Bargains for Peace: Military Adjustments During Post-War Peace-Building, in M. Pugh (ed.) Regeneration of War-Torn Societies. London: Macmillan. United Nations. 2006. Operational Guide to the IDDRS. United Nations General Assembly. 2004. Report of the High-Level Panel on Threats, Challenges and Change. New York. Verwimp, P. and Verpoorten, M. 2004. ‘What are all the soldiers going to do?’ Demobilisation, reintegration and employment in Rwanda. Conflict, Security and Development 4(1). Vlavianos, H. 1992. Greece, 1941–49: From Resistance to Civil War. London: Macmillan. Walter, B. 1999. Designing transitions from civil war: Demobilization, democratization, and commitments to peace. International Security 1(24), 127–155. Wang, J. 1996. Managing Arms in Peace Processes: Cambodia. Geneva: UNIDIR. Wenner, Manfred W. 1993. The Civil War in Yemen, 1962–1970, in R. Licklider (ed.) Stopping the Killing: How Civil Wars End. New York: New York University Press. Wrobel, P. S. 1997. Managing Arms in Peace Processes: Nicaragua and El Salvador. Geneva: UNIDIR. Zaslavsky, V. 2001. L’apparato paramilitare comunista nell’Italia del dopoguerra. Nuova Storia Contemporanea 1 (2001). Zeeuw, J. de (ed.). 2008. From Soldiers to Politicians: Transforming Rebel Movements After Civil War. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Zúniga, R. H. 1994. Nicaragua: el derrumbe negociado. Pedregal de Santa Teresa: El Colegio de Mexico.

This page has been left blank intentionally

Chapter 1

Tajikistan: DDR in a Context of Authoritarian Peace Anna Matveeva

The peace process in Tajikistan, of which DDR is a part, can be described as a successful example of post-conflict recovery. Civil war lasted from 1992 to 1997, ending with a power-sharing agreement, and security has progressively taken root since then. Tajikistan is also a case of a conflict remote from international politics and with a low profile on the geopolitical agenda. Juxtaposed between Russia and Afghanistan, seemingly high-level priorities, Tajikistan nevertheless found itself as a backwater of both. The international community’s commitment to the country has been lukewarm and it followed only a light footprint in Tajikistan, including the DDR field. Thus it is an interesting case which enables us to study a DDR process barely shaped by external intervention. This article argues that the DDR process in Tajikistan was successful for the following reasons: • The existence of a comprehensive framework offered by the 1997 Peace Accords, which included provisions on political, security and social aspects of DDR. The Protocol on Military Issues signed in March 1997 and the establishment of a Commission on National Reconciliation, which oversaw the DDR, formed parts of Peace Accords. • A political landscape conducive to the implementation of the Peace Accords, due to the convergence of interests of the Russian government, the Tajik government and the Rabbani regime in Afghanistan. • The timing and speed of DDR implementation: there was no lag between the political and security processes. • The state leadership’s monopoly on political power, which the peace deal did not challenge. Such a concentration of power enabled the government to carry through the process to which it was committed. • Successful co-option and corruption of former opposition figures into the power system, with a deliberate effort to satisfy personal ambitions as opposed to group grievances. This weakened the political credibility and patronage networks of the former opposition leaders, undermining their ability to mobilise men. • Pressure from below against the proliferation of armed groups and the resulting harassment and intimidation of ordinary people. Although the

30

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Tajik state was extremely weak and fragile, the war did not last long enough for Tajik society to lose the expectation of a functioning Soviet-style state, which represented ‘normalcy’. This was the model to which the population aspired and the state efforts to recreate it were welcomed. The focus of this paper is on the period of ‘national reconciliation’ (1997–2001), when DDR was addressed head-on. Following this, the agenda changed as the mass of rank-and-file ex-combatants were no longer seen as a problem. A number of high-profile but isolated episodes involving former commanders carried on into the ‘lasting peace’ period, and were tackled by the government mostly through repression. This case study first outlines the disarmament and the reintegration processes, analyses the underlying political process and the ways in which the ‘spoilers’ had been dealt with, and finally discusses the involvement of the UN. Disarmament The first government weapons collection efforts came with the transformation of the government militias into national army units in 1993, after the most acute fighting of 1992 was over. The government controlled the capital and sought to form an army. The legal framework was codified in the decree ‘On the Voluntary Handing in and Confiscation of Firearms, Ammunition and Military Equipment from the Population of Tajikistan’ of 2 December 1994. These measures were meant to collect weapons from militias which broadly supported the government. The government collected 24,000 guns between 1994 and 2004. This included over 8,000 automatic weapons, 2,500 pistols, over 3,500 rifles, and over 1,000 smoothbore and other hunting rifles. Many of the guns collected were handed over voluntarily, although at least 4,000 guns were confiscated and 5,000 discovered. In 2000 a presidential decree was issued banning the public possession of weapons by all, including those with certificates and state representatives except the security services within their military units (Torjesen et al., 2005). From 1997 the Commission on National Reconciliation (CNR) was in charge of the disarmament process of collecting weapons from the opposition fighters; representatives of the government and the United Tajik Opposition (UTO) were joint members. There are indications that many field commanders collected weapons from their men, but handed over only a small percentage to the CNR. By 1998, 2,119 weapons had been handed in. This is a low figure considering that over 6,000 combatants were officially registered with CNR by that time. Most of the low-level fighters stressed that they had handed in their weapons to their immediate commanders. This suggests that a large share of the 3,500–9,500 weapons were stored in the commanders’ private caches (Torjesen et al., 2005). Based on figures released in 2000, approximately 40 percent of all collected weapons came from Khatlon province. However, other areas likely to have had

Tajikistan: DDR in a Context of Authoritarian Peace

31

high rates of unregistered guns, such as Gharm and Badakhshan, former opposition strongholds, had relatively low collection rates (BBC Global Monitoring, 2001). John Heathershaw observes that an absence of substantive disarmament has been accompanied by a puzzling lack of proliferation. Tajikistan was able to bring small arms and light weapons (SALW) under the control of the state relatively quickly and coercively (Heathershaw, 2005). Strengthening of the formal security and law enforcement agencies enabled overwhelming repression upon those who disobeyed. Punishments for perpetrators of gun violence were severe and administered quickly. Moreover, the commanders started to realise that more could be gained through collaboration than contesting with the state, and adapted accordingly. This is a confirmation of the point made in the introduction, that the availability of weapons per se does not represent a strategic threat; the co-optation of the leaders of the opposition successfully pre-empted collective action from below, even in times of social crisis. Of course, if the political situation were to change, full-scale proliferation could emerge very rapidly, but it can also be presumed that over time the old links of solidarity between leaders and the rank and file, and among the common members of the opposition, would be eroded, again making collective action difficult. Demobilisation Measures to control the government’s own supporters started before the civil war ended. In December 1994 Rahmon issued his first decree as head of state, which was on the demobilisation of militias. By early 1995, 48 military units – which had formally allied themselves with the government, but de facto operated as militias in their own right – were disbanded. However, many figures were too powerful or had been prominent war heroes, which rendered them ‘untouchable’. In 1995, 42 out of 181 Members of Parliament were former Popular Front men, whose contribution to the victory and bringing the Rahmon leadership to power was decisive. Their status in the parliament guaranteed them immunity from prosecution, but in some cases immunity was revoked when they continued to carry out illegal activities. This happened to Hoja Karimov in November 1995, and to eight more individuals in 1997 (Nourjanov, 2005). The peace process enabled demobilisation on the UTO side. The CNR drafted laws for a general amnesty covering the 1992–97 period which created a legal framework for releasing opposition members from prison and granting an amnesty to over 5,000 UTO fighters. The Military Protocol envisaged the establishment of ten official assembly points for ex-combatants in former opposition areas such as the Kofarnihon (renamed Vakhdat), Khorog, Vanj, Gharm (renamed Rasht), Komsomolobod, Tojikobod and Lenin districts, where they could register for integration into the state military and security structures. The government also promised to close criminal cases against the commanders, restore pre-war civilian jobs for opposition combatants, and provide medical checks and assistance packs

32

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

to those who registered. In July–November 1998 all UTO fighters were relocated from Afghanistan back to Tajikistan through cooperation between the government, UTO leadership and Russian Peacekeeping Forces. At the end of 1998 the UTO declared the closure of all its military camps abroad. UTO regiments were integrated into national security structures through the establishment of provisional military units composed of UTO fighters. In September 1997 one former UTO unit was deployed in Dushanbe, the capital, where it formed the 25th Battalion. While some ‘battalions’ were specially created, such as the units of the Ministry of Interior troops in Gharm and Khorog, some detachments joined existing structures. Of the 6,842 combatants registered by the CNR subcommission on military affairs, 6,061 were approved for further service. By March 2000, when CNR completed its work, 4,498 UTO fighters were integrated into armed forces within their own units. The strategy of retaining separate units was to prevent tensions from flaring up between men from opposite sides and to safeguard the power of the field commanders over their men. Some integration happened as new conscripts joined the Committee of State Border Protection (KOGG), in which UTO combatants originally dominated. Still, Torjesen and MacFarlane point out that this was a case of ‘“reintegration” preceding “demobilisation”, as armed bands were formally integrated into the state structure without submitting fully to its authority’ (Torjesen and MacFarlane, 2007). As highlighted in the introduction, this can, however, be seen as a strategy of ‘reintegration’ that has the benefits of offering guarantees to the weaker side in the peace settlement and at the same time doing so in a relatively transparent way. Field commanders, who used to capitalise on local patronage to mobilise their men around them, showed a remarkable willingness to grab tangible personal incentives for compliance when they were presented. Cooperation was fuelled by the recognition that they could personally gain more political and economic benefits through collaboration with the government than by waging a war against it. Rank-and-file members did not rebel when their leaders decided to collaborate, as their personal loyalty to them was very strong. Disputes among dissatisfied commanders occasionally happened, but were resolved by working groups of senior CNR members and the National Security Council (Abdullo, 2001). The figure of about 7,000 opposition fighters registered by the CNR perhaps accurately reflects the number of those who left their original habitat and fought full-time from bases in Afghanistan and the mountainous border areas of Tajikistan. If fighters mobilised for short periods of intense fighting were included, whether forcefully recruited or joining in out of kin loyalty, the total would probably be greater, but these part-timers and local fighters did not entirely detach from their communities. It is believed that a large but unidentified number of ordinary fighters, especially from former opposition strongholds, emigrated to Russia because of fear of reprisals by relatives of their victims. Given the scale of labour migration (it is believed that 1.2 million men from Tajikistan were working in Russia as of 2008), it is impossible to say how many of them had a background as ex-combatants.

Tajikistan: DDR in a Context of Authoritarian Peace

33

Consolidation of the Political Settlement Closely related to the Military Protocol was a Protocol on Political Issues, according to which the UTO was to acquire a 30 percent quota of government positions. This commitment was mostly honoured. Some key figures, such as Davlat Usmon and Karim Rahimov (known as Mulloh Abdurahim) abandoned their former political stance, left the Islamic Renaissance Party (IRP) and, for a while, held prominent positions in the government. However, security appointments proved sensitive. For example, the initial agreement was that the UTO Commander-inChief Mirzo Ziyoev (aka Jaga) would head one of the security sector ministries, but considerable diplomatic pressure by the United Nations Mission of Observers in Tajikistan (UNMOT) and the main foreign governments involved in the peace process was required to make this happen. Ziyoev was offered a rank of majorgeneral and a post as head of the Ministry of Emergencies, newly created for this purpose. Ziyoev held the post until December 2006 and his men became the Ministry’s troops. They acquired a base in Tavildara, a former opposition area, and were allowed to register and keep their weapons (McGregor, 2009). After the Peace Accords, 13 UTO figures were appointed to head ministries and government departments, but some chose not to move away from their areas. Ahmadshah (aka Shoh) Iskandarov held a senior position in KOGG, but continued to be based in his Jirgital stronghold on the Kyrgyz border. By 2004, between 50 and 60 of the former pro-government commanders managed to successfully retain or obtain senior appointments or succeed in business. Of the 60 opposition commanders, only a minority of 15–20 eventually managed to hold on to their positions of influence in the government or in the private sector (Torjesen et al., 2005). Allocation of state positions to former opposition commanders granted the opportunities they eagerly sought. The Committee for State Property distributed various assets among commanders through the privatisation process. Hoji Ali Akhbar Turajonzoda, a former UTO deputy leader and a leading Islamic clergyman, acquired a cotton processing plant, a department store and a restaurant in the town of Vakhdat, as well as two flats in Dushanbe. Mugutdin Kabiri, the current IRP Chairman, got a brick factory, later taken away from him. Mahmadruzi Iskandarov, a one-time presidential contender, was put in charge of TajikGas (state gas company) and was then successfully prosecuted for embezzlement when he no longer posed a threat. The informal division of the drug trafficking revenue was most likely a shadow part of the DDR process, in which prominent commanders from both sides cooperated enthusiastically and with a near absence of violence.1 The UTO figures had to appear more civilised and statesmanlike if they wanted to make good in the new era. In the countryside, the Islamic credentials of seemingly irreconcilable field commanders subsided substantially, even in Gharm. Following the peace agreement the former mujaheddin became directors of state farms and heads of enterprises, or obtained appointments within the local authorities. These 1  Author’s interview with Tim Epkenhans, Bishkek, 2006.

34

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

new roles deprived them of the advantages of being in opposition, made them share the burden of everyday management with the secular authorities and forced them to act within the secular law. In this context their ideological positions were compromised and their behaviour radically changed (Olimovy, 2003: 18). Heathershaw argues that ‘disarmament’ … has been usurped by the recycling of small arms by the regime under the authority of ‘the state’, and ‘demobilisation’ has been precluded by a process where commanders who seek to retain their independence as political actors are destroyed. What has been paramount was a process of ‘reintegration’ where those who are prepared to sacrifice their political and military independence [or who did not care about politics from the start – AM] have been incorporated into the elite networks existing under the name of the state.

Thus, former field commanders became part of the consolidation of an authoritarian peace (Heathershaw, 2006: 223–4). The commanders became more selfish and driven by greed, and were increasingly using the resources they had access to for personal gain rather than distributing patronage to their supporters. The implicit message from the government was that it was prepared to close its eyes vis-à-vis personal enrichment as long as the former opposition commanders did not block the unfolding process of the regime’s acquisition of more and more power. Thus, ties between commanders and followers weakened, which eventually undermined the power of the commanders. The fact that commanders served in different ministries dispersed their military power and made collective action on their side against the President more problematic. With their formal integration into state structures, commanders had to accept strict limits on what they could do. Dealing With Spoilers The period of 1997–2000 witnessed a gradual improvement of security. In 2000 the President ordered the removal of ‘illegal’ checkpoints on the roads from the capital to Badakhshan and Jirgital, former opposition areas. Significant threats to security were extinguished in 2001 when the last sizeable bandit formation of Rahmon Sanginov (aka Rahmon Hitler) was suppressed by government troops. A group of mainly Uzbek UTO fighters led by Juma Namangani and Tahir Yuldash, numbering some 250 men, rejected the power-sharing agreement on ideological grounds. They continued to fight from their camps in Tavildara, where they formed the ‘Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan’ (IMU) to wage jihad against the secular and authoritarian Uzbekistan regime. They had little interest in internal Tajik politics. They were persuaded to leave peacefully for Afghanistan and were accompanied across the border by Russian troops. They eventually joined forces with the Taliban and fought against the Coalition troops.

Tajikistan: DDR in a Context of Authoritarian Peace

35

The commanders who reintegrated had to confirm their loyalty by dealing with the regime’s enemies. In 1998 a revolt in Khujand by Mahmud Khoudoberdiev, an ethnic Uzbek warlord, was put down by the combined forces of Gaffur Mirzoyev (ex-Popular Front) and Mirzo Ziyoev. Ziyoev’s negotiating skills were also put to good use. Mulloh Abdulloh, a field commander in Darband who refused formal integration in 1997, continued to terrorise the Tavildara district until 2000. He and his men would routinely raid the district administration and beat its rais (head). However, when in June 2000 Abdulloh murdered the head of the Gharm district administration, the state was ready to tackle this threat. Mirzo Ziyoev was sent to negotiate, as a result of which it was announced that 70 of Abdulloh’s men would be integrated into the troops of the Ministry of Emergency. However, in September 2000 government forces led an offensive which killed 28 of his men and apprehended 40. Abdulloh fled to Afghanistan where he joined the Taliban and died fighting during Operation Enduring Freedom. Ziyoev’s negotiating skills with his former comrades-in-arms were also used in 2001 in the Rahmon Hitler case to secure the release of German Agro-Action hostages in Tavildara, before his group was crushed by Sukhrob Kasymov’s detachment. Some former opposition commanders were allowed to emigrate or appointed to serve abroad, such as Saidshoh Shamolov, who was assigned as defence attaché to China. However, former pro-government commanders who fell out with the President were considered too powerful to be allowed to go free. Yakub Salimov was imprisoned for crimes committed during and after the civil war, despite having been injured when shielding the President during an assassination attempt. Salimov emigrated, but was extradited from Russia in 2004. Gaffur Mirzoyev, one of Rahmon’s closest associates from Kulyab and head of the Presidential Bodyguards, got a life sentence in September 2004. At present, the only warlord who has survived intact is Suhrob Kasymov, a former school teacher with a modest power base of his own. He heads the rapid reaction regiment of the Ministry of the Interior in Varzob, about 40 km from the capital. Several other former opposition commanders turned rogue. In 2004 Akhmad Safarov was accused of drug dealing, but fled a police siege. That same year Yeribek ‘Sheik’ Ibrahimov led an armed attack of 20 men on a police station in Gharm, but was later apprehended. In February 2008 an incident took place in Gharm when Colonel Oleg Zakharchenko of the OMON (riot police) was shot dead as he and his men tried to arrest the head of the organised crime police squad, Mirzohoja Ahmadov, an ex-UTO commander.2 More generally, there has been a pattern of armed groups formed along kinship networks on both sides during the civil war turning into criminal associations. Patronymic association (avlod, or clan) is important in Tajik society. Commanders typically form ‘warring families’ where politics and big-time crime go hand-in-hand, such as the Cholovs, the Iskandarovs, the Muhabbatovs, etc.; the pattern is the same irrespective of the 2  Murder Invokes Ghosts of Tajikistan’s Past. IWPR Reporting Central Asia 533 (20 February 2008).

36

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

government/opposition divide. Such clans tend to perpetuate themselves beyond the existence of individual leaders: in May 2008 Nurmahmad Safarov, a son of Sangak Safarov, the leader of the Popular Front killed in 1993, was arrested in a major drug raid in Kulyab together with Suhrob Langariev, the brother of Langari Langariev, another prominent Popular Front commander (Olimova, 2008). International Programming The engagement of the international community in the Tajik DDR was fairly limited. The United Nations Office of Project Services (UNOPS)/UNDP was the main agency involved. It pursued a communal rather than individual approach to reintegration, unlike the CNR after the Peace Accords which targeted individual combatants. This was a reasonable choice since the needs of ex-combatants had changed, moving from immediate demobilisation (health checks, assistance packages) to a wider development agenda in former opposition territory. Rigid separation of former fighters from the rest of their communities could have been harmful, and it was considered that measures including a mix of combatants and non-combatants would work best. The UN approach was aimed at the rejuvenation of the rural areas of Gharm (and, to an extent, of Shaartuz and Kulyab), from which many fighters came. In 1996 UNDP Tajikistan developed the ‘Rehabilitation, Reconstruction and Development Programme’ (RRDP) to support the stabilisation of areas damaged by the war. In 2000–2002 UNOPS/ UNDP and the United Nations Tajikistan Office for Peacebuilding (UNTOP), funded by the US Agency for International Development (USAID), the Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA) and the Belgian and Norwegian governments (and later by the European Commission) designed and implemented the reintegration programme. Special Reintegration Committees (SRCs) were set up, incorporating representatives of local authorities, field commanders, the communities themselves and UNDP. In Gharm, 34 SRCs were established in each municipality. The SRCs identified community needs and designed projects on the condition that they would employ ex-combatants as much as possible. By early 2000 over 1,100 excombatants were actively involved in labour-intensive rehabilitation projects. On average each project employed 18 ex-combatants. As the programme developed further between 2000 and 2002, 127 projects were implemented, employing a total of 4,141 persons (ex-combatants and non-combatants) in irrigation, health and sanitation, energy, agriculture, rehabilitation of schools and the building of roads and bridges (UNDP, 2004). A micro-credit option was available to the participants via a revolving fund held and managed by SRCs: they were able to start a business if they could develop a reasonable proposal. However, SRC accountants responsible

Tajikistan: DDR in a Context of Authoritarian Peace

37

for the fund sometimes came under pressure from ex-combatants to provide cash if they needed money for celebrations or migration to Russia.3 Another UNDP project was to set up a Modular Centre of Employable Skills (Dushanbe Vocational Training Centre) to train ex-combatants. The design of short-cycle vocational training courses was based on the International Labour Organisation (ILO) ‘Modules of Employable Skills’. The Centre started its training programmes in 2002 with funding from Japan, and the project finished in December 2002. 60 percent of trainees were from the government side and 40 percent from the UTO. The selection was done by the Ministry of Labour and Social Protection together with representatives from the government, UNDP, ILO, the donors and UNTOP. Two hundred and forty completed the training course. The project was late and limited in scope, and did little to improve the situation of excombatants, who by 2002 had mostly found ways of making a living. In practice, it prepared the trainees for labour migration to Russia.4 The absence of tangible efforts towards demobilisation was picked up by a UNDP project evaluation which concluded that ‘the biggest drawback to the reintegration programme in Tajikistan is that it did not include disarmament and demobilisation within its ambit’. It also noted that ‘while the programme, or the process, has been very successful at project delivery and resource mobilisation, insufficient priority has been given to strategic and forward planning’ (Kannangara and Khoshmukhamedov, 2005). Arguably, UNDP as development practitioners only had skills to pursue projects in reintegration, which was understood as poverty alleviation and infrastructure rehabilitation. They had no capacity to engage in the more politically sensitive security field. Tensions between UNTOP and UNDP over the leadership and ownership of the programme, and between UNOPS and UNDP over decision-making and credit, prevented a more coherent strategy emerging at the time when the government was receptive to international advice.5 Of the external involvement in the reintegration effort, the main long-term survivors were the Jamoat Development Committees (JDCs), established under the UNDP programme and then recognised by the Government as ‘legitimate community-based organizations’. The development of the JDCs helped ‘to lay a foundation for broader community participation and enhanced democracy at the local level’. (UNDP, not dated: 8). Another survival was the Dushanbe Vocational Training Centre, set up by UNDP and, in December 2002, handed over to the Ministry of Labour and Social Protection to provide training to broader segments of the community, although excluding a large segment of the rural population (Kannangara and Khoshmukhamedov, 2005: 21).

3  Author’s field notes in Gharm, 2004. 4  Author’s field observation while working for UNDP in Dushanbe, 2003. 5  Author’s personal experience and observation while working for UNDP, 2003–2004.

38

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Conclusion The DDR process was largely led and owned by the government. The strategy was to integrate the opposition fighters into the security sector with their own structures largely intact, but to disperse them to prevent consolidation and hamper collective action. This approach gave the opposition fighters a chance to evolve into state agents by offering lucrative opportunities to those leaders who persuaded the rank and file to follow. This strategy worked: revolts and criminal violence occurred, but remained relatively minor and considerably scaled down during the first three years after the Peace Accords. After that the state was powerful enough to take on individual commanders who refused to play the game. Tajikistan also had the option to export those who did not fit into the new order. A large number of unemployed ex-combatants made their way to Russia, where the economy started to pick up after 1999, thus solving the ‘angry young men’ problem. A handful of the hard-core Islamists were pushed into Afghanistan, where they eventually became the Coalition troops’ problem. International intervention worked to the extent that it was broadly aligned with the state leadership’s priorities. Tactical differences revolved around high politics: how many of the key opposition figures should be included, which appointments they should get and how long they should be allowed to stay. International actors such as UNMOT, the Dartmouth Conference process and Russia pushed from both directions for the leadership to accommodate power-sharing among the elites. When the elites’ interests were satisfied, pacification of the countryside was achieved relatively quickly, while UNDP projects helped to cushion the transition to peace in the most deprived areas. However, the international community had very little leverage over the government as it had no sticks and very few carrots. The decision not to work with Russia in comprehensive DDR measures meant that the donors could engage only in those areas where Russia was not a player, such as job creation schemes for excombatants. As a result, once the deal was in place, external actors did not exercise much influence over the unfolding process, which saw the strengthening of the winners’ grip on power and the emergence of an authoritarian regime. References Abdullo, R. G. 2001. Implementation of the 1997 General Agreement: Successes, Dilemmas and Challenges, in K. Abdullaev and C. Barnes (eds) Politics of Compromise: The Tajikistan Peace Process. Accord 10, 48–51. BBC Global Monitoring. 2001. Tajik Agencies Seize More Than 17,000 Firearms Over Last Six Years. Tajik Radio. 1 February. Heathershaw, J. 2005. The paradox of peacebuilding: Peril, promise and small arms in Tajikistan. Central Asian Survey 24(1), 21–38.

Tajikistan: DDR in a Context of Authoritarian Peace

39

Heathershaw, J. 2006. Peace as Complex Legitimacy: Politics, Space and Discourse in Tajikistan’s Peacebuilding Process, 2000–2005. PhD dissertation. London: London School of Economics. Kannangara, A. and Khoshmukhamedov, S. 2005. Sustainable Disarmament, Demobilisation and Re-integration of Ex-Combatants and Conversion of Military Assets to Civilian Use. Dushanbe: UNDP Project Evaluation. McGregor, A. 2009. Counterterrorism operations continue in Tajikistan. Terrorism Monitor 7(25). Nourjanov, K. 2005. Saviours of the nation or power barons? Warlord politics in Tajikistan. Central Asian Survey 24(2), 109–130. Olimova, L. 2008. Cops and Robbers in Tajikistan. IWPR Reporting Central Asia 546 (6 June). Olimovy, S. 2003. Мусульманские Лидеры: социальная роль и авторитет (Muslim Leaders: Social Role and (Degree of) Respect). Dushanbe: Sharq Centre and Friedrich Ebert Foundation. Torjesen, S. et al. 2005. Tajikistan’s Road to Stability: Reduction in Small Arms Proliferation and Remaining Challenges. Geneva: Small Arms Survey. Torjesen, S. and MacFarlane, S. N. 2007. R before D: The case of post conflict reintegration in Tajikistan. Journal of Conflict, Security and Development 9(4). UNDP. 2004. Reintegration of Ex-Combatants in Tajikistan. UNDP Reconstruction, Rehabilitation and Development Programme, Internet Forum on Conflict Prevention. UNDP. Not dated. Reintegration of Ex-Combatants in Tajikistan UNDP Rehabilitation, Reconstruction and Development Programme. Internet Forum on Conflict Prevention.

This page has been left blank intentionally

Chapter 2

DDR in Mozambique: A Success Without the First ‘D’ Lorenzo Striuli

Before the DDR (Disarmament, Demobilization and Reconstruction) process took place following the GPA (General Peace Agreement) signed in Rome in October 1992, Mozambique was a country in intense distress and close to crumbling (Christie and Barnes, 2000), with economic activities at a halt throughout nearly all regions and the government greatly dependent on foreign aid and assistance. FRELIMO (Frente de Libertação de Moçambique) forces were able to control only all major cities and provincial capitals, but not to guarantee the security of other areas including the important internal transportation network, so fundamental for economic trade with Zimbabwe and Malawi (United Nations, 1996). The government forces suffered much more complex logistical problems than those which a guerrilla force like RENAMO (Resistência Nacional Moçambicana) had to face. Towards the end of the war … almost all jet fighters, transport aircraft and helicopters were paralyzed due to lack of spare parts and jet fuel, and less than 5% of defense vehicles were in running order. The continued dependence on foreign technicians and advisers, many of whom were not deployed in combat zones, had an effect on operations and morale. By 1991, Nacala—the strategic airbase for the Mig-21s with more than 40 units—was in a state of disrepair and had only two serviceable vehicles [sic]. The concrete runway was badly cracked and seeped with water, radios were unserviceable, security was lax and pilot training was not carried out for months on end. Throughout the units, the dismal situation meant that military personnel had to adapt to the almost impossible conditions that existed in the barracks. For instance, in Zumbo, an isolated area in the western Tete province, one battalion had been reduced to 40 men who did not receive their pay for more than a year; they dressed as civilians, had almost all married locally and subsisted through occasional fishing, gardening or petty trade. According to local sources, a foreigner could hardly distinguish them from local militia. Deprived of uniforms, weapons and any other supplies, they fought with the few ammunition cartridges that occasionally arrived from Zimbabwe. (Malache et al., 2005: 176)

42

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

The conclusion of Cold War also determined not only the end of military and strategic resources’ foreign support for both parties, but also a rising disinterest of the ‘international donor community in continuing to respond to the decade– long emergency as well as in financing the bankrupt Mozambican economy’. (Rugumamu and Gbla, 2003) The strengths or weaknesses of RENAMO are more difficult to assess. There was evidence that RENAMO was assuming also a clear role of a political actor in the areas it controlled. Indeed, it had established some forms of governance in regions under its rule and was also enhancing the support provided by traditional chiefs and significant portions of the rural population. The exact amount of the territory controlled by RENAMO is still being disputed, and the debate is persisting because the movement denied during all the civil war any international or nongovernmental access to the territories under its rule, notwithstanding the purpose of humanitarian relief or help. RENAMO has always claimed to control more than 80 percent of the country. It is more probable however that it permanently controlled only the central Sofala and Manica provinces, thus cutting Mozambique in two parts. Sometimes, several areas scattered throughout Mozambique had fallen under RENAMO’s control, but it is widely accepted that the movement never extended its permanent control to more than 25 percent of the country, with the 80 percent figure only being valid if considered as the ability of RENAMO forces to strike outside its sanctuaries. At any rate, evidence collected by UNOMOZ authorities showed that RENAMO control over the provinces of Mozambique was, in 1992, more than 50 percent in Zambezia and Sofala, more than 40 percent in Manica, and more than 30 percent in Nampula. In other provinces (such as the southernmost province of Maputo) there were only small bands and sanctuaries from which RENAMO could carry out hit-andrun guerrilla attacks (Minear and Weiss, 1995: 199–226; Hanlon, 1996: 20–21; Synge, 1997: 16). For its part, FRELIMO had already succeeded the country joining the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund in 1984 beginning a gradual shift from Soviet bloc economic support. Further, since the death of the President of Mozambique Samora Machel in 1986, the new President Chissano had promoted the liberalization of markets, the privatization of state-controlled enterprises, the shift of the Party from Marxism–Leninism toward social-democracy, and a new liberal-democratic constitution, in exchange for significant increases in aid disbursements. RENAMO, on the other hand, had lost its traditional Pretoria support after a 1988 meeting between South African President Botha and Chissano, and had also failed to gain crucial US support due to execrable character of some of its war crimes, although it had managed to retain till 1990 some forms of covert assistance by South African government, at any rate in a much smaller scale than in the past. From a military and security point of view on the eve of the peace process (and the related DDR process) the main characteristics of the situation were as follows:

DDR in Mozambique: A Success Without the First ‘D’

43

• government forces were substantially disrupted and there were widespread threats of mutiny and revolt over unpaid wages; • RENAMO was inflexible about exclusive control over the territory it had gained in previous years of fighting, and this attitude had caused those areas to suffer from food shortages; • large portions of Mozambique were plagued by the presence of mines and unexploded ordnances; • an impressive number (in the order of millions) of Small Arms and Light Weapons were present among the population, posing as a serious security risk. Essentially due to the inability of the parties to win against each other, a partial ceasefire agreement had been agreed since December 1990.1 The GPA was structured in seven protocols, which among other things called for the establishment of joint armed forces (Armed Defense Forces of Mozambique, or FADM in the Portuguese acronym), with the Mozambican Armed Forces and the RENAMO each contributing 50 percent of the rank and file, the demobilization of former FAM (Mozambican Armed Forces) and RENAMO troops unwilling to serve in the FADM as well as of irregular and private ‘men-at-arms’, the democratic reform of SISE (the Portuguese acronym for the State Information and Security Service) and the separation of FRELIMO party structure from armed forces and PRM (Police of the Republic of Mozambique).2 The Performance of International Organizations Diplomacy DDR in Mozambique was viewed as a special issue of the peace process by the international community. Indeed, Angola’s quick return to civil war despite a recent peace process with features quite similar to that of Mozambique indicated that no electoral process should take place before the effective DDRing of combatants and the establishment of new armed forces. Therefore, once Aldo Ajello was appointed SRSG (Special Representative of the UN Secretary-General)3 and arrived in Maputo, he shared the concern of the UN DPKO (United Nations Department of Peacekeeping Operations) regarding the creation of a satisfactory verification system of the combatants’ assembly areas. At this point he was committed to the idea that the combatants had to be completely disarmed and demobilized before 1  However, it was only related to the above-mentioned transportation corridors. See Synge, 1997: 16. 2  See General Peace Agreement for Mozambique, signed in Rome on 4 October 1992. Available at http://www.pcr.uu.se/gpdatabase/peace/Moz%2019921004.pdf. 3  Less than 10 days after the GPA signature.

44

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

returning to civilian life and then began to draw up plans for increasing the UN military presence in order to deal with this matter, as well as for demining and rehabilitating roads and replacing foreign troops along the transportation corridors. The international military presence was a very sensitive issue because RENAMO had been continuously declaring that it would not start to demobilize until UN ‘blue helmets’ arrived in large numbers, while, for their parts, some FRELIMO figures regarded these troops as a violation on national sovereignty. Although sometimes there were violations of the agreements,4 the ceasefire appeared to be holding and both FRELIMO and RENAMO fulfilled their commitment to indicate the preferred locations for the 49 assembly areas for the demobilization of their soldiers. The SRSG promoted several informal and formal meetings between FRELIMO and RENAMO representatives, in which the two parties met bilaterally or together with the SRSG. On 16 December, the UN Security Council approved Resolution 797, which provided for the establishment of UNOMOZ (United Nations Operation in Mozambique) as a mission with several interlinking functions – political, military, electoral and humanitarian. Because this essay is strictly related to the DDR process, only the military and humanitarian aspects will be discussed in detail. UNOMOZ’s military function entailed the operational monitoring of the ceasefire; the separation, concentration, and demobilization of combatants of the two parties; the monitoring of the collection, storage, and destruction of their weapons; the monitoring of the foreign troop withdrawal and the provision of security in the transportation corridors; the monitoring of the disbandment of private and irregular armed groups; the protection of vital infrastructures; and the provision of security for UN and other international activities in support of the peace process. From an operational point of view, UNOMOZ verification system was to be implemented mainly by teams of military observers at the 49 assembly areas. These military aspects were to be closely linked with the humanitarian efforts, because the combatants who were to come to the assembly areas for DDR would also need to be provided with food and other logistical support (United Nations, 1996: 62, 200). For a long series of reasons, UNOMOZ took a certain amount of time to begin working effectively and the mission became fully active only in May 1993. This was due in part to the attitude of the two Mozambican parties, which were characterized by suspicions, delaying tactics, broken promises and escalating demands, but also ‘managerial’ issues, like the above-mentioned unrealistic timetables established in the GPA and the slow finance and procurement system of the mission. Finally, there were administrative delays in the deployment of UNOMOZ-formed military units. A number of logistical and legal problems also arose from 4  They ranged from illegal detention of individuals to claimed movement of troops’ adversary toward advantageous positions. United Nations, 1996: 328.

DDR in Mozambique: A Success Without the First ‘D’

45

the initial absence of a status-of-forces agreement with the Mozambican Government. (United Nations, 1996: 325)

Despite a number of measures included in UN Security Council Resolution 850 of 9 July, aimed to eliminate the persisting delays in the assembly and demobilization of combatants and in the formation of the new FADM,5 the usual problems between the two sides persisted and every stalemate was inevitably followed by another stalemate as soon as the first was solved. The UNOMOZ operational component deployed on the ground was doing as much as possible, but politically on a daily basis the UN actors were facing all kinds of problems with both the government and RENAMO, essentially because each side wanted the other to begin first the process. Years of savage fighting had produced a severe distrust between the parties, who had played the role of one of the many battlegrounds of the Cold War. Moreover, both of them were quite unfamiliar with international community and UN procedures, and their confidence had to be won.6 Visits by the UN Secretary-General, extensions of time for the UNOMOZ mandate, conflict management’s activities carried out by Comunità di Sant’Egidio (the NGO that had already played a fundamental role in the peace process that had produced the GPA) finally proved fruitful. The cantonment of combatants formally commenced on 30 November 1993, following Resolution 882 of November 5. This was the most successful aspect of the UN intervention in Mozambique. Even before the cantonment of troops began, UNOMOZ inspections were able to highlight that each side’s choice of assembly areas had been undoubtedly influenced to a considerable degree by political considerations, rather than practical needs. Indeed, both FRELIMO and RENAMO had tried to counterbalance the advantage of the other in every province and regarded the reciprocal proposals as an attempt to consolidate the respective presence in certain territories. This determined a situation where very few assembly areas had easy access to water and other essential facilities for temporary habitation. Strict cooperation between the CCF (Cease-Fire Commission) and CSC (Supervision and Control Commission)7 was then promoted in response to this problem, and after an extensive campaign of inspection-for-approval several areas initially nominated began to be rejected. Every time this happened, it was necessary, in order to find a replacement, to re-start a complex and time-consuming process based on political and logistical considerations (Synge, 1997: 50).

5  See: http://www.gmu.edu/departments/t-po/resource-bk/mission/UNOMOZ.html#n2. 6  Information collected by the author in talks with former Italian Army officers who participated in UNOMOZ. 7  The CSC was chaired by the UN and its composition was initially limited to the FRELIMO and RENAMO delegations and representatives of Italy, France, Portugal, the United Kingdom, the United States and the Organization of African Unity (OAU). A month later, Germany also became a member of the CSC.

46

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

When in June 1993 UNOMOZ managed to organize a first group of assembly areas, it was decided to test a sort of ‘carrot’ strategy: food and medicine were stored in each site, with the aim to exert a soft pressure on the combatants from each side to start the demobilization. It was a decision with two risks: • the combatants could revolt in some way against their leaders (not excluding potentially bloody revolts);8 • the supplies stored in the sites could deteriorate if the combatants’ cantonment did not initiate. But this almost experimental approach eventually proved successful and an initial group of 13,776 soldiers were demobilized well before the formal and official combatant cantonment started on 30 November 1993. In the months following the start of the ‘test demobilization’, government troops, close to starvation, rioted continuously from the Tete to Sofala provinces demanding their own turn to embrace the process. Due to these facts, at first RENAMO saw itself in a better position to continue showing disinterest in beginning the general demobilization, but gradually also its combatants started turning mutinous. Soon, troubles spread out among any kind of Mozambican man-at-arms: RENAMO troops, conscripts and professional government soldiers unsatisfied with the irregular pay, and also among private guards working for the government. By the end of demobilization there had been 317 incidents, of which 30 percent were by FRELIMO combatants, 21 percent by RENAMO fighters, and 41 percent by both sides acting in concert. They would result in 28 dead (including bystanders), 84 wounded and widespread material damage. That all of these riots eventually proved to be manageable highlights once again the importance of leadership in enabling large-scale collective action. In practice, rather than turning into a strategic threat the troubles ended up weakening the delaying tactics used by both sides and forcing them to act on demobilization (Synge, 1997: 50–1; Gaspar, 1995). When combatant cantonment finally became a reality on 30 November, 12 government and 10 RENAMO assembly areas had been approved; others would be added in the following months (United Nations, 1996: 328). Most of those proposed by the government had been confirmed, while almost all of those proposed by RENAMO had to be changed due to unsatisfactory accessibility and manageability. As the demobilization started, both parties resorted to accusations and counter-accusation (Synge, 1997: 95; United Nations, 1996: 328). In effect, as the process was ongoing it became clear that both parties were not assembling their best units. For example, the government’s nine main brigades and all of its special forces remained fully operational, and, on several occasions, FAM officers refused to send their troops to the assembly sites until the government clarified 8  The terrible conditions of troops, often close to starving, had already, in several occasions, caused troubles and mutinies against commanders, especially among government forces.

DDR in Mozambique: A Success Without the First ‘D’

47

issues related to the selection of soldiers for the new armed forces and back pay. This last issue, in particular, determined other riots beginning in January at several barracks around the country. The crucial point rested on the fact that the UN wanted a major commitment from the government to pay its troops, but at the same time, donors, creditors and the World Bank were pressing the government for a limited defence budget in order to concede credit. This problem was never resolved and remained a hot issue throughout the recruitment process for the new armed forces. On the RENAMO side, there were accusations against UNOMOZ because some of the assembly sites had become overcrowded and food and water were scarce. Some pressure was put on the World Food Programme to increase rations, while combatants in the assembly areas began to show signs of anxiety and trouble. The reciprocal deep distrust between the two parties was probably not the only cause of such unreliability and constant tug-of-war; in those days both government and RENAMO were daily less and less able to control large part of their own combatants, who wanted to return home. In the period between mid-January and mid-February Government troops accelerated their transfer to cantonment, which however almost stopped in March. RENAMO combatants, reassured by their counterpart’s actions, embraced seriously the process and proved to be much more disciplined, getting to the assembly areas at a faster rate than the government (Synge, 1997: 95). Disarmament On the issue of disarmament, the UN mission had some impact, which however fell short of anything which could be described as ‘success’. Evidence soon emerged that the amount of weaponry handed over by combatants was low and the serviceability of the arms was substandard. This meant that the best arms (especially small and light weapons) were likely being kept for local commanders and/or groups and individual soldiers (Berman, 1996: 72–5).9 On the one hand, FRELIMO always proved to be reluctant to allow the collection of weapons that did not directly belong to the troops coming to the assembly areas. On the other hand, RENAMO provided quite misleading information about the location and nature of its deposits. Initial reports on this issue brought into question the validity of the whole process under examination, because both sides were always reluctant to allow UNOMOZ inspections on probable arms storage sites, and neither the GPA nor the UNOMOZ had seriously considered how to deal with this non-compliance. Eventually, the SRSG and UNOMOZ staff began regarding the completion of demobilization as the ‘core business’ of the peace process, de facto postponing the issue of disarmament. The fact was that UNOMOZ’s role was meant to be essentially a ‘monitoring’ one. The mission was never given adequate responsibility and means to comprehensively 9  Synge, for example, impressively underlines: ‘it was estimated that in the north of the country over 90 percent of the weapons handed in were unserviceable’ (Synge, 1997: 95).

48

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

supervise the disarmament process. The assembly areas were manned only by three UN military observers, one civilian officer and a camp commander drawn among the troops. This team had to deal with the registration of soldiers, their disarmament and storage of their weaponry.10 Therefore it was not difficult to obstruct UNOMOZ’s work. In order to face these problems, the CCF managed to implement the July 1994’s joint UNOMOZ– CCF plan to carry out a series of visits to sites previously indicated by both parties as having been in military use. They took place between 30 August and 20 October 1994, and were successful in revealing an impressive number of undeclared weapons storage sites belonging to both parties. ‘In the first five weeks of verification, the CCF found 130 unreported arms caches. Some were large, including truckloads of arms’ (Synge, 1997: 110). The issue of hidden weapons would however never be completely resolved. A quick look at the data gives an idea of the dimensions of the problem (Synge, 1997: 110–11). By the end of the visits, the CCF had checked 744 sites belonging both to RENAMO and FRELIMO, of which 141 were undeclared. 498 were FRELIMO locations and 246 RENAMO’s. Time was insufficient in particular for checking all declared and undeclared RENAMO sites. Colonel Pierluigi Segala of the Italian Army, chairman of the CCF, in his final report of 5 December 1994 pointed out the commission’s inability to complete verification of RENAMO bases and arms dumps. RENAMO had halted verification on 22 September, permitting only a limited resumption after 10 October. Of RENAMO’s declared locations of 287, the monitors had visited only 116, or 40 percent of the total. In Manica and Sofala, the CCF had visited only 30 percent of RENAMO sites. By contrast, it had visited 99 percent of the government’s declared locations around the country. At the conclusion of the peace process, the United Nations offered to provide a small unit to complete the job, but the government declined the offer. (Synge, 1997: 111)

The amount of equipment found in these sites numbered to 46,193 SALW and other weapons systems, 2.7 million rounds, 19,047 mines, large quantities of hand grenades and bombs (Lundin et al., 2000: 204). However, only 24,124 unspecified weapons and 1,263,420 pieces of ammunition and other mortar bombs were destroyed (Gaspar, 1995), while the rest were turned over to the new FADM. It was an amount too large for a force that would be constituted by a small number of troops, not to mention the unknown amount of weapons that were not found because of stashing by both sides. The SRSG admitted that UNOMOZ would have ‘wanted to destroy a much larger number of weapons but this had not been allowed by the government.’ (Synge, 1997: 110). Probably, with the approaching elections, the government became increasingly suspicious (more than in the 10  See http://www.gmu.edu/departments/t-po/resource-bk/mission/UNOMOZ.html#n2; United Nations, 1996: 329.

DDR in Mozambique: A Success Without the First ‘D’

49

past) of RENAMO’s intentions, considering: CCF’s failure to discover and/or investigate all RENAMO arms locations; RENAMO’s obstructions toward the UNOMOZ arms destruction policy, including the transfer of arms from the new FADM deposits to the PRM;11 the maintaining of RENAMO’s efficient military radio network and the links between RENAMO and some of the numerous private police forces in the country. RENAMO by contrast later publicly claimed that private security companies were mostly strictly linked to FRELIMO and operated as a sort of ‘hidden army’ for the government, who would have equipped them with arms in excess to the FADM’s needs.12 In sum, the two parties (aware of their own weakness) were genuinely concerned with securing guarantees against a coup from the rivals. Such worries almost overwhelmed any other consideration. Reinsertion Planning for the reintegration of demobilized soldiers had already been conceived in December 1990, when the government had consulted Switzerland for assistance for demobilization of some of its soldiers. In 1991 a Reintegration Unit was established within the Ministry of Finance, with the responsibility of proposing a strategy for the reduction of FAM, taking into account the skills and demographic characteristics of demobilized soldiers in order to facilitate a smooth reintegration into civilian life. The same month, during the Consultative Group Meeting in Paris, the government had also presented a DRP (Demobilization and Reintegration Programme) for the unilateral demobilization of 45,000 troops, but the donors had considered this programme too costly. When the UN was deployed on the ground, there were for a long time disagreements among local and international actors on how to arrange a satisfactory reintegration programme. In several occasions the most important donors had claimed that, in contrast with the approach agreed by the two sides in the GPA, the demobilized combatants should not receive, during the reintegration phase, more privileged treatment than to returning refugees and displaced people. This attitude changed only when several violent incidents involving soldiers waiting to enter or leave assembly areas happened. These episodes clearly showed the necessity for special consideration for demobilized soldiers. Also the UNOCHA (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Assistance) experienced some problems. Indeed, although the CORE (Reintegration Commission, which was chaired by UNOCHA) had held its first meeting in January 1993, it became operational only during that summer, when, as outlined in the GPA, it approved a tripartite mechanism for policies and 11  On this matter, RENAMO’s objections were quite reasonable, since PRM had not to be disbanded or reformed into an organization integrating RENAMO former combatants. So, it feared that the collected arms would equip a force that was to remain quite close to FRELIMO, also with democracy-oriented reforms. 12  Claims collected also by the author in talks he had in Maputo in April 2006 with RENAMO’s shadow cabinet.

50

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

programs preparation, as well as mandates for central, provincial and regional structures. The main reason for the delay was the withdrawal of RENAMO from all commissions from March to July 1993, because it was not given the international funds it had requested for transforming itself in a political party.13 The result was that, when the combatants’ assembly had begun, there were no shared policies about reintegration, although UNOCHA had developed, together with the CORE staff, a three-year reintegration strategy including vocational training, employment creation and credit funds, etc. But the main donors rejected this scheme, and a module structured on three overlapping phases eventually was implemented after a meeting among UN agencies, UNOMOZ authorities, the SRSG, the donors and the parties involved (Christie and Barnes, 2000). This ‘pay-and-scatter’ approach had been strongly supported by UNOMOZ and most of donors because they were concerned that [UNOCHA’s] strategy neglected the short-term goal of consolidating peace, and that the peace process required a shot in the arm from more direct, and if need be outsider-led, projects with quicker and more visible payoffs. (Levine, 2006: 11)

According to Levine, this helped greatly in disarticulating the middle-ranking RENAMO cadres as an organizational entity, so it was not anymore able to carry out insurgency even if it wished so. Arguably the cash provided by the international community for RENAMO as a party (and later for other parties) was an unusual step but essential to the viability of the DDR process (Manning, 2002: 67ff). While this was not, strictly speaking, part of a reintegration package, it helped RENAMO to keep the loyalty of selected party militants and to attract new activists. On the whole this direct funding of RENAMO greatly encouraged its collaboration in the peace process, strengthening its viability as a political party and helping the leadership in keeping cohesion within the ranks. Last but not least, this aid limited the drain of the already scarce Mozambican skilled personnel toward higher-paid NGO and UN employment opportunities. In the reintegration phase, the Occupational Skills Development Project, approved by the CORE with medium- and longer-term perspectives, was implemented providing for vocational and business training to encourage selfemployment.14 However these efforts (and others carried out by IOM and Creative Associates International) proved to be limited to administrative and low-level counselling, and only 5 percent of former combatants are believed to have been employed as their direct result. So, in 1995–1996 the government managed to 13  The argument was afterwards resolved by the establishment of a UN trust fund that in January 1994 was extended to include support for the participation of all registered parties in the elections. See Manning, 2002: 106. 14  This project included another toolkit component, depending on the type of training received.

DDR in Mozambique: A Success Without the First ‘D’

51

establish, with international support (from the World Bank) and assistance (from several countries’ aid agencies and NGOs), the Provincial Reintegration Support Programme, in order to promote the social reintegration through the direct involvement of provincial, district, and village levels of governance. The main advantage of such community-oriented approach proved to be related to its close connection with local market needs in terms of job opportunities. Moreover, the programme retained an intrinsic flexibility since it was based on technically simple and labour-intensive micro-projects, formulated by NGO, self-help and civil society groups, local institutions, and also individual veterans. Soon, displaced people and refugees too started benefiting these activities; as a result it is difficult to quantify the overall results of this approach. It would seem that it faced difficulties reaching veterans resident in rural areas; it was even disliked by some donors who preferred the direct financing of NGOs instead of local communities, because the latter were suspected of unreliability. The only data collected on former combatants refer to the pilot phase of the programme and confirm the original program design hypothesis that moving training closest to the point of actual employment increases employability at a lower cost, while the original plans for testing a more advanced ‘training voucher approach had to be curtailed due to the insufficient administrative capacity at the local level to implement and monitor such a scheme.’15 The reintegration programme had a low-priority capacity building component, supporting the Ministry of Labour and the Ministry of Social Action with core staff and office equipment. The World Bank pushed the implementation partners for deeper cooperation with local government counterpart structures, especially the provincial directorates of labour and the provincial commissions for social reinsertion. On-thejob training in program coordination and monitoring was also planned but did not receive much attention, at least in the early years of the programme (World Bank, 1997). Donors were reluctant to trust Mozambican partners, fearing problems in the sphere of ‘speed of delivery, corruption and perception of political bias’. Cooperation was reportedly good at the provincial level and problematic mainly with the Ministry of Labour, whose centralizing instincts donors opposed. Part of the problem was that ‘decision making and even implementation was kept in the hands of the donors and selected international NGOs’. In other words, state-building did not figure as a concern and capacity building was focused on achieving better delivery to the veterans. The reintegration programme was not really designed to be sustainable in the long term, because the ex-combatants were expected to gradually ‘lose their identity as combatants and gradually be reinserted into social networks that would both provide them with the requisite “civilising” influence and ultimately access to economic opportunities.’ However, officers and other soldiers with advanced training in particular were hostile to the idea of returning to the villages and restart small farming and in the absence of attractive alternatives in many cases turned to criminal activities. The UN Secretary-General’s Special Representative Aldo Ajello 15  http://www.worldbank.org/afr/findings/english/find90.htm. Italics in the text.

52

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

proposed in 1992 that ‘senior officers and generals could be given shares in newlyprivatized industries to buy their participation and reduce any incentive to become involved in illicit pursuits,’ but donors did not appreciate the idea (Alden, 2002: 349–50; McMullin, 2004: 630, 636–7). Ajello had already played a role in pushing through the rather unusual measure of paying RENAMO a monthly $300,000 to help the transition from military organization to political party; many observers judged it a kind of ‘bribe’ paid to the leadership to smooth the transition (Ajello, 1999: 633). More generally, Ajello several times displayed a willingness to bend UN rules to political expediency in order to resolve difficult situations on the ground. This added a flexibility and adaptability that the UN template per se did not have (Jett, 2001: 77ff). The demobilized combatants created their own lobby organization, AMODEG, which initially included only former FRELIMO soldiers, but then expanded to include former RENAMO fighters too. However, typically the government responded to AMODEG’s activism with transfers of resources to its leaders, as opposed to accepting its demands for support to the mass of demobilized soldiers, once again displaying a keen awareness of the role of leaderships in enabling collective action. AMODEG never really functioned as a proper lobby as it remained always dependent on the support of the Mozambican government and international organizations (Schafer, 1998). One of the lasting contentious issues in the treatment of demobilized combatants was the exclusion of former RENAMO fighters from the government pension scheme, a ‘collective grievance’ which was not picked up by AMODEG, but continued being agitated by RENAMO (McMullin, 2004: 633–4). From DDR to SSR: The FADM and the PRM Recruitment of former combatants into the new Mozambican armed forces was an important part of the DDR process, even if it was meant to apply to just a minority. Importantly both FRELIMO’s and RENAMO’s former combatants were entitled to join in. France, Portugal and the United Kingdom agreed to deploy advisory teams in order to provide training for officers and non-commissioned officers (Synge, 1997: 51). However, as soon the recruitment of volunteers for FADM started among the assembled and registered former combatants, they showed reluctance to join the service, surprising both FRELIMO and RENAMO. Indeed, for its part the government had been confident that it would have recruited many more volunteers than the 15,000 agreed; RENAMO too had been sure that a large part of its former combatants would have joined FADM because of the possibility of having better living conditions and gaining the first salaries of their lives. At the same time having a substantial number of former loyalists in the armed forces was essential for both parties and for the viability of the peace agreement. The dimension of these misperceptions was such that soon both parties were forced to state that they would resort to compulsory service. During the first demobilization

DDR in Mozambique: A Success Without the First ‘D’

53

episodes alone ‘fewer than 7 percent of the government’s soldiers and fewer than 13 percent of RENAMO’s troops’ choose to volunteer, with the rate dropping further in the following months (Synge, 1997: 65). Efforts to implement the draft were however short lived. Immediately there were several instances of troops physically resisting being drafted into the FADM. Trouble emerged also among some of the most reliable armed units that both parties were still holding out of FADM and the demobilization process, in the event of a potential war contingency after the elections. These troops sometimes even threatened UN personnel or took their officers hostage, beating them. The conscription option was then abandoned, but also among the first ‘core’ of soldiers who had already been selected for the new FADM there were signs of disaffection: many of the 540 trainers from both sides that were being trained by British officers chose not to enlist at the end of their courses. Moreover, in the battalions that were formed in the following months, the rate of desertion was high. The lack of volunteers had prevented the formation of fully capable battalions. Despite having been in training since March 1994, at the end of July there were only three weak infantry battalions, plagued by high desertion rates. This resulted in concerns about the risk of armed forces unable to guarantee internal security after the elections. Both parties appealed to the international community for help in strengthening FADM, but, on the other hand, also agreed that a 30,000-model force should not be a precondition for holding elections. Thus, in November 1994, the number of FADM personnel was at 11,579, of which around 3,000 were provided by RENAMO (Synge, 1997: 106). However, the troops had only undergone basic training and were unprepared for crowd control or road patrolling on a large scale (each battalion, for example, had only two vehicles), not to mention the huge limitations in communication and headquarters staff capability. FRELIMO could also count on the loyalty of the police, which was not involved in the reform process at all. From DDR onwards the FRELIMO government spent a disproportionate share of funds on the police, while under-investing in the armed forces. Although the ordinary police are quite ineffective and hapless, the three anti-riot battalions are the only well trained units in the whole Mozambican security sector.16 Conclusion Demobilization was a more successful process than the disarmament efforts or the reconstruction of the armed forces. As for the police and intelligence services, efforts were conducted to a much lesser extent not only because they were not to be dismantled and reconstructed, but also because the two commissions established for their democratization did not work. Indeed, ‘neither the government nor RENAMO considered COMPOL [National Police Affairs Commission] important. 16  Personal observation in the field.

54

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

The same can be said about COMINFO [National Information Commission]’ (Synge, 1997: 157). In this sense Mozambique constitutes at least a partial success story for both the UN and all international actors involved in the peace process, although the war weariness of the Mozambican people proved to be even more important. Moreover, the end of external support to both parties had placed them in a situation virtually without solution, because of the impossibility of drawing enough strength through domestic resources. This was particularly true for the government forces, that had to suffer much more complex logistical problems than those who had to face guerrilla forces like RENAMO. For Mozambican politicians, then, it was always a strategic issue not to lose their credibility vis-àvis the international community and both sides managed to gradually attenuate the influence of ideological hawks and obstructionists among their ranks.17 A lot of scholars and reports18 have argued in the years following the end of peace process the existence of a significant link between the spread of small and light weapons and violent crime in Mozambique. However, although certainly there was increased criminality throughout the nineties, as far as this author knows a scholarly study demonstrating this link is still missing. The problem of arms is not merely related to their presence, but to who detains them and for what purpose. Even if UNOMOZ managed to destroy only a very small amount of arms, the government in the following years was able to find and destroy (or recover to its custody) a lot of those concealed during the peace process. Within two years of the end of the UNOMOZ, over 100 hidden arms caches containing 22,000 serviceable weapons had been discovered and destroyed by the PRM (Alden, 2001: 113).19 However, these efforts highlighted another kind of crime linked to small and light weapons availability, that is the illegal traffic toward South African gangs, carried out by both RENAMO and FRELIMO former middle-ranking officers. Given its character of organized crime, such smuggling rings have been much more difficult to contrast than the violence of the first years followed to the civil war. For example, the joint seek-and-destroy Operation Rachel, carried out between 1995 and 1999 by South African and Mozambican police forces, had disappointing outcomes because of the lack of cooperation from the civilian population.20 At any rate, regardless of whether it fuels criminality, the issue of small and light weapons remains alive in Mozambique’s politics: on the one hand, RENAMO sometimes publicly claims that the most of the private security companies in the 17  Ibidem. 18  For example, the Jane’s Sentinel Country Report series. 19  In another national operation carried out in 1996, PRM destroyed 202 heavy weapons, 2,252 SALW, 2,495 landmines, and 123,129 unexploded ordinances (Lundin et al., 2000: 205). 20  Ibidem. Religious as well as veterans’ organizations are still today actively involved in promoting several forms of incentives for those who allow the discovery of SALW deposits in order to contrast their availability to small and organized crime as well, according to government officers in talks with the author in Maputo in April 2006.

DDR in Mozambique: A Success Without the First ‘D’

55

country are in reality a ‘hidden army’ of the government, who has equipped them with arms in excess of the FADM’s needs;21 on the other, the spectacular series of arms depot explosions which occurred on 22 March 2007 in Maputo22 has demonstrated the incapacity of government in managing the destruction (or at least the correct storage) of those arms for which it refused UNOMOZ assistance in the fall of 1994. References: Ajello, A. 1999. Mozambique: Implementation of the 1992 Peace Agreement, in C. A. Crocker et al. (eds) Herding Cats: Multiparty Mediation in a Complex World. Washington: USIP. Alden, C. 2001. Mozambique and Construction of the New African State: From Negotiation to Nation Building. Houndmills: Palgrave. Alden, C. 2002. Making old soldiers fade away: Lessons from the reintegration of demobilised soldiers in Mozambique. Security Dialogue 33(3), 341–56. Berman, G. 1996. Disarmament and Conflict Resolution Project—Managing Arms in Peace Processes: Mozambique. Geneva: UNIDIR. Christie, F. and Barnes, S. 2000. From Warmongers to Peace Builders. The Reintegration of Demobilized Soldiers in Mozambique. Maputo: United Nations Development Programme. Gaspar, A. 1995. The Role of UNOMOZ in the Pacification and Democratization in Mozambique. Maputo: CEEI. Hanlon, J. 1996. Peace Without Profit: How the IMF Blocks Rebuilding in Mozambique. London: International African Institute. Jett, D. C. 2001. Why Peacekeeping Fails. New York: Palgrave. Levine, D. 2006. Organizational Disruption and Change in Mozambique’s Peace Process. Center for International and Security Studies at Maryland. Lundin, B. et al. 2000. Reducing Costs Through an Expensive Exercise: The Impact of Demobilization in Mozambique, in K. Kingma (ed.), Demobilization in Sub-Saharan Africa: The Development and Security Impacts. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Malache, A. et al. 2005. Profound Transformations and Regional Conflagrations: the History of Mozambique’s Armed Forces from 1975–2005, in M. Rupia (ed.) Evolutions and Revolutions. A Contemporary History of Militaries in Southern Africa. Pretoria: Institute for Security Studies.

21  Recriminations collected by the author in talks he had in Maputo in April 2006 with RENAMO’s shadow cabinet. 22  The explosions lasted several hours, literally bombarding parts of the city with grenades and bomb, killing 93 people and injuring hundreds more. They occurred from a single huge soviet-era depot.

56

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Manning, C. 2002. The Politics of Peace in Mozambique: Post-Conflict Democratization. Westport: Praeger. McMullin, J. 2004. Reintegration of combatants: were the right lessons learned in Mozambique? International Peacekeeping 11(4), 625–643. Minear, L. and Weiss, T. G. 1995. Mercy Under Fire: War and the Global Humanitarian Community. Boulder: Westview. Rugumamu, S. and Gbla, O. 2003. Some Lessons of Experience from Mozambique. African Capacity Building Foundation. Schafer, J. 1998. ‘A baby who does not cry will not be suckled’: AMODEG and the reintegration of demobilized soldiers. Journal of Southern African Studies 24(1), 207–222. Synge, R. 1997. Mozambique, UN Peacekeeping in Action 1992–1994. Washington DC: United States Institute of Peace Press. United Nations. 1996. The Blue Helmets: A Review of United Nations PeaceKeeping. New York: United Nations Department of Public Information. World Bank. 1997. War-to-peace transition in Mozambique: The provincial reintegration support program. Findings (Africa Region) 90.

Chapter 3

Afghanistan: ‘Chaotic’ Peacekeeping and DDR Antonio Giustozzi

Introduction The Afghan DDR programme was laid out in Geneva in spring 2002 as a component of a wider Security Sector Reform agenda, and was then specified in Petersberg at the end of that year. It entered the planning phase with President Karzai’s signature of the Decree on Security Sector Reform on 1 December 2002. The actual implementation of DDR was entrusted to the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), which created the ad-hoc Afghanistan New Beginning Programme (ANBP) in 2003. The latter was meant to work in strict cooperation with the Ministry of Defence (MoD). While the Afghan partners were playing the main role in disarmament and demobilisation, during the reintegration phase ANBP would collect data about the disarmed combatants and hold sessions with them, explaining the features and aims of the programme. The ‘template approach’ was clearly visible in the design; at the same time this was, to some extent, necessary in order to give the programme strong formal bureaucratic procedures meant to prevent or contain abuses and manipulation, and to address the needs of individual ex-combatants. Standards already used in other contexts were adopted and it drew on know-how and expertise developed by the UN in previous years. There were apparently strict monitoring and evaluation criteria as well. There was little Afghan input in its design, except for the fact that the director of the programme, Sultan Aziz, was himself a career UN official of Afghan origins with extensive experience of field work in Afghanistan. He also had close contacts with some of the formerly warring factions and might well have been instrumental in framing DDR according to their interests (International Crisis Group, 2003: 6). The DIAG1 follow-up programme was launched in June 2005 to deal with the armed groups left out of the DDR process. The process itself was supposed to be led by the Afghan authorities and in terms of bureaucratic procedures it looked much weaker than the one adopted for DDR, resting as it was on the cooperation of notoriously weak and biased provincial authorities. The government approved a Gun Law in June 2005,2 but the Law on Private Security Companies, which was also supposed to be in place 1  DIAG (Disbandment of Illegal Armed Groups) is an acronym adopted specifically for post-DDR disarmament and demobilisation in Afghanistan. 2  Presidential Decree 20, 24 June 2005.

58

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

before the launch of DIAG, was delayed until well after the launch of the programme. This chapter will focus mainly on the impact of external intervention in DDR/DIAG and the legacy of these programmes for state-rebuilding in Afghanistan. DDR The DDR programme suffered from a number of inbuilt political flaws, first and foremost the exclusion of former Taliban fighters, many of whom later rejoined the fight (Giustozzi, 2007c), and the postponement of the disbandment of thousands of armed groups not incorporated in the ranks of the officially recognised armed formations, which DIAG started dealing with only in 2005 (see below). DDR suffered also from several bureaucratic flaws, in part deriving from the ‘chaotic’ character of the weakly managed Afghan peacekeeping operation. These included planning and staffing problems at ANBP and differences between the MoD and ANBP, which delayed both start and implementation. This in turn led to many former combatants leaving their units, making DDR to some extent pointless and leading to a deterioration in security (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Japan, 2003; Thruelsen, 2006: 19–20; Giustozzi, 2008: 173). Another flaw was the failure to collect enough weapons, despite ANBP’s optimistic claims. By the end of disarmament, according to ANBP figures, over 70,000 weapons had been collected from 63,380 ex-combatants, corresponding to just 56 percent of the weapons previously registered, suggesting that the militias managed to hand over as little as possible. Moreover, often only scrap weapons were handed over. According to United Nations Assistance Mission to Afghanistan (UNAMA) sources, 36 percent of the weapons collected were either unserviceable or cheap (and bad) Pakistani copies.3 The main achievement of DDR was the formal disbandment of the militias gathered under the Ministry of Defence, a fact which was supposed to lead to their gradual political marginalisation and to enable the Ministry of the Interior (MoI) to prosecute those involved in criminal activities.4 A degree of political marginalisation did indeed follow, although unevenly, whereas the impact on law and order was not particularly noticeable. Abuses against villagers and non-state taxation continued, and according to some NGOs, like the Norwegian Refugee Council (NRC) and the Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Commission (AIHRC), the number of cases even increased (Dennys, 2005: 7–8; Rossi and Giustozzi, 2006: 18–9; Giustozzi, 2007a and 2007b). The spread of non-state taxation is an important aspect of the Afghan DDR. The taxes were collected from farmers, normally in cash and ranging between 10 percent and 40 percent of the farmer’s income, or on the roads. Most nonstate roadblocks were removed between 2002 and 2003, but in the villages the 3  See http://www.undpanbp.org/ for the data; personal communication with Eckart Schiewek, November 2005. 4  Interview with ANBP official, Mazar-i Sharif, June 2004.

Afghanistan: ‘Chaotic’ Peacekeeping and DDR

59

collection continued, particularly in the more remote areas. Elsewhere, former combatant militias turned increasingly to organised crime, thereby abandoning tax collection for easier targets such as smuggling, etc. (Pomfret, 2001; Robberson, 2002; Country Information and Policy Unit, 2003: para. 6.61; Swedish Migration Board, 2003: 17; United States Institute of Peace, 2004; UNODC, 2004: 66). The reintegration phase was also quite weak. Problems with slow disbursement of UN money and with dishonest implementation partners existed but had a limited impact (Frerks et al., 2008: 22). A bigger flaw was the failure to adapt the programme to the heterogeneity of the ‘ex-combatants’, despite the fact that this was recognised in internal documents. At the time of implementation they were all lumped together as a homogeneous group, and then it proved impossible with the available human resources to assess each ex-combatant’s needs and abilities. The lack of coordination among the different agencies and organisations involved in the reintegration programme, such as between the ANBP and UNICEF5 or between DDR programme of the Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA) and the Japanese Embassy’s DDR Unit, hindered any systematic planning for the activation of local development strategies. Insufficient preparation, logistical capacity and bureaucratic flexibility led to long gaps between the demobilisation and reintegration phases. The absence of technical studies, of market analysis, of feasibility studies and, indeed, of understanding of the complexity of rural livelihoods made advice to ex-combatants from the agencies involved in reintegration largely arbitrary. Of those ex-combatants who opted for setting up small businesses, many had to fold rather rapidly. Trends in agricultural ‘transitional reintegration’ were not much different from those for small businesses. Factors of production indispensable to agriculture, such as irrigation systems, rural infrastructure, and landed property were not properly addressed. Likewise, an agricultural marketing policy was not defined. Ex-combatants who opted for livestock faced several problems, ranging from confiscation by commanders, to lack of proper training in livestock management, to the extraordinarily cold winter of 2004–2005 that caused the deaths of much of the livestock. Furthermore, because villagers frequently compete for natural resources such as land and water, the lack of proper planning in the distribution of large quantities of livestock concentrated in small areas could well have contributed to generating new conflicts. Vocational training was also implemented in ineffective ways without a preliminary objective labour market assessment, and the quality of the training offered was low. Perhaps more importantly, ANBP failed to realise the extent to which former fighters ‘often struggled with the isolation associated with being self-employed’ as they were ‘unaccustomed to operating independently’, a major factor in causing many of the new small businesses to fold. Often, the former combatants were not ‘welcomed into the business community’ (Dennys, 2005: 4; Rossi and Giustozzi, 2006; Zyck, 2009: 119–23). 5  UNICEF (the United Nations Children’s Fund) ran a parallel program of demobilisation of child soldiers.

60

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

The Afghan DDR was not blind to the particular problems posed by the demobilisation of officers and commanders. Through the Commanders Incentive Programme, 320 commanders and 150 Ministry of Defence generals received financial redundancy packages, training and assignment to government posts. While former high-level commanders, particularly if from a mujahidin background, were paid considerable attention in terms of reintegration, dissatisfaction was high among the team leaders and the lower-level commanders, who were treated as common combatants. Their unhappiness was such that they were often found to be ‘psychologically priming themselves for renewed fighting’ (Zyck, 2009: 119– 23). Former army officers serving in the militias did not receive any privileged treatment and were mostly keeping a low profile politically. They tended to complain about the failure of the new government to use their skills and education for something more than menial jobs, although a certain number of them certainly made their way to the National Army. Only those who were excluded from the process altogether and even denied arrear pensions complained in the streets, sometimes violently (Isezaki, 2005: 202; Frerks et al., 2008: 24–5). It might well be that, as in other DDR programmes around the world, reintegration in Afghanistan was also meant as a stop-gap measure to keep former combatants busy at a critical juncture and to allow their links with their commanders to disintegrate. In this case, the long-term prospects of reintegration would not have mattered too much. In this regard, however, it is puzzling that often reintegration was not preventing ex-combatants from being re-absorbed by new or old systems of patronage run by warlords and local commanders, which the DDR programme supposedly aimed to ‘break down’. In some cases, training courses and projects were organised inside the houses of former commanders, hence backing their position of power and wealth among the ex-combatants and villagers. In others, small business activities were based on goods illegally provided by their commanders. The Fourth Client Satisfaction Survey carried out by ANBP among the demobilised combatants found that 50 percent of them admitted to maintaining links with their old commanders, up from 28 percent in one of the previous surveys (Rossi and Giustozzi, 2006; Frerks et al., 2008: 27). Bureaucratic flaws aside, the implementation of DDR in Afghanistan faced multiple political contradictions between ownership of a programme demanded and designed by external actors but which required a high degree of participation by locals, and between the humanitarian concerns of some implementing partners (the welfare of the ex-combatants) and the political interests of those Afghan and international actors who were mainly concerned with maintaining good relations with the military class which controlled the Afghan countryside. These contradictions led to much friction. The original plan proposed by the Jami’atis within the Ministry of Defence envisaged the reorganisation of the militias into a newly trained National Army, with the militia commanders being appointed as officers. The plan sponsored by the UNAMA, the US embassy and others was very different, and it involved only limited recruitment from the militias into the

Afghanistan: ‘Chaotic’ Peacekeeping and DDR

61

Afghan National Army (ANA) – no more then 10–20 percent of the size of ANA. While the MoD survey claimed to have found 250,000 militiamen, the Japanese donors and UNAMA estimated the real numbers to be closer to 40–50,000; a quick survey came up with an estimate of 94,000, and after wrangling with the MoD until February 2003 a compromise figure of 100,000 was agreed upon, after the Japanese refused to pay for the reintegration of more than that number (Isezaki, 2005: 158). Presumably in order to put pressure on its international partners, or maybe trying to impose a fait accompli, the MoD actually started its own weapon collection plan in the summer of 2002 which resulted in the stockpiling of weapons under guarded storage. As international donors were only ready to support the UNAMA/US plan, the MoD plan was adopted after much foot-dragging by the Ministry of Defence. This might on the surface appear to be an outright victory for the UN and the foreign diplomats. Nonetheless, presumably in exchange for agreeing to the terms sponsored by its international partners, the Jami’atis within the Ministry of Defence, and by extension the militia leaders, maintained control over key aspects of the DDR process (Isezaki, 2005: 161). This consisted chiefly of the ability to select the units to be demobilised/disbanded, but also the names of the ex-combatants to be reintegrated. The MoD and its local affiliates managed to maintain the ability to manipulate the lists of combatants introduced to DDR, as reported by different sources, in part due to the weak supervision of ANBP and its unwillingness to confront the MoD about irregularities (Rossi and Giustozzi, 2006: 5).6 ANBP’s planning was entirely based on ‘numbers’ received from the MoD and local military leaders (Rubin, 2003: 4–5; Rossi and Giustozzi, 2006: 10). A variety of issues related to phoney and remobilised combatants was reported, while ‘officers’ (in fact the cadres of the militias) tended to escape demobilisation (Isezaki, 2005: 196, 241; Rossi and Giustozzi, 2006: 5; Frerks et al., 2008: 25, 27). The MoD and other key Afghan players made good use of the room for manoeuvre left in their hands, manipulating the process to the extent that the actual DDR programme ended up having only minimal impact on Afghan ground realities (Giustozzi, 2008). The MoD also tried to allow as many loyalists as possible into the new National Army, by manipulating the 10–20 percent quota of recruits allowed to come from the ranks of the DDR-ed militias. In practice, however, the incorporation of DDR-ed militiamen in the new army could only be implemented minimally, partly due to the screening imposed by international trainers on ANA recruitment (Giustozzi, 2007d). With the complicity of International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) commanding officers, the cantonment of heavy weapons was twisted into a plan that allowed the factions to maintain a degree of control over them, rather than concentrating them into a single facility (Isezaki, 2005: 162). The demand of donors and international organisations that the MoD reform before starting to receive DDR funds was met with a superficial overhaul of its leadership (Isezaki, 2005: 172). 6  Personal communication with former ANBP official, Kabul, April 2007.

62

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

The DDR process was certainly weakened by American ‘disengagement’ or lack of interest (Rubin, 2003: 7–8), whether due to the desire to avoid dealing with an ‘incompetent’ ANBP or sometimes to political considerations (Rossi and Giustozzi, 2006: 5; Poulton, 2008: 34). In some cases, the Americans arguably had a direct interest in preventing effective demobilisation. In 2002–2005, throughout southern and south-eastern Afghanistan, US forces had neither reliable nor effective Afghan partners within the state security agencies and did what they could to maintain bits and pieces of the Afghan Militia Force (AMF) and illegal militias, which could support its operations. At one point the Americans were even pushing for excluding selected militias from DDR in order to form them into an Afghan Guard Force, to be paid with American money. Only gradually were these links abandoned, and never entirely (Isezaki, 2005: 180, 182).7 International political considerations dictated that the controversial political deal with the militia commanders be covered by a facade of respectability, legitimising the attempted establishment of a pro-American regime in Kabul and contributing to its presentation to the world as something more noble than a mere strategic move, but at the same time safeguarding the relationship with Afghan politicomilitary factions. However, in the long term the superficial character of the DDR– DIAG programme could not escape the Afghans. Perhaps it was hoped that as the central government consolidated, the IAGs would be reduced to a mere nuisance. Unfortunately, exactly the contrary occurred, with the insurgency spreading around the country; rearmament of DDR-ed militias was already reported in 2005 and such reports intensified in 2006–2007 (Dennys, 2005: 7).8 These developments were turning DDR into an exercise of dubious utility since war was not at all over in Afghanistan. The friction was eventually resolved once the initial bureaucratic dust settled and the different sides too stock of their respective strengths. They worked out an unofficial compromise on disarmament and demobilisation, involving the establishment of a facade process of disarmament, behind which non-state armed groups of various types would be allowed to continue to exist and sometimes prosper, as long as they were willing to pay at least lip service to the bureaucratic process and abstained from actively working against the government in charge. This satisfied international actors, who were not willing to risk destabilising large portions of Afghanistan. It also satisfied international organisations, which were not ready to undertake a major challenge without explicit American support. Finally, it satisfied key Afghan players, all of whom were, to various degrees, linked to militias in different regions of the country and reliant on them to maintain and expand political influence and leverage.

7  On continuing American supplies to Illegal Armed Groups (IAGs) even after the conclusion of DDR, see Poulton, 2008: 28. 8  Personal communication with UN officials, Kunduz, May 2006; personal communication with police officer, Teluqan, May 2006.

Afghanistan: ‘Chaotic’ Peacekeeping and DDR

63

Jami’at-i Islami (Islamic Society) was the main beneficiary of this compromise, as at the end of 2001 it had captured the Ministry of Defence and its leadership had proceeded to staff it with its own loyalists. A few more armed groups were able to influence the process at the regional level, such as Junbesh-i Milli (National Front) in the north and Hizb-i Wahdat (Unity Party) in the central highlands. Elements from within Karzai’s circle and the President himself were soon competing with the leadership of various Jami’ati factions in courting local military leaders, but the DDR compromise survived these rivalries.9 Even the conflict in northern Afghanistan between Junbesh-i Milli and Jami’at did not prevent the final reaching of a ‘compromise’. The most controversial points of the informal compromise included allowing the Panjshir-based militias of Shura-i Nezar (Co-ordination Council), a faction within Jami’at-i Islami, the group which had occupied Kabul in November 2001, to retain most of its heavy weaponry, and allowing the militias of Ismail Khan in the west to ‘disband’ without disarmament.10 The Afghans grudgingly accepted the disbandment of official militias, as long as these were allowed to continue existing in the shadows, but demanded that substantial numbers of militia leaders remain or be incorporated in official positions within MoD, MoI and other ministries. The international counterparts were only willing to accept a modest number of such appointments. Defence Minister Fahim’s reluctance to sacrifice some of his local allies cost him American support and his position in the cabinet, but this did not translate into a more confrontational attitude towards local military leaders as a whole. Post-Fahim reform efforts were not aimed at the militias, but focused on Kabul’s headquarters and on the quality of appointments to top field positions. What the international side had been demanding was ‘presentable’ top layers at the MoD and MoI, not the outright elimination of the militias.11 As far as the political role of the veterans is concerned, one can certainly talk of a strong surviving esprit de corps among veterans of the Anti-Taliban alliance (‘United Front’), even crossing factional allegiances. Veterans of the civil wars account for an estimated 60 percent of the lower house of parliament, and a majority of them has often acted as a lobby there. This, however, had little to do with DDR directly, as there was nothing in the programme per se which favoured the formation of a veterans’ lobby or stimulated collective action. In any case, President Karzai has mostly been able to neutralise the veterans lobby (known in Afghanistan as the ‘Jihadis’) by co-opting or playing divide and rule with the leaders, at least until early 2010 when his relationship with the Afghan parliament greatly deteriorated (Giustozzi, 2007a and 2007b). 9  Interviews and personal communications with UN officials, MoD officers and AMF commanders, 2003–2005. 10  ANBP and UN sources, Kabul, 2004–2005; Powell, 2006. See also http://www. unddr.org/countryprogrammes.php?c=121. 11  This section is based on personal communications with UN officials and diplomats, 2003–2007.

64

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

The relevance of DDR to the post-war security architecture was not as modest as the low percentage of former combatants incorporated would seem to suggest, because within the officer corps the influence of the factions active in the civil wars of the 1990s was much more significant. Although the actual influence of factions within the new National Army had not been tested as of May 2010, there was evidence that important political factions (particularly Jami’at) saw the army as one of their key strongholds and as a key guarantee of political influence (Giustozzi, 2009). Similarly, in the police a major influx of former combatants took place in 2001–2006, although the high staff turnover meant that not many were left by 2010. At the officer level, however, the presence of former combatants was still quite pronounced in 2010, suggesting a significant factional influence over the police even if a significant criminalisation of these elements might also have occurred, eroding the old factional loyalties.12 A significant number of former combatants were also reabsorbed into private security companies, tens of which started springing up after 2001. Although the majority of the 25,00013 or so guards employed by the companies were definitely former combatants, it is impossible to produce an exact number of former combatants reabsorbed in this way. The political affiliation of at least a number of these private security guards was being alleged by UN officials in Kabul; certainly the Karzais, Defence Minister Wardak and former Ministry of the Interior official Jurat had or were closely linked with one or more security companies each (Sherman and DiDomenico, 2009). General Din Mohammad Jurat of the Ministry of the Interior fought in the civil wars on the side of Jami’at-i Islami. He played a key role in 2002 in the setting up of Afghanistan’s largest private security company, USPI (United States Protection and Investigation – registered in the USA). He arranged the hiring of hundreds of his own militiamen into the company as security guards, making it one of the largest recipients of ‘reintegrated’ former combatants. The company operated many contracts in Kabul city, where it protected most offices of American NGOs and organisations, as well as other NGOs and institutions. It has long operated in southern Afghanistan, where it often escorts supply convoys to US bases. It also held a contract to protect the Kajaki dam in Helmand, and therefore USPI convoys often travelled to the dam in order to resupply or rotate personnel (Schulman, 2009a and 2009b). The company lost its contracts after it was accused by the US government of having cheated on reimbursements. NCL Holdings is an Afghan private security company, owned by Hamed Wardak, the son of Afghanistan’s current defence minister, General Abdul Rahim Wardak (Roston, 2009; Sherman and DiDomenico, 2009; Owen, 2010). The Karzais have interests in several private security firms, of which the largest is the 12  This is based on the preliminary findings of an ongoing research project on Afghanistan’s police. See also Amnesty International, 2003 and International Crisis Group, 2007. 13  The figure only included registered ones (Pugliese, 2010).

Afghanistan: ‘Chaotic’ Peacekeeping and DDR

65

Asia Security Group, run by a cousin of the President, Hashmat Karzai (Isenberg, 2010). Several other political figures of different allegiances are linked to the over 50 officially registered private security companies. As a result, every suggestion of reform of the sector has led to political friction because of the fear of a politically motivated purge of private security companies connected with the losing side in Kabul’s turf wars. DIAG The flaws of the DIAG programme were even more evident from the beginning, given its toothless character. It was also decided not to consider economic incentives, like handouts or reintegration processes, following the insistence of the main donor (Japan) who did not want to be seen as supporting illegal/criminal groups (Dennys, 2005: 9). As a result, and with the exception of candidates in the parliamentary and provincial elections, the only incentives which could be identified by the DIAG planners were the promise of development spending in areas where DIAG had been successfully implemented, the pressure of public opinion, support of ‘social authority’, media campaigns and a not very credible threat of intervention by law enforcement agencies (Thruelsen, 2006). In principle, provincial governors were supposed to coordinate with the security agencies to identify the illegal armed groups and put pressure on them to comply with DIAG. The Commission was in charge of establishing whether armed groups had been effectively disbanded or not. With the collaboration of UNAMA and ANBP, the Afghan security agencies were expected to build as complete a database as possible of Illegal Armed Groups. Unsurprisingly, such cooperation was always very far from wholehearted. The evaluation report of DIAG recognised that ‘The DIAG programme constantly feels the lack of political will as commanders are protected by politicians, and Provincial Governors ignore weakly-stated government policies’ (Poulton, 2008: 15). Compared to DDR, DIAG was a compromise from the beginning; no serious effort was carried out to obtain serious estimates of the numbers and members of illegal armed groups (IAGs), and by January 2006 the official estimate of 180,000 illegal militiamen and 2,753 groups was clearly completely inaccurate – it only represented those armed IAGs on which consensus was reached among the various agencies involved. After the political decision of handing DIAG over had been made, information emerged that a larger ‘unofficial’ database existed, including a more realistic 5,557 illegal armed groups, of which 1,334 had disbanded. Even this number was very likely an underestimate of the actual number of illegal armed groups in the country. In any case, DIAG continued to operate on the basis of the old official estimate because of a lack of consensus among all the agencies involved on how to expand the official database. In fact, UNAMA and ISAF proved to be among the least cooperative of the agencies involved; in the case of the latter it might have had to do with its ‘unofficial’ use of illegal armed

66

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

groups, mainly in the south, or with the presence of key southern allies in the expanded unofficial list.14 As the update of the database run adrift, in May 2009 the number of disbanded IAGs was reported by ANBP on the basis of MoI figures at a low 1,020–1,140 (Islamic Republic of Afghanistan, 2006: 7). The facade character of the programme was evident in the regulations, which stipulated that an armed group commander could be recognised as having disbanded his group by surrendering a minimum of five firearms. In this way many could get away by handing over a handful of weapons (Stapleton, 2008). Close observers believe that IAGs genuinely disarming in 2006–2008 tended to be village self-defence militias in areas at that time unaffected by political violence. Gangs involved in criminal activities and militias linked to the former warlords instead showed no intention of disarming. Many well-known leaders of large IAGs with at least hundreds if not thousands of men, such as Baba Jan in Bagram or Padsha Khan Zadran in Paktia, went through DIAG surrendering respectively 5 and 21 light weapons.15 The failure to regularly update the database of IAGs was another revealing shortcoming of DIAG and it was not clear even by spring 2009 whether the programme was going to be able to address this weakness as recommended by its internal evaluator (Poulton, 2008: 27). Unsurprisingly, therefore, the inclination of leaders of illegal armed groups to genuinely comply with DIAG does not seem to have improved over time, as shown by the graph in Figure 3.1. Indeed, the contrary might be true. Note that after 2007 ANBP stopped providing information about serviceable weapons. At that time it was agreed that old weapons like Lee Enfield bolt-action rifles and PPSh submachine guns would no longer be accepted from disbanding IAGs. In late 2008 the Afghan government decided to annul that decision, so that old weapons were being accepted again.16 This means that the data in Figure 3.1 from late 2008 onwards overestimates the trend in disarmament compared to the previous year. The decision can be taken as an attempt to hide as much as possible the fact that DIAG was drying up, having achieved little. In early 2010 a UNDP report admitted that ‘many IAGs are still handing over old and unserviceable weapons’ (United Nations Development Programme Afghanistan, 2010: 14). The weak compliance was also compounded by the very uneven compliance to DIAG from region to region or from province to province, but also within each province. This means that local military leaders potentially willing to comply might have been restrained by the fear of becoming vulnerable to those neighbours unwilling to disarm (Giustozzi, 2008: 175ff). Given the obvious inability to achieve much in terms of disarmament, by 2008 the main value of DIAG was presented as ‘stop[ping] weapons from being used in an aggressive fashion’, as opposed to just collecting them (Poulton, 2008: 34). The problem with this approach was the spread of the insurgency, which was in 14  Personal communication with foreign diplomat, Kabul, October 2009. 15  Personal communication with foreign diplomat, Kabul, October 2009; personal communication with DIAG ANA representative, Khost, October 2008. 16  Personal communication with foreign diplomat, Kabul, October 2009.

Afghanistan: ‘Chaotic’ Peacekeeping and DDR

67

some cases giving an incentive to leaders of IAGs to reactivate their men, either to join the insurgency or to fight it. Lack of compliance was therefore particularly pronounced in southern Afghanistan, but with a tendency to spread to other regions as well. By 2009 what had been underground IAGs were in several cases re-emerging as semi-officially sanctioned militias in provinces like Kunduz and Faryab, as a reaction to the penetration of the Taliban in these provinces (Koelbl, 2010; Filkins, 2009).17 Moreover, many new IAGs dedicated mostly to criminal activities were forming according to Afghan intelligence (NDS – National Directorate of Security) sources, which, for example, claimed the existence of several hundreds of them in Wardak province alone.18 Overall, it is clear that by 2009, if not earlier, the trend was towards an increase in the number of IAGs in Afghanistan, rather than even a slow decrease.

Figure 3.1  Weapons collected and verified in the DIAG programme Source: ANBP sources, 2005–2010.

This does not mean that DIAG was completely useless. The threat to disqualify candidates in the 2005 parliamentary elections who were involved with illegal armed groups had some impact at the launch of DIAG, but after the elections the programme gradually slowed to a near halt. The request that individuals seeking or holding public office complied with DIAG was greatly weakened by the failure of the authorities to respect it as a result of political patronage. Nonetheless, some 17  Afghan Village Armies Fight Taliban. AFP, 17 November 2009. 18  National Directorate of Security source, April 2010.

68

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

slow progress was visible: by early 2008, 44 of 72 government officials recognised as linked to IAGs had been removed; by September 2008 another eight were gone (Poulton, 2008, 15; United Nations Development Programme Afghanistan, 2008a and 2008b). ANBP’s capacity-building was badly limited by its practice of relying on three-month staff contracts, which led to major haemorrhages of staff (Poulton, 2008: 4–5). This is particularly remarkable as in November 2006 President Karzai decided that the DIAG programme would be taken over by the MoI, which in 2008 started creating a dedicated 180-man DIAG unit within its Counter-Terrorism Department. Capacity-building therefore became the main task of ANBP and, with an eye to the handover in 2009, 11 temporary positions were created for national and international mentors. In practice only four or five positions were fielded at any given time, and the schedule for handing over was postponed to April 2010. At that point, despite the fact that the unit was staffed with trainees from the Police Academy or specially vetted officers taken from other departments, few believed that the unit was effectively ready to take over, but donors showed little interest in continuing to fund it.19 ANBP’s inconsistencies aside, the plan had major points of interest in terms of the legacy of DDR/DIAG for rebuilding the Afghan state. The new plan envisaged the transformation of DIAG into a weapons management, governance and development programme at the district level. As of 2008 the transition was already running behind schedule due to bureaucratic friction, but signs of progress in the desired direction were visible. The strengthened DIAG process included a Weapons Management Unit (opened December 2008) to audit the weapons in the security sector ministries and remap the illegal armed groups, as the database had not been updated again after 2006. A Unit was also placed in charge of the registration of weapons in the hands of individuals, and started operation in early 2008. As of May 2009, 15,698 weapons had been registered with the Unit by individuals; after that, progress has been very slow and as of end March 2010, 20,716 weapons had been registered. These weapons were usually registered by individuals and firms who needed to display them in public, such as private security firms, VIP bodyguards, etc. The DIAG Unit was also planned to take charge of the registration of Private Security Companies, although once again the implementation of these decisions was delayed by the slow action of the Parliament. During 2009 private security companies finally started being registered, and 52 received their licenses. Four members of staff in the DIAG unit were specifically trained to handle day-to-day work in this field. As of March 2010 a total of 120 DIAG Unit members of staff had been trained by UNDP, which meant the Unit was growing to a significant size within the MoI (United Nations Development Programme Afghanistan, 2010: 9). The focus of capacity-building strengthening within the DIAG programme of the MoI was expected to move to the provinces after 2009 (Poulton, 2008: 17, 44, 45; United Nations Development Programme Afghanistan, 2008a). It is difficult to judge the seriousness of this effort 19  Personal communication with foreign diplomat, Kabul, October 2009.

Afghanistan: ‘Chaotic’ Peacekeeping and DDR

69

from the vantage point of spring 2010, but it seemed to be moving in an innovative and interesting direction. At the same time, it also had the full potential to end up in another facade and only serve to reassure external donors that something was being done, while not challenging any serious interests inside Afghanistan. Conclusion In terms of actual disarmament, disbandment of armed groups and reintegration of former combatants, DDR and DIAG were abysmal failures. Seen from a more political perspective, DDR in particular brought at least some benefits. In the short term, the DDR programme contributed to the post-Bonn political settlement in Afghanistan, not because of the way it was designed per se, but because of the loopholes that allowed various political factions belonging to the Anti-Taliban front to retain an underground armed force, which they used to back up their political influence. Its strength was also its weakness because, as the Bonn Agreement itself did, the DDR programme ignored the Taliban and discounted them as an annihilated force; Taliban former combatants were left to their own devices and even persecuted at the local level, a fact which contributed significantly to the ignition of the Neo-Taliban insurgency from 2002 onwards (Giustozzi, 2007c: 37ff). The big gap between the stated aims of the DDR programme and the reality, between the facade of compliance and the substance of deal-making and the continued existence of armed groups certainly contributed to some extent to the delegitimisation of the Bonn process among sectors of the population. Complaints from civil rights activist and political party leaders were regularly heard.20 The actual impact in terms of eroding support for the government and for international intervention is, however, difficult to measure, as evidence is anecdotal and has never been seriously investigated. However, the ongoing growth in the number of IAGs can be taken as an indicator of the loss of legitimacy of the process, as is the re-emergence of illegal armed groups from the underground to the surface. References Amnesty International. 2003. Afghanistan: Police Reconstruction Essential for the Protection of Human Rights. London. Country Information and Policy Unit, Immigration and Nationality Directorate. 2003. Afghanistan Country Report. London: Home Office. Dennys, C. 2005. Disarmament, Demobilization and Rearmament? The Effect of Disarmament in Afghanistan. Japan : Afghan NGO Network. 20  Based on the author’s experience as UNAMA political officer in northern and north-eastern Afghanistan, 2003–4.

70

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Filkins, D. 2009. Afghan Militias Battle Taliban With Aid of U.S. The New York Times, 22 November. Frerks, G. et al. 2008. The Struggle After Combat. The Role of NGOs in DDR Processes: Afghanistan Case Study. Cordaid. Giustozzi, A. 2007a. Afghanistan: Political Parties or Militia Fronts? in J. de Zeeuw (ed.) Transforming Rebel Movements After Civil Wars. Boulder: Lynne Rienner. Giustozzi, A. 2007b. Armed Politics and Political Competition in Afghanistan. Bergen: C. Michelsen Institute. Giustozzi, A. 2007c. Koran, Kalashnikov and Laptop: The Neo-Taliban Insurgency in Afghanistan, 2002–7. London: C. Hurst & Co. Giustozzi, A. 2008. Bureaucratic façade and political realities of disarmament and demobilisation in Afghanistan. Conflict, Security and Development 8(2) 2008, 169–192. Giustozzi, A. 2009. The Afghan National Army: Unwarranted hope? RUSI Journal (December 2009), 34–40. International Crisis Group. 2003. Disarmament and Reintegration in Afghanistan. Bruxelles. International Crisis Group. 2007. Reforming Afghanistan’s Police. Bruxelles. Isenberg, D. 2010. How About Those Other Private Military Contractors? The Huffington Post, 12 May. Isezaki, K. 2005. Disarmament: The World Through the Eyes of a Conflict Dealer [in Japanese]. Kodansha Gendai Shinsho. Islamic Republic of Afghanistan, Afghanistan National Development Strategy (ANDS). 2006. Implementation of the Afghanistan Compact Benchmarks, March–August 2006. Kabul. Koelbl, S. 2010. Afghan Militias Take On Taliban. ABC News, 2 March. Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Japan. 2003. Chair’s Summary. The Tokyo Conference on Consolidation of Peace (DDR) in Afghanistan – Change of Order ‘from Guns to Plows’, February 22 2003. Available at http://www.mofa. go.jp/region/middle_e/afghanistan/pv0302/ddr_sum.html. Owen, J. 2010. Army Launches Investigation: Corrupt Afghans Stealing Millions From Aid Funds. The Independent, 7 March. Pomfret, J. 2001. Anxiety on the Border. ‘Mafia’ Traders Fear Life After Taliban. Washington Post, 28 November. Poulton, R. E. 2008. Evaluation of DIAG: Disbandment of Illegal Armed Groups (DIAG). Unpublished manuscript. Powell, A. 2006. Mujahedeen of Afghan Valley Slow to Warm to Disarmament. Stars and Stripes (Mideast edition), 27 February. Pugliese, D. 2010. Number of Private Security Personnel in Afghanistan Soars. Ottawa Citizen, 5 April. Robberson, T. 2002. Afghans’ Freedom Comes at a Price. The Dallas Morning News, 3 January.

Afghanistan: ‘Chaotic’ Peacekeeping and DDR

71

Rossi, S. and Giustozzi, A. 2006. Disarmament, Demobilisation and Reintegration of Ex-Combatants (DDR) in Afghanistan: Constraints and Limited Capabilities. London: Crisis States Research Centre (LSE). Roston, A. 2009. How the US Funds the Taliban. The Nation, 11 November. Rubin, B. R. 2003. Identifying Options and Entry Points for Disarmament, Demobilization, and Reintegration in Afghanistan. New York: Center on International Cooperation, New York University. Schulman, D. 2009a. Fraudsters of Afghanistan’s Reconstruction. Foundation for National Progress, 7 July. Schulman, D. 2009b. Karzai Said What? Mother Jones, 30 November. Sherman, J. and DiDomenico, V. 2009. The Public Cost of Private Security in Afghanistan. New York: Center on International Cooperation. Stapleton, B. J. 2008. The Role of DDR and DIAG and its Impact on Peace Building. Paper presented at the 2008 conference of the Swedish Committee for Afghanistan. Swedish Migration Board (Migrationsverket). 2003. Report on Factfinding Mission to Afghanistan, 22–30 Nov. 2002. Stockholm. Thruelsen, P. D. 2006. From Soldier to Civilian: Disarmament Demobilisation Reintegration in Afghanistan. Copenhagen: Danish Institute for International Studies. United Nations Development Programme Afghanistan. 2008a. Afghanistan Disbandment of Illegal Armed Groups (DIAG), Quarterly Project Report [Q1, 2008]. United Nations Development Programme Afghanistan. 2008b. Disbandment of Illegal Armed Groups (DIAG), Quarterly Project Report [Q3, 2008]. United Nations Development Programme Afghanistan. 2010. Disbandment of Illegal Armed Groups (DIAG), First Quarter Report, 2010. Kabul. United States Institute of Peace. 2004. Establishing the Rule of Law in Afghanistan. Special Report No. 117. Washington. UNODC (United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime). 2004. Afghanistan: Opium Survey 2004. Wien. Zyck, S. A. 2009. Former combatant reintegration and fragmentation in contemporary Afghanistan. Conflict, Security and Development 9(1), 111–131.

This page has been left blank intentionally

Chapter 4

The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Technical Drift? Ben J. Shepherd

Introduction The Disarmament, Demobilisation, Repatriation, Reinsertion and Rehabilitation (DDRRR) program began in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) in 2002. It had by March 2009 processed a cumulative total of 18,243 foreign combatants (Romkema, 2009), along with tens of thousands of dependents. Yet the purpose of the exercise – the removal of foreign armed groups from the DRC – had not been completed. Most notably, the Forces Democratiques pour la Liberation du Rwanda (FDLR) retained significant strength, cohesion and organisation. Though there have been – and remain – a variety of non-Congolese armed groups active in the DRC, most notably the Ugandan Lord’s Resistance Army and Burundian Front National pour la Liberation, this paper will concentrate exclusively on the FDLR. The UN estimated that the FDLR had some 8–10,000 fighters in 2004; by mid-2009, the International Crisis Group estimated that it retained ‘more than 6,000’ combatants. It remains the most pressing obstacle to sustainable peace and security in the region, as well as a constant threat to Congolese civilians. Anti-FDLR Measures to Date Military There have been military operations against the FDLR and its predecessor organisations since 1996.1 The remnants of the former Rwandan military and militias responsible for much of the killing during the 1994 genocide had reformed in the refugee camps in what was then Zaire. They were targeted by the new Rwandan authorities in their initial incursion into Zaire in 1996; reports indicate 1  FDLR will be used as a shorthand to refer to the multiple generations of Rwandan Hutu rebels in the DRC, which include the RDR (Rassemblement pour le Retour et la Démocratie au Rwanda), ALiR (Armée de Libération du Rwanda) I and II, and FOCA (Forces Combattantes Abacunguzi), as well as smaller splinter groups such as RUDUrunana (Rally for Unity and Democracy).

74

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

that they were one of the few military formations to offer any organised resistance to the anti-Mobutu coalition of rebels and national armies in their sweep across the country. Following the end of the first Congo war in 1997, some remained in the bush inside the DRC, while others scattered into exile across much of Central and West Africa. These fighters also played a major role in the second Congo war. Some units fought in Western DRC on the front line as a semi-autonomous element of the Congolese armed forces, largely made up of exiles who returned following a call for assistance from President Kabila. They were again acknowledged as one of the most effective military formations in theatre. Other units, comprised of those who had remained in the DRC, survived operations against them during the early period of Laurent Kabila’s rule (1997–98) that saw close collaboration with his erstwhile Rwandan allies. They then fought in the large area of Eastern DRC occupied by Rwanda and its Congolese allies for the duration of the second war (1998–2002), and managed to remain intact through four years of pursuit by some 20,000 regular Rwandan forces, along with at least as many fighting for allied Rwandan groups. Large-scale fighting ended following a ceasefire agreement signed in 1999, and by 2002 relations between the Western FDLR units and the Congolese government had cooled, notably following Laurent Kabila’s assassination and subsequent replacement by his son. Joseph Kabila declared the group illegal in September 2002, from which time it is widely acknowledged that large-scale military assistance from the Congolese government to the FDLR ceased. Some three thousand FDLR fighters were cantoned at Kamina in Western DRC the same year prior to their planned disarmament and demobilisation. However, the Congolese military proved unable to enforce this plan, and instead were reduced to attacking the camp; the majority of Rwandan combatants scattered into the bush, with only 157 entering the demobilisation process. The rest made their way across the DRC, regrouping with the Rwandan rebel elements that had remained in the East throughout the war. These reformed units form the core of the FDLR as it stands today. Since 2002, there have been sporadic operations against the FDLR, led by the Congolese army (known by its French acronym FARDC), rebel groups (notably the CNDP – National Congress for the Defence of the People – of Laurent Nkunda in 2006/7) and local defence militias known as Mai Mai. These operations have intensified since the joint operation between the Rwandan army and the FARDC in early 2009, followed by a series of UN-supported operations by the FARDC designed to fracture FDLR command and control, disrupt their finances, and allow combatants to defect. These have been successful in forcing the FDLR away from the border region between Rwanda and the DRC, and had in 2009 and early 2010 pushed the FDLR out of some of the most profitable resource-rich regions that they had been exploiting, in some cases for many years. They have, however, not significantly degraded FDLR command and control. Though there was something of a surge in FDLR combatants willing

The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Technical Drift?

75

to disarm immediately following the Rwandan–Congolese joint operation, this has subsequently slowed. Though they no longer present a meaningful military threat to Rwanda – their last large-scale attack on Rwanda, Operation Oracle du Seigneur, took place in 2001 and was an abject failure, leading to the death or capture of some 2,000 FDLR combatants – they can by no means be described as defeated. Political There have been no significant initiatives to reach a political agreement with the FDLR. The group was not party to any of the negotiations that brought the second Congo war to an end, nor the long-running inter-Congolese dialogue that agreed the parameters of the post-war Congolese transition. The FDLR was likewise excluded from the Goma peace conference convened to discuss the regional dynamics of violence in the Kivus in early 2008. The only attempt at finding a negotiated settlement with the FDLR took place under the auspices of the Sant’ Egidio NGO in Rome, in mid-2005. Though it initially seemed that the FDLR had agreed to unilateral demobilisation in the ‘Rome Declaration’, it was conditional on political concessions from the Rwandan government, including an ‘inter-Rwandan dialogue’, that were not forthcoming – most fundamentally because the Rwandan government was not represented at Rome, and had no involvement in the process. Follow-up conversations have taken place between the Congolese government and FDLR, most notably at Kisanagani in 2008, but have had no greater success. The negotiations that did involve the Rwandan government – notably Lusaka, in 1999, that agreed a ceasefire between the state parties to the Congo conflict, and Pretoria in 2002, that agreed the modalities of Rwandan withdrawal from the DRC – did not include representation from the FDLR. Though there have undoubtedly been direct contacts between the Rwandan government and elements of the FDLR, these have been covert and limited. Technical The best-developed aspect of attempts to deal with the FDLR has been the UNrun disarmament, demobilisation, repatriation, reinsertion and rehabilitation (DDRRR) program. This began operating in 2001/2, and from the first has emphasised a voluntary approach. UN resolutions from 2000 onward emphasise the responsibility of the signatories to the Lusaka Accords to disarm illegal combatants (UNSC 1291), with a only a limited direct role for the United Nations Organization Mission in the Democratic Republic of Congo (MONUC), conditioned by a number of caveats: ‘… authorises, upon request, and within its capabilities, in the implementation, on a voluntary basis, of the DDRR[R] of armed groups …’ (Secretary-General’s report of 8 June 2001).

76

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

The DDRRR program has therefore relied on information operations – radio programs detailing the modalities of the program and providing information on life in Rwanda, as well as leaflet drops – facilitating contact between combatants and their relatives in Rwanda, and the logistics of safely extracting willing fighters from their areas of operation and transporting them to Rwanda. The method of operation has been that of small field teams establishing contact with individuals or groups, building a rapport and securing agreement from individuals or groups of fighters, and then arranging transport out of the bush and back to Rwanda via demobilisation camps. There have been some successes – as stated, figures from mid-2009 show that the program has processed more than 18,000 foreign combatants, and a number of foreign armed groups active during the conflict have been almost completely removed, notably the Burundian Forces Nationales de Liberation (FNL). But, following a surge of repatriations from the FDLR in the early 2000s, which brought their numbers down from an estimated 20,000 to something like 7–8,000 by 2004, the FDLR has not been significantly degraded in the years since. Though estimates vary depending on the source2, there was a rough consensus that by mid-2009, the FDLR retained in excess of 6,000 fighters. A Military-Technical Approach Thus the overall approach taken to dealing with the FDLR can best be characterised as ‘Military-Technical’. In the absence of sufficient military resources to defeat them, it has relied on an uneasy combination of voluntary participation in the UNrun DDRRR program, with coercive military action by Congolese armed forces to ‘forcibly disarm’ FDLR combatants, or at the very least place them under ‘military pressure’. This has been reflected in successive UN resolutions. From 2004 onwards, MONUC’s mandate authorised support to Congolese efforts to disarm the FDLR by force, as well as facilitating the voluntary demobilisation and repatriation of those disarmed. Resolutions have also repeatedly demanded the disarmament of FDLR combatants, and laid out an increasing number of measures to be taken against them, including sanctions against individuals (UNSC 1649, 2005), comprising travel bans and asset freezes, and the explicit instruction for UN member states to take legal action against FDLR leaders, particularly those in Europe. But, despite some ambiguity in recent resolutions – one observer has argued that UNSC 1856 (2009) ‘implicitly allowed MONUC to participate in the involuntary disarmament of the foreign armed group members’ (Romkema, 2009) – the UN has never explicitly asked its peacekeepers to become directly involved 2  All debates on the FDLR have been undermined by a lack of reliable figures; no reliable census of FDLR strength has ever been carried out.

The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Technical Drift?

77

in ‘forcible disarmament’, most likely because none of the troop contributing countries would agree for their forces to take on such tasks. Why has the Military-Technical Approach Failed? This approach has not been successful. The most important reason for this has been the inadequacy of the ‘voluntary’ approach to disarmament and demobilisation; it falls down if combatants are unwilling or unable to volunteer. Since the early successes of 2001/2, which roughly halved FDLR numbers from 20,000 to 10,000, it is clear that the remaining FDLR have represented something of a ‘hard-core’. ‘The lack of progress in disarming and repatriating the FDLR is primarily due to the limits of the voluntary approach’ (ICG, 2005); ‘… the most important reason for the slowness [of progress with DDRRR] was that MONUC’s mandate rested on the principle of voluntary repatriation’ (Mollel, 2010). Forcible Disarmament and Voluntary Demobilisation The second factor in the failure of the Military-Technical approach has been the contradiction implicit in the idea of ‘forcible disarmament’, or at least consistent and intense ‘military pressure’, to be followed by voluntary demobilisation. There a superficial logic to this approach. If the FDLR can be defeated and disarmed, they, it is assumed, would have little choice but to join the DDRRR program and return to Rwanda. In the absence of actual disarmament, the FDLR could instead be pushed out of its comfort zone, moved away from lucrative mining areas, kept on the move and under threat of attack. Combatants may then be more likely to risk reprisals from the leadership take up the standing offer to return to a civilian life in Rwanda. But it may also be that ineffective or partial military operations have perverse impacts, primarily by reducing the credibility of MONUC’s information operations, and making it harder for DDRRR teams to establish trust (see below). The FDLR’s reprisals against civilians have been extensive and well documented. And it is also very possible that an active military threat could increase the ingroup cohesion of the FDLR; the literature on group psychology and responses to external aggression suggests that this may well be the case (see, for instance, Stein, 1990). If individual combatants are motivated and loyal to the group, as argued above, the task essentially equates to active war-fighting. Congolese Military Weakness If combatants are not willing to disarm by choice, the essential element for successful DDRRR is the application of sufficient military force to persuade them to change their view. However, faced by a determined and organised group such as the FDLR, the application of sufficient pressure essentially equates to active

78

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

war-fighting, a tactic that clearly demands an effective military force. Given the consistent refusal of the UN to countenance its forces taking part in direct offensive operations against armed groups, the only possible vector for this pressure has been the Congolese military. The Congolese army is notoriously ineffective. It is largely made up of former militia fighters with little or no formal military training, is badly equipped, ill-disciplined and frequently unpaid. Command structures are confused by multiple lines of authority, with the President frequently taking direct charge of operations, and putting place a parallel chain of command. Despite numerous attempts at retraining, restructuring and professionalising the armed forces, the FARDC remains dysfunctional. It has long been clear that the FARDC is woefully inadequate to meaningfully defeat the FDLR. The FDLR was able to resist the attentions of more than 20,000 Rwandan troops – widely acknowledged to be one of the best armies in Africa – during their four-year occupation of Eastern DRC. Indeed, informal assessments by military analysts have suggested that something in the region of 40,000 NATOstandard troops3 would be necessary to dislodge them. And, furthermore, the FDLR was a war-time ally of the FARDC, meaning that some in the Congolese military command structure may have close personal links with FDLR leaders, and potentially even sympathy for their goals. The effectiveness of FARDC operations has been weakened still further by reported collaboration between FARDC units in the field and elements of the FDLR, including business links and the provision of weapons. Though the FDLR was formally declared illegal in 2002, and there is real political will at a senior level in Kinshasa to remove them from the country, this is not necessary translated into the behaviour of FARDC troops on the ground; command and control is weak at best, and frequently non-existent. Misreading of FDLR Motivations? Congolese military weakness, and the unwillingness of the international community to commit sufficient resources, has long precluded an exclusively military approach. That the hybrid ‘Military-Technical’ approach has been pursued in its place is rooted in the key assumption that the majority of FDLR combatants would leave the organisation if they were able. This then demands sufficient military pressure to fracture its organisation and command structure, freeing individual combatants from the coercive hold of an extremist leadership, but importantly does not necessarily require their complete military defeat. There has long been a consensus among the DDRRR community that the majority of the rank and file of the FDLR would gladly return to Rwanda, if only they could free themselves from the coercive control of the organisation. There is no doubt some truth in this assertion. The FDLR is a highly disciplined and structured group, including military police units to enforce compliance, and 3  Personal communication with author.

The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Technical Drift?

79

a well-developed network of political commissars and informants that dissuade combatants from leaving. There are credible reports that those caught attempting to depart have faced execution, and that reprisals have been taken against families of those who have successfully defected. UN DDRRR teams have also been threatened by FDLR elements. Under this view, combatants are also deceived by their leadership about the nature of contemporary life in Rwanda, prevented from having contact with Congolese communities, and given an exaggerated idea of level of support that the FDLR is likely to obtain from the international community, illusions maintained by preventing the access of combatants to information sources. But credible information on the FDLR is scarce, and what little there is comes largely from those who have joined the DDRRR program. Moreover, no systematic debriefing has taken place at DDRRR facilities in the DRC. The vast majority of research instead takes place at the principle Rwandan demobilisation facility. There is thus a very real risk of a sample bias; that former FDLR combatants are to some extent moderating what they say according to their environment or the expectations of the Rwandan government or wider international community. Neither can this consensus view explain the ability of the FDLR to continually refresh its numbers; the FDLR remained at nearly the same strength as of mid2009 as they had some five years earlier, despite a constant, if low-level, trickle of fighters leaving. It is very likely that this is due to new recruitment, from refugee populations in the DRC, Uganda and elsewhere in the region, as well as inside Rwanda itself.4 Those joining the movement are not under the coercive control of the extremist FDLR leadership, nor are they unable to obtain accurate information about life in Rwanda. Yet they choose to join the group, implying strong motivation of some type, very likely political, financial or a combination of the two. This calls into question the assumption that the majority of FDLR combatants would leave the organisation if possible. And this in turn would suggest that the Military-Technical tactic of using military pressure to fracture the hold of a small extremist leadership over a reluctant majority is unlikely to ever be successful. Weakness of Information Operations Another key element of the DDRRR strategy has been the provision of information about Rwanda. The rationale for this is that FDLR combatants have been systematically lied to about conditions in Rwanda, notably about the security of returning fighters. But an excellent 2007 study conducted by Hans Romkema for the World Bank revealed that, though FDLR leaders attempt to keep rank-and-file combatants from communicating with local people, many are in relatively regular contact with their families in Rwanda, as well as being deeply embedded in local Congolese communities, to the extent that many have taken local wives. Others 4  The phenomenon of FDLR recruitment has not been researched in any depth; we can only speculate as to the motivation and origin of new FDLR fighters.

80

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

are able to take leave outside the DRC. It is unlikely that the FDLR leadership, however efficient, would be able to entirely control the flow of information to FDLR fighters. It is true however that there are widespread rumours about conditions inside Rwanda that circulate across the Great Lakes region. For many in the DRC, and elsewhere in Africa, the Rwandan government is an unambiguous dictatorship, led by a small group of Tutsi. The point here is not whether this is true – the debate about Rwandan governance would demand a great deal more space than is available here – but that many in the region believe it to be so. There are indications that this includes some Rwandans. A spike in refugees from Rwanda into Burundi in 2006 was explained by rumours circulating of a ‘Hutu killing machine’ that was moving around the Rwandan countryside, suggesting that views of their own government among at least some sectors of Rwandan society are somewhat negative. One well-informed observer stated that FDLR combatants are frequently told to keep on fighting by their relatives still in Rwanda.5 The question therefore is whether MONUC information operations have any credibility among their target audience – exacerbated by the fact that MONUC is at the same time heavily implicated in military operations against them (see below) – and whether they are sufficient to counter the view of Rwanda that dominates in Eastern DRC, not just among the FDLR membership. Under-Investment There have also been repeated complaints that MONUC’s DDRRR program has been systematically underfunded, hamstrung by lack of resources – notably helicopter transport – insecure, and poorly co-ordinated with the military elements of the mission. As one well-informed observer put it in 1999, ‘The fact that less than 1% of the MONUC staff is tasked with the second most important objective of the entire mission seems out of balance’ (Romkema, 2009). Of course, MONUC has had a wide variety of other priorities, from observing the ceasefire in its early years, to supporting the Congolese transition, monitoring the withdrawal of foreign armed forces, organising the 2006 elections, protecting civilians and attempting to deal with the challenges posed by a wide range of Congolese armed actors, from multiple Mai Mai groups, to the CNDP of Laurent Nkunda. But it is nonetheless striking that DDRRR has been so poorly supported, in spite of widespread agreement as to the threat posed by the FDLR. Contradictions of MONUC Role This has been made more acute by the dual role that MONUC has been asked to play. MONUC has been instrumental in supporting the FARDC, both operationally in operations against armed groups – including the FDLR – and in terms of training. 5  Interview with the author, Goma, February 2008.

The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Technical Drift?

81

It has at the same time been seeking to encourage voluntary demobilisation of FDLR. In a context where individual combatants feel under acute threat, this is heavily dependent on building a relationship of trust. As the literature on demobilisation makes clear, the body implementing demobilisation needs to establish consent with the group being disarmed, a ‘sine qua non of successful disarmament and demobilisation’ (Gamba, 1997). MONUC has been simultaneously been trying to build trust with FDLR units and increasingly closely bound-up with serious attacks on them. The contradiction is clear; though we may try to maintain a ‘Chinese wall’ between the different elements of the MONUC mandate, it seems unlikely that a poorly-educated FDLR combatant would necessarily understand the distinction. Romkema offers one telling example of this, in that ‘… repatriated FDLR combatants said that they preferred (several even used the word trusted) the Radio Rwanda programme Isange mu Banyu over the MONUC Radio Okapi D&R programme Gutahuka’ (Romkema, 2007). In other words, they were more inclined to believe the state-run media of their long-standing rivals in Rwanda than the UN radio expressly designed to appeal to them. Congolese Solutions to a Regional Problem Perhaps the most serious problem has been an approach to the FDLR that … treated demobilisation as a security issue, and as one that is internal to Congo rather than acknowledging the multiple dimensions of the choice to disarm and the ongoing tensions, particularly with Rwanda, that make defection and remobilisation attractive. (Marriage, 2007)

This was reflected in successive agreements between the Congolese government and its neighbour in Rwanda; both the Pretoria agreement, that heralded the departure of Rwandan troops from the DRC, and the 2007 Nairobi Communique explicitly handed responsibility for removing the FDLR to the Congolese authorities. Of course, the Congolese government bears a great deal of responsibility, both to prevent its territory from being used by foreign armed groups and to deal with the legacy of its prior relationship with the FDLR. But in placing the weight of removing the FDLR firmly on the shoulders of the Congolese government – and, by extension, on MONUC – the roots of the movement in Rwandan politics have been all too easily overlooked. The international community has also been slow to act on the importance of the exiled leadership in Europe, the USA, Canada and elsewhere, something that has been somewhat rectified towards the end of 2009 with the arrest of two key FDLR leaders in Germany.

82

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Why Has Politics Been Ignored? Perhaps the most striking feature of anti-FDLR measures has been an absence: that of politics. As long ago as 2003, observers were pointing out the necessity of a political element to attempts to deal with the FDLR: What is needed now are stronger diplomatic efforts that address the security, political and economic concerns of the non-génocidaires FDLR rank and file, including with the government of Rwanda and between Rwanda and the DRC. (ICG, 2003)

Indeed, for all the weaknesses of the ‘Military-Technical’ approach identified above, it remains possible that no level of investment – beyond, of course, finding a military willing and capable of simply defeating the FDLR – would have been sufficient. Yet, as has been seen, there has been no real attempt made to find a political agreement, or even open meaningful dialogue. What efforts there have been have brought together the FDLR and the Congolese government, when the key political cleavage is between the FDLR and the Rwandan government. Though there are undoubtedly on-going low-level contacts between Rwanda and the FDLR – witness the defection from the FDLR of its overall military commander, General Rwarakabije, in 2006, which was organised and implemented entirely by the Rwandan authorities, with no external input whatsoever. The question therefore must be that of why the Military-Technical approach has been pursued for so long, despite consistent failure, when a political element to the strategy could potentially have unlocked the FDLR conundrum, itself the central blockage in the long-term resolution of one of Africa’s longest-running and most destructive conflicts. Legacy of Genocide Central to answering this question has been the legacy of the 1994 Rwandan genocide. The FDLR is the direct descendent of the military and militia that carried out much of the killing in 1994, and the leadership cadre – estimated at some 200 senior figures – are likely to have been involved in the genocide. Though the vast majority of FDLR rank and file are very unlikely to have been involved in 1994, and the FDLR’s stated political position does not deny that the genocide took place, or attempt to justify it, it is very likely that ethnically extremist individuals and views retain an important position in the organisation. The FDLR has also been involved in a vast array of serious human rights abuses in the DRC in the years it has been present there, which are very likely to amount to serious war-crimes. Equally, the post-genocide political settlement in Rwanda is fragile, led by a generation that is extremely nervous about the return of ethnic discourse to Rwandan politics. The present leaders of Rwanda, notably President Kagame,

The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Technical Drift?

83

have been categorical that no negotiations with the FDLR would be countenanced. There has been no enthusiasm among the international community for pressing the Rwandan government to negotiate with a group tainted by both the genocide and subsequent war-crimes, and it is extremely unlikely that any attempt to force the Rwandan government into negotiation would have been successful. Likewise, attempts at finding limited agreement with the FDLR, notably at Rome in 2005, have been hamstrung by divisions within the FDLR itself; between the military leadership in the DRC and political figureheads in Europe, between extremists and moderates, and between those who fought with the Congolese government during the war, and those who waged a guerrilla campaign in Rwandan occupied territory. These divisions are too complex to go into in depth here (See Rafti, 2006; Romkema, 2007) but suffice to say, the FDLR’s ability to negotiate – even if conditions had been more amenable to meaningful talks taking place – was, and remains, severely limited. Technical Drift It may also be the case that the DDRRR experience has reflected a trend towards viewing conflict and its resolution through a technical lens, rather than primarily as a political milieu. Disarmament and demobilisation efforts are now wellestablished elements of the ‘conflict tool-kit’, and have generated an industry of best practice, academic literature, lesson-learning and a cadre of experts. Of course, there is much value in such work, and disarmament and demobilisation are without doubt a vital part of post-conflict interventions. But allowing such technical mechanisms to take centre-stage in international community responses to conflict carries the risk of sidelining or devaluing the political foundations of violence. Thus the centrality of what I have termed the Military-Technical approach to removing the FDLR from the DRC, with the DDRRR program at its heart, may be a good example of a largely unremarked move away from politics towards technical solutions to conflict; what might be termed a ‘technical drift’. As we have seen, bringing politics back in to attempts to neutralise the threat of the FDLR would have provided no easy answers; it is perhaps the case that the international community has retained faith in the ‘Military-Technical’ approach to avoid the dilemmas that a political approach would doubtless throw up. But not acknowledging the fact that the political dimension is both real and vitally important undermines both the credibility of DDRRR efforts, and leads to false expectations among locals and observers alike that the technical approach might one day bear fruit if only the modalities of its implementation could be sufficiently improved.

84

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Conclusion Finally, it is worth asking whether the FDLR presented a suitable case for DDRRR at all. The basic objective of DDR ‘… is to contribute to security and stability in post-conflict environments … It aims to deal with the post-conflict security problem that arises when ex-combatants are left without livelihoods or support networks, other than their former comrades, during the vital transition period from conflict to peace and development.’ (‘What is DDR?’, UN DDR Resource Centre). The fact that military action against the FDLR, no matter how euphemistically titled as ‘military pressure’, has been such an important aspect of anti-FDLR operations, suggests that, in this context at least, the DRC should not be seen as a post-conflict environment. It is very likely that the FDLR have from the earliest days of the DDRRR program considered themselves at war with the Rwandan government (Swarbrick, 2003). Secondly, the literature on mainstream DDR makes it clear that the prerequisite to a successful program is political will; ‘… it is obvious that if there is no will for peace at the local and national levels, disarmament and demobilisation are unlikely to be implemented … if there is a will for peace, problems … can be overcome’ (Spear, 2002). This political will can be enforced, by a victorious party on a defeated enemy, or can a product of negotiation, giving rise to what have been termed ‘coercive’ and ‘co-operative’ disarmament. In the case of the FDLR, it is clear that neither condition has been met. A political settlement would inevitably have been very strongly resisted by the Rwandan government, and has in any case never been tried. The UN has always refused to engage directly with a military solution, instead relying on a Congolese army that is widely acknowledged to be dysfunctional. No bilateral or multi-lateral military has been willing to commit troops to the DRC, except in the very limited circumstances of two EU-led missions. And yet a lasting solution to violence in the DRC has been a high profile commitment for the international community, from the UN Secretary General to numerous global political leaders. The aspiration to resolve the Congo conflict is clearly articulated. Equally, the central role of the FDLR in ongoing violence is well-established and uncontested. It is the gap between the aspiration for sustainable peace and the willingness to commit resources to achieve this, or acknowledge the tensions between different policy goals – in this case, conflict resolution in the DRC and continued postgenocide progress in Rwanda – that the technical approach to DDRRR has had to fill. Unfortunately for the people of the DRC and the region, it has never been sufficient.

The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Technical Drift?

85

References Gamba, V. 1997. The Management of Arms in Conflict Resolution Processes. Pretoria: IIS. ICG. 2005. The Congo: Solving the FDLR Problem Once and For All. Bruxelles: International Crisis Group.ICG. 2003. The Kivus: The Forgotten Crucible of the Congo Conflict. Bruxelles: International Crisis Group. Marriage, Z. 2007. Flip-flop rebel, dollar soldier: Demobilisation in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Conflict, Security and Development 7(2), 281–309. Mollel, A. 2010. A Human Rights Approach To Conflict Prevention, Management And Resolution In Africa’s Great Lakes Region: A Focus On The DRC Conflict. Dissertation. Joensuu: University of Joensuu. Rafti, M. 2006. South Kivu: A Sanctuary for the Rebellion of the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda. Antwerp: University of Antwerp. Romkema, H. 2007. Opportunities and Constraints for the Disarmament and Repatriation of Foreign Armed Groups in the Democratic Republic of Congo (The Case of the FDLR, FNL and ADF/NALU). Kinshasa: MDRP. Romkema, H. 2009. The End in Sight? Opportunities for the Disarmament and Repatriation of the FDLR in the Democratic Republic of Congo, An Update. Kinshasa: MDRP. Spear, J. 2002. Disarmament and Demobilization, in S. J. Stedman et al. (eds) Ending Civil Wars: The Implementation of Peace Agreements. Boulder: Lynne Rienner. Stein, H. F. 1990. Adapting to doom: The group psychology of an organization threatened with cultural extinction. Political Psychology 11(1), 113–45. Swarbrick, P. 2003. DDRRR: Political Dynamics and Linkages, in M. Malan and J. Gomes Porto (eds) Challenges of Peace Implementation. The UN Mission in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Pretoria: ISS, 163–75.

This page has been left blank intentionally

Chapter 5

The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Facade of Collaboration? Zoë Marriage

Demobilisation, disarmament and reintegration programmes have featured prominently in peace processes in the Democratic Republic of Congo and more recently have taken place alongside activities associated with state-building.1 Ten years on from the signing of the Lusaka Agreement on 10 July 1999, national, regional and international attention is focused on demobilising the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda (FDLR), the last major armed group operating in the Kivus. This chapter argues, though, that the policy and implementation of these operations overlooks key political processes in their approach to demobilising the force. Moreover, while the FDLR is part of the cause of the insecurity in the Kivus, it is itself a product of a much wider framework of insecurity. Introduction There is widespread spoken agreement on the demobilisation of the FDLR. The presidents of Congo and Rwanda along with the United Nations Mission in Congo (MONUC) have publicly declared that the force should be demobilised, and the FDLR itself agreed to demobilise and return to Rwanda as a political party in March 2005; but demobilisation programmes have had limited success or have failed. This chapter problematises this situation from a security perspective: it accepts that the FDLR have brought severe insecurity to populations in the Kivus, and it explores how this was possible. How are the conditions generated in which a force of this nature is able to operate? The purpose of this analysis is to frame conclusions with regard to the bureaucratic and political interactions between states and non-state actors rather than perceiving simply the predations of a violent militia. The model of security evident in the demobilisation programme conforms to broadly realist tenets of a 1  Most interventions are not defined as ‘state-building’, but fall within the accepted gamut of state-building activities (Fritz and Menocal, 2007), including elements of governance, capacity-building and institutional reform. Many indices classify Congo as a ‘fragile state’, a diagnosis that indicates state-building as a policy implication, and Putzel identifies 2001–2006 as the era of ‘state reconstruction’ (Putzel et al., 2008).

88

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

weaker force (the FDLR) being pushed to surrender by a militarily greater force (the combined strength of the Congolese and Rwandan armies and MONUC). It does not acknowledge the bureaucratic element of power, including the relationships between the leadership, the army and the population, or the dynamic nature of the politics inherent to shifting strategic alliances. By contrast this chapter explores the nature of security through the interaction of actors who influence the security environment, in which security ‘assumes a field of relationships, including a threatener, the threatened, the protector or means of protection, and the protected’ (Fierke, 2007: 46). This is a preferable model of security for two reasons: firstly it accepts that there is a political dimension to security, rather than it being only about militarily competing forces. Secondly by analysing threats – rather than simply force – it allows for the security of nonmilitary actors to be recognised and incorporated into the analysis: the civilian population in Kivu is excluded from an analysis that rests on military firepower. Demobilisation: Bureaucracy and Politics The Kivu provinces on the eastern side of Congo, bordering Rwanda and Burundi, have been a contested area for decades: conflicts over land, mining, citizenship, nationality and ethnicity have recurred since Independence in 1960. These conflicts intensified in the early 1990s and the Kivus were the area in which both the Congo wars started at the end of the decade. Now ten years since the Lusaka Agreement that nominally ended the Second War, the Kivus remain the provinces of highest militarisation and violence in Congo. National, regional and international demobilisation efforts are concentrated on the FDLR,2 a force that draws its political ideology and personnel from the Interahamwe militias3 and the previous Rwandan regime and its army, the ex-FAR.4 When Paul Kagame’s Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) took Kigali in 1994, these elements crossed the border to what was then Zaire, regrouped and recruited from among exiled Rwandans and others who identify themselves as Hutu in the country and elsewhere in the region. Disarmament, demobilisation and reintegration (DDR) policies have been recurrent in Congo’s peace processes, have adhered to the dominant international template for demobilisation interventions, and have proved problematic (ICG, 2005a; ICG, 2005b; Nest et al., 2006; Marriage, 2007). In the last 10 years thousands of fighters have disarmed, but many have not been through the demobilisation 2  The FDLR also goes by the name of FDLR-FOCA, FOCA being the acronym for the military wing, Forces Combattants Abacunguzi. 3  The Interahamwe were the militias who led the Genocide in Rwanda in 1994. On their defeat they fled to Congo and established the Democratic Rally for Rwanda (RDR). Rwanda invaded Congo and destroyed the force in 1996, but elements regrouped to form ALiR the following year. 4  Ex-Rwandan Armed Forces.

The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Facade of Collaboration?

89

programme, economic recovery has been muted or non-existent and remobilisation occurs. The continuing existence of the FDLR in the Kivus continues to threaten the civilian population and brings the shortcomings of the demobilisation into focus as the force has been specifically targeted for demobilisation since 2002. The number of FDLR combatants, estimated at 15,000 in 2002, fell by approximately half by 2007 and has remained at around 6–7000 since (ICG, 2009). The demobilisation programmes have been accompanied by political developments, including a rapprochement of sorts between the Congolese and Rwandan states. In early 2009 the two governments launched a joint initiative to demobilise the FDLR, and this was followed by a further mission led by the Congolese army. These demobilisation programmes have had a consensual ring to them: the first was named ‘Umoja Wetu’ meaning ‘Our Unity’, referring to the unprecedented collaboration between the Armed Forces of the Democratic Republic of Congo (FARDC) and the Rwandan army, and the second bore the title Kimia II meaning ‘peace’, being an FARDC and MONUC operation. Such titles notwithstanding, both initiatives were military offensives on territory held by the FDLR although they involved few direct battles. Despite the superior force of the Rwandan army and the familiarity of the FARDC with the FDLR, the force was not demobilised or even much weakened, and both missions prompted heavy reprisals by the FDLR on the civilian population (ICG, 2009: 11–13; Oxfam, 2009).5 In concrete terms the FDLR is sustained through an international network of support and gold and cassiterite trading (UNSC, 2009). In political terms the continued existence of the FDLR can be attributed to two key factors. Firstly, the FDLR evaded demobilisation because the programmes lacked influence over the fighters and the situation more generally: the FDLR and their victims have become politically insignificant and are outside the protection of any party. In Fierke’s typology the FDLR occupied positions as both the threatened and the threateners in the ‘field of relationships’ (Fierke, 2007: 46), and the civilian population is threatened both by the violence of the FDLR and by the political situation that supports the force. On account of the negligible political standing of the FDLR and their victims, though, these relationships were not reworked through political coercion or protection. The fighters are exiled or otherwise marginalised, and their victims have become a humanitarian disaster while the ‘real’ politics takes place in the capital cities of Congo and Rwanda. This means that the fighting has persisted but has not been widely interpreted as politically compromising to the governance or political development in either Kinshasa or Kigali, which have received international backing and approbation.

5  Oxfam reported that ‘for every rebel combatant disarmed during the operation, one civilian has been killed, seven women and girls have been raped, six houses burned and destroyed, and 900,000 people have been forced to flee their homes.’ http://www.oxfam. org/en/pressroom/pressrelease/2009-10-13/dr-congo-civilian-cost-military-operationunacceptable (accessed 24 October 2009).

90

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

The second factor contributing to the continued existence of the FDLR stems from the inefficacy of the intervention on account of the gulf between the policy formulation of disarming fighters and the reality of the political processes in the region. The Congolese state has not had full administrative or military control over the Kivus for years and does not have the capacity to fulfil its responsibilities within the demobilisation programme. The security situation in this border area has been determined by an ill-disciplined Congolese army, an invading Rwandan army and a number of non-state actors: Kinshasa-backed and locally mobilised militias, Rwandan-backed militias and MONUC. The next section of the chapter looks in more detail at these two factors and the actors that shape them. The Congolese State The bureaucratic assumptions of the programmes are that the FARDC should demobilise and integrate FDLR fighters. This perspective does not interrogate the relationship between the two forces or the role that the army has played in generating the conditions of insecurity: it generates the ‘possibility’ of integration by ignoring the costs imposed on civilians. According to Human Rights Watch, the FARDC is the single largest perpetrator of sexual violence in Congo (HRW, 2009: 21). The army’s behaviour demonstrates a national security debility in failing to provide minimal protection for the population. In addition, the state does not have a monopoly on the legitimate use of violence and has instead been active in decentralising the use of force: the FARDC collaborated with ALiR6 (the FDLR’s precursor) during the wars, and later with the FDLR using the militia as a frontline against Rwandan aggressors. In October 2008, the FARDC collaborated with the FDLR against Laurent Nkunda’s CNDP7 (ICG, 2009: 21), Rwanda’s most recent proxy force in the Kivus. So, in theory the FDLR calls into question the state’s security but it has in practice been militarily useful. The state’s security situation – in terms of providing security to the population and gaining a monopoly on the use of violence – is adversely affected by other groups as well, and the dynamics between these actors affect the political value of the FDLR. The FARDC suffered a number of defeats at the hands of the CNDP in 2008, which pushed the Congolese state into accommodation with Rwanda. Whilst potentially significant in military and political terms, the impact of the regional shift was dwarfed by another development: unequivocal and high-profile exposure of the Rwandan government’s support to the CNDP in late 2008 led to a swift cut in donor funds to Rwanda, followed by capitulation by the government, which arrested Nkunda. With the disbanding of the CNDP later in the year,8 the FDLR’s 6  Army for the Liberation of Rwanda. 7  National Congress for the Defence of the People. 8  Despite the official disbanding of the CNDP, reports of checkpoints manned by soldiers claiming to be with the force continue: http://www.irinnews.org/Report.

The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Facade of Collaboration?

91

currency with the Congolese state decreased and the Kinshasa government agreed to the joint demobilisation operation with the Rwandan army. In reality, though, the FARDC is not in a strong position to demobilise the FDLR; the state has little to offer the FDLR fighters, many of whom consider themselves to be Rwandan exiles, not Congolese. Moreover, the combatants of the FDLR have much in common with the army troops, in terms of their experience of the war, poor pay and conditions and a risky and violent life (Keen, 2005).9 The FARDC is institutionally weak: its troops are often unpaid, underpaid or paid late, and frequently pillage the population in the east of Congo. Continuing dissatisfaction within the army and unsuccessful military campaigning provides the FDLR simultaneously with personnel and purpose as the force is able to recruit from the army ranks. Given the recent history between the FARDC and FDLR, the lack of capacity of the state and the fact that the FDLR remains a potential asset to the FARDC, Umoja Wetu and Kimia II were likely to have only limited results. Fewer than 400 combatants, mainly children without weapons (ICG, 2009: 11), were repatriated to Rwanda during Umoja Wetu. Nonetheless, the Congolese Defence Minister announced that the operation had been 85 percent successful and that the FDLR threat had been ‘neutralised’;10 MONUC and the Rwandan army also claimed the operation had severely disrupted the FDLR’s structure and would lead to its defeat.11 The superior force had reduced the numbers of the inferior force and could claim its victory. Civilian casualties had hardly featured in the rationale for demobilisation and therefore were not recognised as compromising its achievements. Despite the FARDC’s inglorious record, particularly in the east of the country, and the ongoing insecurity of the people and the border, the official processes of state-building have progressed in Kinshasa despite the weaknesses in security in the provinces. The northern sponsored transition period and elections were not adversely affected by the continued fighting in the Kivus and elsewhere, which was treated by donors as a humanitarian disaster – the impact of which could be met with NGO assistance – and a remnant of the war, rather than as the outcome of continuing tensions and competing security concerns across the region.

aspx?ReportId=85462 (accessed 3 August 2009). 9  Analysing the war in Sierra Leone, Keen notes that the Revolutionary United Front insurgents had much in common with the poorly paid troops of the Sierra Leonean Army (Keen, 2005). 10   http://globalvoicesonline.org/2009/04/22/rwanda-the-unresolved-fdlr-issue/ (accessed 11 September 2009). 11  http://www.reliefweb.int/rw/rwb.nsf/db900SID/VDUX-7U8JPB?OpenDocument (accessed 30 September 2009).

92

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

The Rwandan State The Rwandan state is much stronger bureaucratically than the Congolese state and its army is more disciplined. Since the withdrawal of Rwandan troops from Congo in 2002, Rwanda has exerted its influence in the Kivus through militias, thereby maintaining its infringement of Congo’s sovereignty. The FDLR, also comprised largely of Rwandans, violates Congo’s sovereignty as well. The Rwandan attacks on civilians and mineral and military installations in Congo since 1996 have been accompanied by claims of its security concerns about the FDLR, its predations on Tutsi groups in Congo and its attacks on Rwanda. The Rwandan government has instilled little confidence in the demobilisation among the exiled fighters. It offered an amnesty to members of the FDLR who were not involved in the genocide in Rwanda; it then presented the Congolese government with a list of 6,974 people wanted on genocide crimes – a number close to the total number of FDLR fighters.12 The legal system in Rwanda has been overwhelmed by genocide cases, and distinguishing those guilty of genocide charges from others in the FDLR would not be any more straightforward. In terms of the demobilisation strategy, the threat of prosecution means that many higher ranking FDLR have no incentive to return to Rwanda, and many of the lower ranks are unlikely to be released from service. The example of General Amani is damaging: Amani demobilised voluntarily in 2005, taking 150 men with him, and was celebrated in Kigali. He was then tried and condemned to life in prison in 2008. The Rwandan government’s policy of apparently encouraging repatriation whilst maintaining the threat of trial and its refusal to negotiate with the FDLR is in keeping with its tight control on political space at home. The policy also indicates that Rwanda’s security is not genuinely threatened by the FDLR: the government is not being pushed to the negotiating table, and indeed the FDLR has not made serious attacks on Rwanda since 2001. Meanwhile, despite the low level of the threat posed by the FDLR, Rwanda’s involvement in Congo has not abated and has been largely overlooked in diplomatic terms, at least since the formal withdrawal of troops in 2002. The support that the Rwandan government has given to militias and the forms of aggression it has supported (for which the FDLR provides a foil) have continued for years without detracting from the political and economic developments in Kigali.13 12   http://globalvoicesonline.org/2009/04/22/rwanda-the-unresolved-fdlr-issue/ (accessed 11 September 2009). By contrast, the ICG reckoned in 2003 that the ‘vast majority’ of FDLR troops had been recruited after the genocide (ICG, 2003: 22). Many of the current fighters would have been children in 1994 and some 30 percent of the force are Congolese – http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=85462 (accessed 3 August 2009). 13  The UK Department for International Development (DFID), for example, has supported Rwanda’s development since the genocide. In 2000, Clare Short, then Secretary

The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Facade of Collaboration?

93

MONUC MONUC is a non-state armed actor that has been operational in Congo for ten years. Its role in the demobilisation process was ordained in Resolution 1291 of 24 February 2000, when it was mandated to ‘Develop, within 45 days … an action plan for the overall implementation of the Ceasefire Agreement … [including] the comprehensive disarmament, demobilization, reintegration of all members of all armed groups … and the orderly withdrawal of all foreign forces.’ The resolution included a Chapter VII mandate ‘to protect civilians under imminent threat of physical violence’.14 The time elapsed since the original mandate is indicative of MONUC’s performance in the east of Congo. MONUC does not have the capacity or the mandate to disarm the FDLR by force, but it is charged with developing the action plan and protecting civilians and it has not achieved this. It has also not gained the confidence of the population of the Kivus,15 partly on account of the unrealistic timeframes and expectations: its troop numbers lagged behind what was demanded of it, at high cost to the population. In addition, a series of scandals, including of sexual exploitation and mineral trading have further tarnished the reputation of MONUC troops.16 MONUC has not established viable security for the population in eastern Congo, despite its funding and profile, and despite the formal withdrawal of foreign troops. The proposed reform of the security sector, in which the UN has played a key role, has not addressed the predatory nature of the state or the army, and through its involvement in the disastrously partial integration of militias into the FARDC, MONUC has been implicated in instituting new forms of indiscipline in army ranks. As regards demobilisation, MONUC provides the FDLR with little incentive to demobilise and cannot apply much pressure either: with no carrots or sticks, the situation has stalled. Meanwhile, the continued

of State for International Development, asserted, ‘Rwanda has what I might call the best case for being involved in the DRC. Fighters there wish to return to Rwanda to complete the genocide. For Rwanda, to fight back means that the north of the country has been pacified, and things in Rwanda are better accordingly’ (cited in Marriage, 2006: 34). It was a position that established an uncritical basis for giving aid. 14  http://www.un.org/Depts/dpko/missions/monuc/mandate.html (accessed 23 July 2009). 15  The population attacked MONUC vehicles on various occasions, including on 23 November 2008 when MONUC was perceived to be escorting CNDP elements: http://docs. google.com/gview?a=v&q=cache:W4ueHOPXqrEJ:ochaonline.un.org/OchaLinkClick.as px%3Flink%3Docha%26docId%3D1096522+monuc+kivu+attacked+by+population&hl= en (accessed 16 September 2009). 16   http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/africa/sex-and-the-un-whenpeacemakers-become-predators-486170.html; http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/ article405213.ece. Both accessed 16 September 2009.

94

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

violence in the Kivus allows MONUC to perform a role without posing a direct challenge to the power brokers in Kinshasa.17 The FDLR The FDLR was created in 2000 when ALiR joined forces with the Hutu resistance in Kinshasa. During the wars, ALiR was a force multiplier for the Congolese government, working alongside other non-state groups (principally the Mai Mai local defence units) in resisting the Rwandan-backed Rassemblement Congolais pour la Democratie (RCD) and the Rwandan and Ugandan armies. It also attacked Congolese civilians accused of collaborating with the invading forces. The FDLR is no one’s constituency: it is not only a non-state actor, it is stateless and consequently outside of any political contract or bureaucratic management. Many of the fighters are Rwandan, but they are not under Rwandan command and their demands are for regime change in Rwanda; they are commanded by Ignace Murwanashyaka and Straton Musoni, who live in Germany,18 and Secretary General Calixte Mbarushimana, who lives in France. They are based in Congo and have been the hired guns of the state, but the majority are not Congolese, or subject to Congolese law, control or coercion. The entire existence and activity of the FDLR has taken place within, and been shaped by, a time and space of insecurity and contested sovereignty (ICG, 2003). The FDLR poses something of a challenge to the government in Kinshasa as its existence exposes the government’s lack of authority and monopoly over the use of violence. It is, in other ways, a challenge to the Rwandan government: it is a hostile armed force over the border, as the RPF were before the civil war and genocide in Rwanda. Additionally, its proposed transformation into a political party in 2005 exposed the practical impossibility of establishing a political opposition in Kigali. Militarily though, the threat is not to the Congolese or Rwandan states but to the civilians living in the Kivus. This is a population that has been pillaged by many armed groups over the last fifteen years and has no effective armed protection or recourse to justice. Their suffering is, in political terms, insignificant:19 more civilians than FDLR fighters were killed during and in the aftermath of Umoja

17  Whilst MONUC has maintained a presence in Kinshasa, its military operations have been restricted to the eastern part of the country. 18  These two men were arrested in November 2009 on suspicion of war crimes and crimes against humanity, following the submission of the Panel of Experts Report. 19  The Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) occupies a similar position in Congo: an armed force that is sustained both by the policy of its home country, Uganda, and by the situation of compromised security in Congo. The Ugandan army’s offensives against the LRA are more overtly military (Operation Lightning Thunder), but these too have essentially allowed the LRA to continue operating.

The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Facade of Collaboration?

95

Wetu, and yet the operation was paraded as a success. Since the ‘demobilisation’, more recruitment has taken place (Oxfam, 2009: 4). The FDLR does not have the capacity to raise the level of warfare or make territorial gains and does not threaten either Kinshasa or Kigali; it is weaker than both armies and does not receive protection from either state. In conventional terms it is an easy target. Moreover, the FDLR has been useful to the Rwandan and Congolese governments and ultimately – rather than being a point of contestation – has provided a point of contact between the two countries: a force on which continuing violence in the Kivus can be blamed and around which a joint mission could be mobilised, attracting foreign funding and political credit. FDLR as Product of Insecurity The presentation of the FDLR as the cause of insecurity is politically expedient for the states of Congo and Rwanda, both of which present themselves as victims of rebel violence. Such a perspective has direct benefits for MONUC and its donors too as it justifies the kinds of demobilisation programmes that have been implemented in eastern Congo. Blaming the FDLR for the violence also allows the UN, official donors and NGOs to continue working in the region, dealing with a specific perpetrator of violence (the FDLR) and its victims (the population of the Kivus) and does not compel these organisations to draw attention to, or critique, the role governments have played in violence and abuse. Analytically, it makes more sense to see the FDLR as the product of the states of Congo and Rwanda and their security interests and concerns. The security stalemate between the two countries – the slight rapprochement of 2009 notwithstanding – has given the FDLR the political and geographical territory in which to operate. Focusing on the conflict between these two states, the shifting political dynamic between the two armies and the various militia forces explains why iterative flawed attempts have been made against the FDLR, why they are trumpeted as successes, why the FDLR is decreasing in size, despite the shortcomings of the demobilisation processes and how it continues to operate despite its small base. Such an explanation also requires that the violence, including predation, against the population is brought into the security analysis as little threat is posed directly between the armed groups. The FDLR is militarily unambitious20 and isolated, but has proven longstanding as demobilisation initiatives have overlooked the processes that generate and sustain it.

20  The rhetoric of the FDLR is ambitious but in military terms they have limited capacity and operate through skirmishes and pillaging rather than through attempts to capture the state.

96

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Demobilising the FDLR is not a task of disarming troops21 but a political challenge to be viewed through the optics of national and regional security that illuminate the processes that allow the FDLR to operate. Celebration of the troops disarmed has exaggerated the technical success of the programmes and has overlooked both the political processes that have created the FDLR and the consequences of shoddy military activity against the force. In security terms, attacking the FDLR risks nourishing the group as recruitment feeds off Congolese military malaise and the force draws its rationale from experiences of Rwandan state aggression. Demobilisation requires state capacity to reconfigure the security arrangement in the Kivus to ensure the genuine limitation of Rwanda’s ambitions in Congo and the extension of Congolese state authority to the border. If the Congolese state had the ability to manage the political and economic situation of the Kivus, the FDLR would be rendered redundant: it would be denied both its political space of insecurity and contested sovereignty, and an unprotected population on which to prey. The weakness of the population’s position means that civilians are written out of the security equation: the interests and power of state are not diminished by its inability to protect the population or its inability to deal with the FDLR. Conclusion In November 2009 a Panel of Experts Report found that, contrary to the claims made, the military operations had failed to dismantle the FDLR (UNSC, 2009). The demobilisation programmes were conceived without reference to the capacity or inclination of key actors. They have not contributed to Congolese state capacity, and have instead exposed the weakness of the Congolese state, which has not upheld its responsibilities in the demobilisation programmes. The FDLR ‘continues to benefit from residual but significant support from top commanders of the … FARDC’ (UNSC, 2009: 3) and has benefited also from the malaise institutionalised through the partial integration of the CNDP. The state has been discredited further by association with MONUC, which has not fulfilled its mandate. This chapter has identified specific inconsistencies in the security politics of the demobilisation programmes, which have relied on conventional notions of superior military capacity: encouraging fighters to disarm whilst maintaining the threat of prosecution in Rwanda; approaching demobilisation with little practical or political leverage over the force; and apparently pursuing forces that may still be militarily useful to Kinshasa. The demobilisation also sits uneasily with other aspects of international intervention as the violence in the east and the role 21  Disarmament was the subject of Chapter 9 of the Lusaka Agreement and charged the Joint Military Commission, with the assistance of the UN and OAU, to track, disarm, canton and document all armed groups and hand over mass killers and war criminals to the International Tribunal in Arusha within 120 days.

The Case of the FDLR in DR Congo: A Facade of Collaboration?

97

the Congolese and Rwandan states play in it contradicts the claims made about political progress in Kinshasa and Kigali. The demobilisation of the FDLR was declared a success as there were marginal military gains: the surrender of a small number of fighters. Conceptualising the FDLR within a ‘field of relationships’, though, incorporates the losses inflicted on civilians to demonstrate that the demobilisation programmes were not only catastrophic in their implementation, their conceptualisation provided no apparatus by which to alter the configuration of these relationships in order to offer more protection (or ensure less threat) to the population. The attacks by the FDLR are real, but take place within a set of security conditions that have granted the force political space, including by failing to provide protection for civilians. This chapter has unpacked the circumstances of who is protected and who threatened, and has found that insecurity has been generated by years of state negligence and abuse from Congo and violent state aggression from Rwanda. The bureaucratic trajectories of Rwanda and Congo have not provided opportunities to accommodate or negotiate with the FDLR; the force consider their future to be incompatible with that of the current regime in Rwanda and the recent programmes have increased the insecurity of the population of Kivu to further attacks. The programmes designated the FDLR as the scapegoat for a range of more powerful actors and have provided regional governments with a stage on which to parade their collaboration. The process of joining forces to attack the FDLR has served specific short term political goals. This is a distraction and one in which MONUC and northern donors have been implicated by providing uncritical support to the programmes and the governments that are responsible for the conditions of insecurity. References Fierke, K. M. 2007. Critical Approaches to International Security. Cambridge and Malden: Polity. Fritz, V. and Menocal, A. R. 2007. Understanding State-Building From a Political Economy Perspective. An Analytical and Conceptual Paper on Processes, Embedded Tensions and Lessons for International Engagement. Report for DFID’s Effective and Fragile States Teams. London: Overseas Development Institute. HRW. 2009. Soldiers Who Rape, Commanders Who Condone. Sexual Violence and Military Reform in the Democratic Republic of Congo. New York: Human Rights Watch. ICG. 2003. Rwandan Hutu Rebels in the Congo: A New Approach to Disarmament and Reintegration. Nairobi/Brussels: International Crisis Group. ICG. 2005a. The Congo’s Transition is Failing: Crisis in the Kivus. Nairobi/ Brussels: International Crisis Group.

98

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

ICG. 2005b. The Congo: Solving the FDLR Problem Once and for All. Nairobi/ Brussels: International Crisis Group. ICG. 2009. Congo: une stratégie globale pour désarmer les FDLR. Brussels: International Crisis Group. Keen, D. 2005. Conflict and Collusion in Sierra Leone. Oxford: James Currey. Marriage, Z. 2006. Not Breaking the Rules, Not Playing the Game. International Assistance to Countries at War. London: Hurst & Co. Marriage, Z. 2007. Flip-flop rebel dollar soldier. Demobilisation in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Conflict, Security and Development 7(2): 281–309. Nest, M. et al. 2006. The Democratic Republic of Congo. Economic Dimensions of War and Peace. Colorado: Lynne Rienner. Oxfam. 2009. Waking the Devil: The Impact of Forced Disarmament on Civilians in the Kivus. Oxford: Oxfam. Putzel, J. et al. 2008. Drivers of Change in the Democratic Republic of Congo: The Rise and Decline of the State and Challenges for Reconstruction. A Literature Review. London: Crisis States Research Centre (LSE). UNSC. 2009. Letter dated 23 November 2009 from the Chairman of the Security Council Committee established pursuant to resolution 1533 (2004) concerning the Democratic Republic of the Congo addressed to the President of the Security Council – Final Report of the Group of Experts on the Democratic Republic of the Congo (S/2009/603). Geneva: United Nations Security Council.

Chapter 6

Settlement Without Disarmament in the Philippines: The Unheralded Outcomes of the GRP–MNLF Final Peace Agreement1 Francisco J. Lara Jr 2

The 1996 Final Peace Agreement (FPA) between the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) and the Government of the Republic of the Philippines (GRP) in the southern island of Mindanao is often assessed within the framework of DDR, though none of the key documents and transcripts of the negotiations referred to this framework (Iribani, 2006: 338; Santos, 2007: 4). Instead the FPA mandated a post-conflict reconstruction and rehabilitation program which did not include any deal to disarm or demobilize MNLF combatants.3 The absence of disarmament is therefore seen as a critical flaw in the FPA, especially in a region where the proliferation of small arms and light weapons is a key contributing factor to the enduring violence and conflict (Coronel-Ferrer, 1999: 2–3; Quitoriano and Libre, 2001: 13–39; Makinano and Lubang, 2001: 34–5; Boada, 2009: 16). The Philippines is notorious for the spread of illegally manufactured and traded firearms, especially in the southern part of the country. National estimates range from a low of 450,000 to a high of 950,000 unregistered firearms. In the Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) alone, the Philippine National Police (PNP) Regional Office estimates that 69,000 firearms are under the control of ex-combatants of the MNLF, paramilitaries under the command of warlords and clans, combatants belonging to the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF), and various criminal elements.4 The 23 November 2009 massacre of 1  My thanks to Dr Antonio Giustozzi for his helpful comments, to Prof. Miriam Coronel Ferrer, Department of Political Science, University of the Philippines, and Atty Soliman Santos Jr. of the South-South Network (SSN) for Non-State Armed Group Engagement who gave access to their data and their studies of the process of MNLF integration to the Armed Forces of the Philippines. 2  The author is a PhD candidate in Development Studies, LSE, and a research associate at the Crisis States Research Centre, LSE. 3  The GRP–MNLF Final Peace Agreement was signed on 2 September 1996. 4  Police Chief Superintendent and ARMM Regional Director Joel Goltiao, interviewed by the author, 14 December 2007, Parang, Maguindanao. For national estimates on the number of loose firearms, see PHILANSA, 2008.

100

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

civilians and journalists in the ARMM province of Maguindanao demonstrates how a single warlord clan in the region can place thousands of fully armed militia at its own disposal. The Maguindanao massacre claimed the lives of 57 people, 30 of whom were journalists. After the crime was committed, martial law was imposed on the province and a search for firearms was conducted. As of December 2009, the military announced that more than 1500 high-powered firearms (HPF) have been confiscated, or less than half of the expected number of HPF controlled by the warlord’s 4,000 armed militia.5 Avoiding disarmament and demobilization would seem to undermine a fundamental proposition of state-building – the monopoly and control by the State of the means of coercion. It is an important issue that also lies at the core of the ongoing peace negotiations between the GRP and the MILF. The MILF was founded by Hashim Salamat, an Islamic scholar and former member of the MNLF Central Committee. He left the MNLF and founded the MILF in 1988 after Misuari accepted the terms of the Libya-brokered 1976 Tripoli Agreement which settled on autonomy, instead of independence, for Muslim Mindanao. Official estimates place the number of MILF combatants at 11,880 as of 2004. The absence of a disarmament and demobilization agreement can be understood in the broader context of the negotiation process and the principles that guided the FPA. The parties agreed to a fundamental principle that would govern the peace talks, i.e., ‘peace that is principled, lasting, with neither blame nor surrender for either side, with dignity for all concerned’ (Iribani, 2006: 125). It became a basic principle in the peace negotiations after the MNLF insisted that disarmament implied surrender – a position they were unwilling to accept. This principle was recognized by the GRP panel, and gained legitimacy after it was upheld by third parties such as the Organization of the Islamic Conference (OIC), in particular its International Council of Foreign Ministers (ICFM) and countries such as Libya, Saudi Arabia, and Indonesia. In the OIC conference of 1977, the MNLF was accorded ‘observer’ status. In subsequent meetings of the ICFM in 1978, 1984, and 1986, the MNLF moved from being recognized as the ‘legal’, to the ‘legitimate and sole’ representative of the Bangsamoro people (Rodil, 2000: 71–2). This signifies that the absence, rather than the presence, of disarmament and demobilization was critical to concluding a political settlement with the MNLF. Philippine President Fidel Ramos notes in his book that disarmament and demobilization would have created an impasse (Ramos, 1996: 87). GRP panel member Prof. Rody Rodil noted how the peace negotiations could only move forward after the GRP agreed to integrate the MNLF into the AFP and the PNP (Rodil, 2000: 121). Instead the FPA mandated a phased integration of MNLF combatants into the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) and the PNP, and the implementation of a post-conflict rehabilitation program. 5  Philippine Daily Inquirer, 18 December 2009. For further analysis of the massacre, see ICG, 2009; Lara, 2009 and 2010.

Settlement Without Disarmament in the Philippines

101

However, the agreed principles raise some critical issues. Did the process of integration mitigate the potential threat posed by the continued possession of arms by the MNLF? Did the rehabilitation program provide adequate livelihoods to ensure that the ex-combatants, their families, and their communities could now live in peace? Did the reconstruction and rehabilitation of conflict affected areas produce sustained economic growth? This paper argues that the integration of ex-combatants into the state’s security infrastructure produced positive effects on the ability of the Philippine state to extend its administrative reach and strengthen its military position in Muslim Mindanao. Even though community-level violence and crime continued to rise, the lasting impact lies in the enhanced ability of the GRP to neutralize other armed challenges (MILF) and emerging threats of terrorist violence (Abu Sayyaf). Beyond the integration process, the FPA as a whole also enabled the State to mobilize international support for its development agenda. The FPA created conducive conditions for the flow of foreign financial aid and investments for development projects in the region, which helped enhance the state’s revenue generation in the area, and strengthen the credibility and legitimacy of the GRP at the national and international level. However, the post-conflict rehabilitation program failed to meet the expectations of ex-combatants and their families. Rehabilitation of conflict-affected areas also failed to create the momentum for sustained and broad-based economic growth due to structural barriers that hampered the full implementation of the agreement. Integration Instead of Disarmament and Demobilization The integration of MNLF combatants into the security apparatus of the State faced enormous challenges and difficulties, though it has been acknowledged as the most successful aspect of the peace process (Coronel-Ferrer, 1999: 1–3; Makinano and Lubang, 2001: 31–4; Boada, 2009: 8). Miriam Coronel-Ferrer (1999) provides a factual and detailed presentation of the problems encountered during the integration process, including cases of AWOL and desertion; issues of discipline; issues over ranks and commissions; and, complaints over low and delayed salaries etc. Coronel-Ferrer concludes that though the integration process was a success, it has only produced a ‘tentative peace’ as no actual de-militarization has occurred. MNLF combatants were integrated into the AFP and the PNP where they were given training, commissions, and firearms in their new role as soldiers and police. According to the Office of the Presidential Adviser on the Peace Process (OPAPP), a total of 7,974 MNLF combatants were actually integrated into the AFP and PNP by the end of 2007. This figure differs from the data presented in another study (Boada, 2005: 5) which reports a total of 9,680 combatants integrated to the AFP (4,850) and the PNP (4,835) as of 2005. However, both figures highlight the fact that less than half of the estimated 17,700 MNLF combatants and militias were integrated. (Makinano and Lubang, 2001: 29). Parallel to the integration process

102

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

was a voluntary ‘cash for guns’ program which netted close to five thousand weapons. As of September 1999, the rebel-integrees have turned over 4,874 weapons under the BARIL (Bring a Rifle, Improve your Livelihood) program, three quarters of which were outmoded Garand and carbine rifles (AFP, 1999). On a nationwide scale an expanded cash for guns initiative called the Balik-BARIL program led to the surrender of 25,600 firearms and 3,400 explosives. The peace agreement was also accompanied by a commitment from the GRP to hand over the reins of the ARMM to MNLF leaders as a political dividend (Danguilan Vitug and Gloria, 2000: 43–9, Rodil, 2000: 121). Part of the agreement between then President Fidel Ramos (1992–1998) and MNLF Chairman Nur Misuari was that the ruling party Lakas-NUCD, and national government resources, would be used to support Misuari’s candidacy as Governor of the ARMM. Misuari won the ARMM elections in 1996 and became ARMM Governor in December of the same year. Based on the 1976 Tripoli agreement between the GRP–MNLF, and witnessed by the OIC, an autonomous region would be established to include 13 provinces and cities in Mindanao and Palawan. However, following a series of referenda to determine the composition of the autonomous region, only five provinces and one city decided to join. The ARMM is currently composed of the five provinces of Maguindanao, Lanao del Sur, Basilan, Sulu, and Tawi-tawi, and the Islamic City of Marawi. MNLF Chairman Nur Misuari was elected as ARMM Governor in December 1996, less than four months after the agreement was signed. The signing of the peace agreement and the ascension to power of rebel leaders a few months after the conclusion of peace talks generated optimism and trust among people within and without Muslim Mindanao. Having presided over a successful negotiation process saw Misuari’s legitimacy rise at both the national and international level. Misuari’s popularity and legitimacy was at its peak, such that even the MILF welcomed and voiced its support for the GRP– MNLF negotiations and the FPA. A tide of international recognition was received by the MNLF that went beyond its traditional base of support in the Islamic states (Iribani, 2006: 246–69; see also Danguilan Vitug and Gloria, 2000: 44–5, 60– 71). The reintegration of Moro fighters into the AFP and PNP helped to cement this legitimacy at the local level, especially in the provinces of Sulu, Tawi-tawi, Zamboanga, and Lanao Sur, as the families and communities who had supported the MNLF saw aid projects enter their areas and their kin given jobs in the regional government, the army, and the police.6 However, there was some opposition within the MNLF to Misuari’s acceptance of the post of Governor and being concurrently Chairman of the Southern Philippines Council for Peace and Development (SPCPD), a newly created council under the FPA that was supposed to lead and supervise the post-conflict

6  Mashor Mamolawan, Executive Director, MUCARRD-POM, interviewed by the author, 1 December 2007, Islamic City of Marawi. Mariam Barandia, Executive Director, Kapamagogopa, interviewed by the author, 30 November 2007, Iligan City.

Settlement Without Disarmament in the Philippines

103

rehabilitation and development process.7 Other rebel leaders who had supported Misuari had doubts over whether the agreement was simply a trap to dampen popular support in Moro-dominated areas to the Bangsamoro struggle.8 Worse, some MNLF commanders felt that they were just being used to train their weapons against fellow Muslims, especially in Sulu and Basilan.9 The uneasiness of several MNLF leaders to the terms of the integration process was accompanied by the unsettled issue of creating a special regional security force (SRSF) that was truly under the supervision and control of the ARMM Governor. Integration of combatants and the setting up of an SRSF had been intertwined in the peace negotiations, with the former being the most contentious (Iribani, 2006: 308–19). Yet when the MNLF agreed to a compromise on the numbers of combatants to be integrated within the GRP, the nature and functions of the SRSF became a secondary concern. The SRSF issue was also overtaken by the GRP proposal to support Nur Misuari as the government’s candidate for ARMM Governor, a move which appeared to dampen further disagreement on the nature of the SRSF. Consequently, the SRSF became an appendage of the PNP organizational structure, its direction and command subservient to the authority of the National Police Commission, as indicated in the implementing rules and regulations of the FPA (Art. III, B). Subsequent studies of the integration process and the formation of the SRSF would validate the MNLF’s fears. The integrees were not organized under separate units headed by an MNLF–AFP deputy commander, in violation of paragraph 20b and 20c of the FPA. Furthermore, the AFP continues to mobilize the ex-MNLF combatants to fight the MILF, as well as their former MNLF comrades who have not been demobilized. (Rasul, 2007: 9, 15; Balana). Indeed, after settling the issue of integration and Misuari’s acceptance to run as Governor of the ARMM, the majority of the MNLF leadership and the bulk of its forces supported the agreement. Enhanced Military Capacity of the State What is least emphasized in most analyses of the outcomes of the political settlement is how the Philippine government benefited enormously from the integration of MNLF combatants into its ranks, especially in the period before and immediately after the peace deal was signed.

7  Copy of signed letter to MNLF Chairman Nur Misuari advising him to reject the agreement. Omar Macabalang Ali, former MNLF commander and Mayor of the Islamic City of Marawi, interviewed by the author, 30 November 2007, Iligan City, Misamis Oriental. 8  Anonymous former MNLF commander from Sulu, interviewed by the author, 4 December 2008, Davao City. 9  Datu Kulip Eging, former MNLF combatant, interviewed by the author, 17 November 2007, Tacurong, Sultan Kudarat.

104

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

The integration process was well received by field commanders of the AFP and top regional officials of the PNP. Some generals and their mid-level officers felt more confident whenever the ex-combatants joined field operations, due to their intelligence network, and their knowledge of the area and local customs (Santos, 2007: 11–12).10 In fact, the AFP and PNP began to exploit the MNLF intelligence network and use its firepower in several critical incidents even prior to the signing of the peace agreement. Successful cooperation in these incidents helped lubricate the peace negotiations, building confidence between the parties and nudging the process forward. These incidents included the monitoring, interdiction, and eventual release of hostages seized by the Abu Sayyaf and other criminal groups in Mindanao, specifically in the case of priests, nuns, and foreigners who were kidnapped for ransom. These incidents include the kidnapping of foreign and Filipino priests and nuns, local businessmen and family members, foreign academics and businessmen. They were blamed on the Abu Sayyaf and members of the MNLF Lost Command. By 1994, joint operations were already being conducted by AFP and MNLF forces against the Abu Sayyaf in the provinces of Sulu and Basilan (Iribani, 2006: 183– 229). Without a doubt these hostage taking incidents were dwarfed by the general incidence of violence and crime in the region after the FPA, but they held specific importance to the international community as the lives of foreign hostages were on the line, and the attention of the foreign media was engaged.11 The issue had traction with the foreign countries, which played a strategic role in facilitating the peace process. OIC members, particularly Libya, Saudi Arabia, and Indonesia voiced their concern over incidents of violence supposedly perpetuated by the MNLF, lending pressure for immediate action by the latter (Iribani, 2006: 183–229). Solving these incidents was essential for mobilizing international attention and support for the peace process. But it also set the stage for the eventual arrival of US Special Forces troops in Mindanao and their near-permanent basing in Jolo and Zamboanga City several years after the agreement was concluded. This in turn enhanced the international stature of the GRP, enabling it assume a role as frontline ally of the US government in the fight against the Jemaah Islamiya and Al Qaeda after the 9-11 attacks (Docena, 2008: 1–3). The stage was set for the return of an American military presence in the Philippines following the 9-11 attacks. Regular naval ship visits, war games, and military exchange programs were later soon followed by the US special forces troop deployments to Mindanao in 2003. Wider cooperation and coordination before and after the FPA was concluded led to the identification of key leaders of the Abu Sayyaf and the monitoring of 10  According to a Master’s thesis undertaken by Philippine Army Colonel Yerson Depayso (2004), integration is cited as having contributed to combat operations, intelligence gathering, and civil military operations. Cited in Santos, 2007: 11–12. 11  Indications of an increase in violence and conflict following the FPA are validated in studies conducted by the Asia Foundation (Magno Torres III, 2007: 36–96) and Lara and Champain (2009: 10–14).

Settlement Without Disarmament in the Philippines

105

their movements and the ring-fencing of their camps. It helped in destroying other armed groups such as the Al-Khobar and Pentagon gangs. Alongside these joint actions the MNLF used the political space to get more actively involved in the settlement of intra and inter-clan and community conflicts, which tended to poison the atmosphere in Sulu and Basilan (Lara and Champain, 2008: 15–18). This has been validated in several high-profile incidents during the course of the negotiations where the violence ascribed to the MNLF were actually traced to these types of community-based conflicts. However, two months after the FPA was signed the MILF openly declared their rejection of the deal and reiterated their call for complete independence. Though Misuari called for an immediate ceasefire after the onset of the 2000 war against the MILF, he was powerless to prevent MNLF recruits from being used in several battles against the MILF. In 2007, MILF deputy spokesman Khaled Musa was reported as cautioning, ‘with brotherly concern’, former MNLF combatants integrated to the AFP who were being used against their fellow Muslims in Sulu. This validates a Department of National Defense report indicating that MNLF integrees were embedded in the 1st, 4th, and 6th Infantry Divisions of the Armed Forces of the Philippines – frontline units based in Central and Southwestern Mindanao (DND, 2004: 3). Rehabilitation Instead of Reintegration The absence of a disarmament and demobilization component also explains why other scholars have focused on the FPA’s rehabilitation component, and the achievements, or lack thereof, of autonomous governance under the ARMM to assess the potential of a DDR framework in the case of the GRP–MILF peace talks (Danguilan Vitug and Gloria, 2000: 82–100; Oquist and Evangelista, 2006: 7–25). Foreign aid agencies such as the World Bank, USAID, and the United Nations Development Program (UNDP) poured substantial amounts of aid into the conflict-affected areas of Mindanao immediately following the 1996 peace deal (Villanueva and Aguilar, 2008: 10–12). From 1997 to 2005, a total of USD 324 million have been extended to Mindanao, of which two thirds, or USD 254 million, were meant to be targeted towards ex-combatants, their families, and their communities (Boada, 2005: 4). The FPA also made possible the flow of aid from NGO donor agencies. Official development assistance (ODA) combined with NGO funding helped bridge the gap in supporting the capability and capacity building of local government units and civil society organizations. However, the aid given as part of the FPA did not take the form of targeted assistance, such as direct cash transfers to the victims and casualties of the GRP– MNLF conflict, or even direct development assistance to families and relatives of ex-combatants and reintegrated combatants. Instead, the financial assistance was mainly used to support infrastructure and the provision of basic social services such as water, health care, and education in conflict-affected communities. The

106

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

determining factor for receiving rehabilitation grants was being a ‘conflictaffected community’.12 This ensured access to a range of inputs including farm to market roads, bridges, rice and corn dryers, and multi-purpose halls etc. Capacitybuilding inputs were also given, but they paled in comparison to the infrastructure grants. For most of the ex-combatants, capability building actually meant getting a job as an organizer or consultant in development projects. Moreover, the aid recipients were not limited to the ex-combatants and their families, as the aid infusions geared towards ex-combatants and their communities constituted the bulk of aid and expenditures only for three years following the agreement (1997–2000). Reconstruction and rehabilitation projects following the GRP–MILF war in 2000 would gradually acquire a significant share in the allocation of aid – as donors shifted their attention and their resources to the GRP– MILF conflict in Central and Northern Mindanao. The focus towards the MNLF ex-combatants gradually shifted to an emphasis on humanitarian assistance for conflict refugees and aid to support reconstruction of areas destroyed following the war in 2000. In 2002, a Multi-Donor Trust Fund headed by the World Bank was set up to provide resources for strengthening the capacity of regional and local governments and civil society groups. This included an agency established by the MILF called Bangsamoro Development Agency (BDA), which received capacity building funds in anticipation of a new peace agreement between the GRP–MILF after negotiations resumed in 2002. Unclear Property Rights and Unsustainable Economic Growth The rehabilitation phase failed to address property rights issues in the region. There was no land for peace program to provide farms and strengthen property rights of ex-combatants and their families, a measure usually found in other peace agreements – in Aceh, for example, where each ex-combatant was guaranteed at least a hectare of land for agricultural and settlement purposes. The ongoing government agrarian reform program was instead implemented in the conflictaffected areas without sensitizing the program to indigenous customs of land use. Instead of facilitating peace, the implementation of agrarian reform would lead to an eruption of inter and intra clan conflict. Studies have shown the uneven process of land titling in the ARMM areas, provoking several cases of clan conflict as land under communal use was transferred to the possession of single individuals and families, particularly those who had strong connections with local officials. The implementation of a flawed agrarian reform program would lead to massive cases of corruption, as land holdings which were voluntarily offered for sale to the government were compensated several times. Corruption and collusion between 12  Conflict-affected areas or CAA were the focus of rehabilitation assistance in joint funding initiatives undertaken by the World Bank. See Schiavo-Campo and Judd, 2005 and Oquist and Evangelista, 2006.

Settlement Without Disarmament in the Philippines

107

land owners and local agrarian reform bureaucrats would eventually result in the Land Bank of the Philippines excluding the ARMM from funding.13 The investments in conflict affected areas were intended to spur economic, particularly agricultural growth, but the results ten years after the agreement were dismal. GDP continued to grow below national growth levels, and gross value added in agriculture improved negligibly (Lara and Champain, 2009: 8–9; see also Figure 6.1). In the absence of investments in manufacturing and industry, and the negligible increase in agricultural gross value added (GVA), GDP growth in the ARMM appears to be connected to growth in consumption and services only during election periods.

Figure 6.1  Change in real GDP, ARMM vs. Philippines, 1997–2007

Source: NEDA.

In fact, the data indicates that real change in GDP within the ARMM in the years following the peace agreement have been mainly based on spending during election periods (1998, 2004) and the infusion of aid after instances of armed conflict (1997–1999, 2002) more than anything else. The impact of aid is also seen in a recorded increase in taxes in the midst of conflict. In general, tax collection within the ARMM remained at low levels, except for a brief period when revenue generation in the form of taxes on infrastructure projects increased between 2000 and 2003 (Figure 6.2). Tax increases in times of conflict are counter-intuitive. Taxes began to rise while armed conflict was still ongoing, due to tax remittance advises, which are receipts of revenues collected automatically by the country’s Large Taxpayers Office, Bureau of Internal Revenue (BIR) from construction firms bidding and winning contracts from national 13  Hadja Bai Cabayan Bacar, Provincial Agrarian Reform Officer, Maguindanao province, Department of Agrarian Reform (DAR), interview by the author, 15 November 2007, Cotabato City.

108

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

government and foreign donor agencies, for infrastructure rehabilitation in the ARMM. The generation of revenues in the midst of conflict appears to validate Charles Tilly’s (1985) argument of how wars can make states.

Figure 6.2  Actual growth in GDP vs. tax collections (1996–2006) Source: Lara, 2008.

The data shows how growth in the region remains extremely vulnerable to violent flashpoints instigated by the MILF, Abu Sayyaf, and local warlords – groups outside the coverage of the FPA. While conflict has helped enhance local government revenues, the bigger and more sustainable increase in revenues expected from sustained economic growth have not materialized. Several studies have traced the causes of these problems to the failure of both the GRP and the MNLF to deliver on the rehabilitation and development commitments under the FPA. Outcomes were affected by policy incoherence and a weaker commitment on the part of the GRP to the FPA after 1998, highlighted by the failure to decentralize fiscal planning and management to the ARMM. On the part of the MNLF, the promise of good governance soon turned sour, as numerous cases of corruption and mismanagement were levelled towards some MNLF leaders who had assumed important posts within the ARMM. Danguilan Vitug and Gloria (2000: 74–94) cite cases of corruption and mismanagement among MNLF leaders installed in the ARMM beginning from as early as 1997, or a few months after the agreement was signed.

Settlement Without Disarmament in the Philippines

109

Conclusion The evidence shows that the integration process enabled the government to mobilize thousands of Moro combatants and their commanders, as well as to harness their intelligence network in the fight against the Abu Sayyaf, criminal gangs, and the private armies of warlords. It also enabled the GRP to deepen their knowledge of the MILF’s capabilities, and to deal with the eruption of clan violence that often escalates into wider conflict. From a state-building perspective, the peace agreement helped extend the state’s military and political reach to the territories previously occupied and controlled by the MNLF, specifically in Sulu, Basilan, and Tawi-tawi. The evidence suggests that the flexibility and reach acquired by the GRP in response to the threat of the Abu Sayyaf and regional extremist groups such as the Jemaah Islamiya owes considerably to the incorporation of MNLF ex-combatants. Intelligence gathering on terrorist activities in the porous borders of Mindanao, delivered by an armed force with former MNLF combatants embedded in it, also provided the justification for the establishment of a US forward base in the South, which in turn guaranteed continued access by the Philippine government to US military assistance and training. The peace agreement also strengthened the Philippine state through the mobilization of aid and the generation of additional revenues. The inflow of reconstruction assistance helped to pay the costs of development intervention in terms of infrastructure and basic social services, while adding new sources of revenue from the region. However, the rehabilitation component contained serious flaws in the targeting of those most in need of livelihood assistance, and the reconstruction inputs did not lead to a significant transformation of economic conditions in Muslim Mindanao either. At best, evidence suggests that economic growth in the region is unsustainable and politically driven. At worse, it shows that the region continues to be excluded from the gains of national economic growth. This explains the growing dissatisfaction among the population within the ARMM, including MNLF ex-combatants and supporters of the MILF, with the outcomes of the 1996 peace agreement – a frustration shared by non-Muslim and indigenous peoples in Mindanao who have become disillusioned with layer upon layer of rebel groups and peace processes. In 2001, Nur Misuari was arrested following his attempt to organise another rebellion, after he and MNLF forces loyal to him demanded the delivery of the FPA’s unfulfilled commitments, including the decentralization of fiscal authority and the creation of a regional security force. The final straw came when the GRP refused his demand for a postponement of the ARMM regional elections. Misuari was eventually released from prison and cleared of all charges in 2009, but the political settlement remains as uncertain as ever. There are clear structural barriers that continue to exist and will hamper any future agreement, including the absence of a conflict-sensitive agrarian reform

110

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

program, and the stiff resistance of national elites to a process of constitutional reform that is required to financially and politically empower the ARMM. Both are essential to solidify the gains of the 1996 political settlement. Without immediate reforms, the GRP–MNLF political settlement cannot provide a solid foundation for a strong state and a lasting peace. The GRP–MNLF peace agreement presents some lessons and implications for the ongoing GRP–MILF negotiations. In the MILF case, disarmament and demobilization has been agreed as the final talking point. The rebels will only discuss the issue after agreements have been reached on the more contentious issues of ancestral domain and political reforms (Jubair, 2007: 171). What is clear though is that the creation of an autonomous regional security force has become a crucial agenda for the MILF, seeing how the FPA has failed in this respect. When the GRP negotiated an agreement on ancestral domain with the rebels in 2008, it was contemplating the establishment of a new ‘juridical authority’ with the MILF at the helm. A potential outcome of this negotiating strategy is to surrender the political leadership of the Bangsamoro Juridical Entity (BJE) to the rebels as the GRP did in 1996. The terms of the BJE, coupled with the lessons from the FPA, ostensibly gives better leverage to the MILF in establishing an independent security force to maintain peace and order within a wider new jurisdiction. This explains why the MILF has displayed more openness to disarm and demobilize if their model for a self-determining state (along a federal model) is granted. Under this formula the MILF will have better chances of ensuring the presence of their combatants in any independent security force. The problem remains in the negotiating framework of the government, which offers, at best, ‘enhanced autonomy’ within the parameters of the Philippine constitution. The proposed Memorandum of Agreement on Ancestral Domain signalled a breakthrough, but it produced stiff opposition from local and national political elites, and a rejection by the Philippines Supreme Court. The government was forced to abort the signing of the agreement, leading to a resumption of hostilities in August 2008. The government then insisted that its negotiating framework with the MILF will adhere to DDR principles, meaning disarmament first. In 2009 the government dropped the precondition for disarmament to enable the resumption of talks. However, the previous year had cast the DDR framework in the worse light, making it more difficult to convince the MILF panel that the sort of DDR which the GRP espouses does not correspond to an immediate surrender of arms. The situation has become untenable in the face of thousands of firearms in the possession of warlord clans in a region where they have historically served as ‘force-extenders’ of the Philippine state. These other sources of violence continue to percolate, leading international and local human rights groups to consider the disarmament and demobilization of warlords and their paramilitaries as the bigger priority. Such a shift may help restore the trust and confidence between the GRP–MILF panels that was shattered by the violence of 2008, and produce better conditions for rediscovering DDR.

Settlement Without Disarmament in the Philippines

111

References Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP). 1999. Update of the MNLF Integration Program. Quezon City: Joint AFP-MNLF Secretariat Office (JAMSO). Balana, Cynthia. 2005. Some 800 ex-Moro rebels at the forefront of Jolo battles. Philippine Daily Inquirer. 18 February. Boada, A. C. 2005. Philippines (Mindanao-MNLF). Barcelona : Escola de Cultura de Pau. Available at http://escolapau.uab.cat/img/programas/desarme/mapa/ filipinasi.pdf, accessed 3 January 2012. Boada, A. C. 2009. Past, Present, and Future in Mindanao: Analysis of the MNLF and MILF Peace and Reintegration Processes. Quaderns de Construccio de Pau, July 2009. Barcelona: Escola de Cultura de Pau. Coronel-Ferrer, M. 1999. Integration of MNLF Forces into the PNP and AFP: Integration Without Demobilization and Disarmament. Quezon City: University of the Philippines Center for Integrative Studies. Danguilan Vitug, M. and Gloria, G. 2000. Under the Crescent Moon: Rebellion in Mindanao. Quezon City: Ateneo Center for Social Policy and Public Affairs and Institute for Popular Democracy. Department of National Defense (DND). 2004. Accomplishment Report: January to June 2004. Quezon City. Docena, H. 2008. US Plays Both Sides in the Philippines. Asia Times Online. 6 September. ICG. 2009. The Philippines: After the Maguindanao Massacre. Jakarta/Brussels: International Crisis Group. Iribani, A. 2006. Give Peace a Chance: The Story of the GRP–MNLF Peace Talks. Mandaluyong City: Magbassa Kita Foundation and the Philippine Council for Islam and Democracy. Jubair, S. 2007. The Long Road to Peace: Inside the GRP–MILF Peace Process. Cotabato City : Institute of Bangsamoro Studies. Lara, F. Jr. 2008. Enhancing Taxation on Idle Agricultural Lands. Philippines: Development Academy of the Philippines. Lara, F. Jr. 2009. Collusion and collision in Muslim Mindanao. GMA7 News TV. 7 December. Lara, F. Jr. 2010. The ruthless political entrepreneurs of Muslim Mindanao. Mindanews. 8 March. Lara, F. Jr. and Champain, P. 2009. Inclusive Peace in Muslim Mindanao: Revisiting the Dynamics of Conflict and Exclusion. London: International Alert. Magno Torres III, W. (ed.) 2007. Rido: Clan Feuding and Conflict Management in Mindanao. San Francisco: The Asia Foundation. Makinano, M. and Lubang, A. 2001. Disarmament, Demobilization, and Reintegration: The Mindanao Experience. International Security Research and Outreach Programme, International Security Bureau, Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade, Canada.

112

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Oquist, P. and Evangelista, A. 2006. Peace Building in Times of Institutional Crisis: Ten Years of the GRP–MNLF Peace Agreement. Makati City: United Nations Development Programme, Manila. Philippine Action Network on Small Arms (PHILANSA). 2008. Voices to Silence Guns. The Philippine People’s Consultation Report on the Arms Trade Treaty. Manila: Gaston Ortigas Peace Institute. Quitoriano, E. and Libre, E. 2001. Reaching for the gun: The human cost of small arms in Central Mindanao, Philippines. Kasarinlan: The Philippine Journal of Third World Studies 16(2). Ramos, F. V. 1996. Break Not The Peace. Friends of Steady Eddie. Rasul, A. 2007. Broken Peace? Assessing the 1996 GRP–MNLF Final Peace Agreement. Makati City: Adenaur Foundation. Rodil, B. R. 2000. Kalinaw Mindanaw: The Story of the GRP–MNLF Peace Process, 1975–1996. Davao City: Alternate Forum for Research in Mindanao (AFRIM). Santos, S. 2007. MNLF Integration into the AFP and PNP: Successful Cooptation or Failed Transformation? Quezon City : South-South Network for Non-State Armed Group Engagement. Schiavo-Campo, S. and Judd, M. 2005. The Mindanao Conflict in the Philippines: Roots, Costs, and Potential Peace Dividend. Washington DC: Conflict Prevention and Reconstruction, Social Development Department, The World Bank. Villanueva, Cesar and Aguilar, George. 2008. The Reintegration of the Moro National Liberation Front in the Philippines: Mini Case Study. Bradford: Center for International Cooperation and Security (CICS),

Chapter 7

Colombia’s Paramilitary DDR and its Limits Francisco Gutiérrez Sanín1 and Andrea González Peña2

Introduction This paper provides a context for the DDR process of the Colombian government with the paramilitary, a description of it, a discussion of the political debates that characterized it and a quantitative analysis of some of its main implications. The latter is a crucial reference point in grounding and understanding the debates surrounding the process. Colombia has suffered one of the longest internal conflicts in the world.3 From the early 1980s, three parties have participated in it: guerrillas of different denominations, the state, and the paramilitary. The state promoted several peace processes with individual groups before the termination of the conflict (Deas, 1986; López Gutiérrez, 1999). The majority of such processes were a failure (see, for example, Dudley, 2004). The main exception was the Movimiento 19 de Abril (M-19) reinsertion in 1990/1991, which, despite having ridden an initially bumpy road with the assassination of its main leader, Carlos Pizarro, in 1990, originated a vigorous innovative activity which became one of the main factors for the transformation of the Colombian political system (Rodríguez, 2005). Until recently, the core of the agreement—the state accepts the M-19 reinserted leaders as bona fide political actors, the M-19 fully accepts legality and bids a sincere farewell to arms—had not been put into question. Successive Colombian administrations from 1982 until 2002 had combined genuine peace efforts—which sometimes involved taking major risks and investing massive political and financial resources—with yielding to the growing autonomy of the military (Dávila, 1999; Leal, 2002) and the privatization of security. Candidate and eventual president Álvaro Uribe promised in 2002 to change both parameters. On the one hand he would repress illegal groups until they accepted full disarmament and demobilization. Under his mandate, the state would not settle for less. The guerrillas, and particularly the FARC (Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia), would become the main target of the state. Military victory, and not negotiation, became the main objective. On the other, he would retrieve the 1  Researcher at the Instituto de Estudios Políticos y Relaciones Internacionales, Universidad Nacional de Colombia. 2  Economist and Master in Politics, Universidad Nacional de Colombia. 3  According to the most conservative accounts, almost 40 years long and counting.

114

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

monopoly of legitimate violence so that the state became the sole provider of security (Ministerio de Defensa, 2007). This reduced the bargaining space with the guerrillas to a minimum,4 but instead put on the table the question of what to do with the paramilitary. The explicit answer came at the end of 2002 and the beginning of 2003, when the government launched a DDR with them. The Process Main Stages In fact, the process was initiated hastily, way before the institutional framework for the reincorporation of the paramilitary members was devised. Initially, the municipality of Medellín was given the responsibility of administrating a pilot project that involved one of the biggest and deadliest blocs of the paramilitary federation (Bloque Cacique Nutibara). As a result of this experience, further conversations with the national leadership developed, and came to fruition in 2003. The paramilitary agreed to disband their structures, in exchange for a—still hazily delineated—reincorporation, possibly as political actors (see, for example, interviews with paramilitary leaders in Mancuso, 2004 and with social leaders in Gaviria, 2004). The institutional framework for the paramilitary reinsertion was finally produced by the famous—or infamous, depending on the political perspective— Law 975 of 2005, known as Ley de Justicia y Paz (Law of Peace and Justice). The Law was the result of a controversy between two versions. The first one, issued by Uribe’s closest circle and passed on to parliament for discussion, combined economic and judicial incentives for reinserted paramilitary members. In particular, it offered reduced sentences for criminal offences by paramilitary fighters, up to a maximum of eight years, in favorable conditions. It also did not establish conditions under which these judicial benefits would be lost. A minority—though visible and articulate—sector of the governmental caucus rebelled against these conditions, which it considered too generous for the paramilitary. It proposed an alternative version in which the reinserted fighters would lose their benefits if they did not confess the full details of their crimes. The latter version was defeated in the congress, but ultimately a very similar one triumphed, thanks to the revision of the bill by the Constitutional Court. This opened yet a new stage in the process. The confessions of the paramilitary—those of the leaders, of the rank and file, and especially of the middle level—disclosed how big and deep had been the links between the paramilitary and the state. In particular, it revealed rather graphically how deeply involved 4  Though eventually the hawkish stance of Uribe suffered some (tactical) modifications. For details, see Gutiérrez and Rincón, 2008.

Colombia’s Paramilitary DDR and its Limits

115

a big chunk of the Uribe governmental coalition had been in pro-paramilitary activities.5 This prompted the Supreme Court6 to open a massive offensive against the penetration of the paramilitary in politics. The ‘para-política’ (para-politics) process sent more than 60 congress members to jail, the vast majority of them belonging to pro-governmental parties, but at the same time triggered a strong campaign by the president against the Supreme Court. In May 2008, a group of paramilitary leaders that had promised further confessions were extradited to the United States, which triggered yet a new scandal. Was this a retribution for their crimes, or were they being punished because they were being too talkative?7 In parallel with these institutional crises, several extra-institutional ones— basically, between the government and the paramilitary—characterized and punctuated the process. The source of these was threefold. First, the paramilitary were not a group with a clearly structured hierarchy, but a federation,8 where the different regional combat structures and their constituencies were driven by strongly decentralized and local interests. They were divided along a maze of cleavages, not the least of which was how to deal with the narco-economy which had been a cause in the past of several internecine confrontations. These continued—in some cases ending in the killing of whole dissident groups—during the peace process, without any intervention by the government.9 Second was the massive participation of ‘pure’ narco-traffickers in the AUC leadership. Though the paramilitary had been deeply involved in the business from the very beginning, for several reasons the narcos ended up getting the upper hand, sometimes simply buying the franchise from the paramilitary fronts in some regions.10 The main AUC leader, Carlos Castaño, wanted to obtain political benefits by denouncing the ‘narcotization of the self defenses’, but this isolated him from his peers and made him vulnerable (Salazar, 2006; Verdad Abierta, 2009a). Eventually, he was assassinated.11 The government did not budge. Thirdly, due to the institutional 5  This has been established judicially, beyond reasonable doubt. 6  The Colombian judicial system has two high courts (Supreme and Constitutional). The first one is a court of appeal, and before the 1991 Constitution it was also in charge of the constitutional review of laws and decrees issued by the government. In 1991 it lost this function. 7  One of the key principles of the 2003 conversations was the non-extradition of the paramilitary leaders. See the section entitled Debates below. 8  Autodefensas Unidas de Colombia, AUC. 9  According to a report of the Colombian Ombudsman’s office, from 1 January to 31 December 2004 there were 6,264 complaints for violations of international humanitarian law, of which the paramilitary were the culprit of nearly a third (1,909 cases). This is probably an underestimation, as it seems that a substantial number of the offences reported without a known author are attributable to the paramilitary. In 2005, the number of incidents openly caused by the paramilitary diminished substantially, especially in the AUC zones of influence (Defensoria del Pueblo, 2005). 10  Which in turn triggered new internecine conflicts. 11  By his brother, Vicente.

116

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

checks and balances and the pressure of public opinion and international actors, the conditions for the AUC reinsertion became more severe than both parties had initially imagined. Because of this, the AUC commanders perceived that the government was cheating, and threatened several times to break negotiations (AUC, 2004; AUC, 2005). Furthermore, some groups decided not to participate. Basic Outcomes The process formally ended in 2006. It achieved a massive demobilization of fighters: 31,472 men at arms and 18,051 weapons were surrendered to the authorities.12 Even taking into account the rational inflation of figures which characterizes these processes, this is definitely not negligible. Violence rates fell sharply, though here there is a strikingly differential record. As seen below, some types of offences were curbed, others thrived. But the homicide indicators clearly improved after the withdrawal from the conflict of its most violent actor (Departamento Nacional de Planeación, 2009; Ministerio de Defensa, 2009; see also later in this paper).13 Other results are less palatable. First, thousands of ex-paramilitaries remained in, or returned to, combat activities, and created a new type of organization, more local and focused on narco-trafficking, that the police call Bacrim (the Spanish acronym of criminal bands). The claim of the government that the Bacrim are completely devoid of political objectives is not credible (Civio et al., 2009; Fundación Ideas para la Paz, 2009; Fundación Nuevo Arco Iris, 2009; Fundación Ideas para la Paz, 2010). Many Bacrim maintain anti-subversive activities, and protect their fiefdoms from penetration by undesirable political tendencies. They have been growing at a rather outstanding pace. A 2009 police report indicated that there were at least six different Bacrim in the country, with a total of more than 3,700 men at arms (Semana, 2010). General León from the police estimated that around 12 percent of them had been members of the paramilitary groups that had negotiated with the government.14 Thus, there is a real danger of reactivation of the paramilitary phenomenon. Second, the majority of the victims have remained without adequate reparation. Actually, several leaders of the displaced people—and of other categories of victims—have been assassinated, especially when they have dared to claim the land that was violently stolen from them (Verdad Abierta, 2009b; Semana, 2007). The power of the landed elites, who funded and massively supported the paramilitary phenomenon (Gutiérrez and Barón, 2006; Acemoglu et al., 2009), has probably 12  http://www.altocomisionadoparalapaz.gov.co. In contrast to the guerrillas, the paramilitary are an overwhelmingly male force (Gutiérrez, 2008). 13  One of the tenets of their strategy was to terrorize the civilian population into submission. See Reyes, 2007; Romero, 2007. 14  At least a similar percentage ought to correspond to fighters of groups which eschewed the negotiations.

Colombia’s Paramilitary DDR and its Limits

117

increased, as they are fully integrated in the governmental coalition. Institutional reforms of the two Uribe administrations reveal very clearly how they have been favored (see Gutiérrez, 2009). Judicial processes have advanced at a snail’s pace, because the Colombian institutions simply do not have the capacity to process tens of thousands of cases.15 The first sentence allotted to a paramilitary member came on 19 March 2009, against Wilson Salazar Carrascal. He got five years, on condition of disbanding his illegal group, confessing his crimes, requesting forgiveness from the victims, delivering his properties to the Reparation Fund, and committing himself not to commit new offences. Otherwise, he would get the original sentence: 38 years.16 Debates As described in the international literature, the Colombian paramilitary DDR was implemented much more effectively than the average and fulfils several of the prerequisites of the habitual do’s and don’ts of the lessons learned from previous efforts (González, 2007). First, it created several new institutions to support the process (for example, the National Commission for Reparation and Reconciliation and the High Council for Social and Economic Reincorporation of Rebel Persons and Groups). It strengthened the judicial apparatus (through the funding and creation of the special units for Justice and Peace in the Prosecution). It pushed forward several regional special programs, both re-socialization and reconciliation, and supported a reparation fund for the victims. It also received the support of a wide array of international actors, particularly of the Organisation of American States (OAS), which also reviews the process. Still, it has been strongly contested and it is still surrounded, both nationally and internationally, by a cloud of suspicion.17 Why suspicion? It can be argued that it has allowed broad latitude for impunity, but this is the rule rather than the exception of post-conflict accommodations, even in cases of military victory (and not of negotiation – see Elster, 2004). The political flaws of the process stem from the following five characteristics: 1. The separation between the parties has not been clearly established. When a peace process is agreed between adversaries, granting broad benefits for people who have committed atrocious crimes can be, and frequently is, viewed as a generous concession, or at least as an undesirable but necessary pragmatic arrangement. When it is not clear whether the parties have been adversaries or accomplices, or some category in between, benefits are likely to produce a sense of moral outrage. This is precisely what happened 15  Only counting assassinations, though there were other major offences (rape, violent expropriation, etc.). 16  Pizarro, 2009. 17  For example, a study found that it is the DDR with the least international presence in the world (Camerés et al., 2006).

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

118

2. 3.

4.

5.

with the paramilitary DDR. Especially damaging has been the wealth of evidence of collaboration between the governmental coalition and the paramilitary during and after the process.18 Furthermore, the government launched a massive political offensive against the Supreme Court after the initiation of the para-política investigations. The victims have obtained very little in some critical domains, so the process is steeply asymmetric. For example, the devolution of land snatched away from the paramilitaries has advanced extremely sluggishly, if at all. Furthermore, victimized peasants have collectively gained little for the impunity granted to the paramilitary. While in other cases vulnerable and oppressed minorities (or majorities) bargained for political and economic concessions, or institutional change, and for this accepted a degree of impunity, in Colombia no visible pro-victim change has occurred. The Constitutional Court forced the government to develop a public policy with respect to displaced people,19 but the overall results are still negligible. All the power structures that allowed the paramilitary phenomenon remain intact. The paramilitary were intimately linked to the narco-traffickers. Indeed, the same can be predicated about all the groups that have participated in the Colombian conflict, especially since the mid-1980s. However, there have been different degrees and types of interaction. One of the characteristics that strongly differentiate the guerrillas and the paramilitary is that the latter allow their commanders and fighters to have access to private rents (Gutiérrez, 2005). By 2002 the (relatively) new narco-bourgeoisie was already a (or even the) senior partner of the AUC. Thus, the leading team of the paramilitary that negotiated the peace had close connections with major illegal entrepreneurs.20 There is a heated ongoing discussion about the differential behavior of the indicators of violence and the way in which their evolution can be interpreted with respect to the paramilitary DDR.

The government’s defense of the process relies on three points. First, that this is the first time in the whole Colombian DDR experience that truth and reparation are incorporated in some way into the process and that combatants do not enjoy full impunity. Second, that the critics of the process are driven by spite or hate, and look more backwards to the past than forwards to the future. In particular, critics who belonged to the M-19 in the 1980s and are now in the legal opposition 18  For details and further analysis of this point, plus some Colombian precedents, see (Gutiérrez, 2009). 19  Sentencia N° T-025 de 2004. Expediente T-653010 y acumulados (Corte Constitucional, 22 de Enero de 2004). 20  Actually, some of them reinvented themselves as paramilitary to be able to enjoy the judicial benefits of the peace accord.

Colombia’s Paramilitary DDR and its Limits

119

have been bashed as opportunists who enjoyed the benefits bestowed generously by the Colombian society, but now try to impede the access of others to those benefits. Third, that after the termination of the DDR in 2006, the Bacrim have been targeted, and the recidivists in the paramilitary leadership appropriately punished (for example, with extradition) (Verdad Abierta, 2009c). These counter-arguments do not hold water and instead caused additional diatribes and uncertainty (Gutiérrez, 2009). For example, the continuing linkage of regional power structures such as the paramilitary (in the past), the Bacrim, and the political class associated with Uribe, has been and will be a source of endemic political weakness of the paramilitary reinsertion. The defense of the present process by the government has not succeeded in giving it the necessary political legitimacy, and instead has undermined the only previous fully successful reinsertion (the M-19s). A Quantitative Analysis The claim that the peace process has dramatically deflated the violence indicators of the country is partly true. Colombia has, for example, experienced a dramatic downturn in some offences (like kidnapping), and a less abrupt but still probably indisputable decline in homicides. But there is a gray area which is the subject of an arduous debate, related both to some very important modalities of violence (like political homicide, or homicide that affects some special categories of the population like trade unionists and leaders of other social organizations)21 and to the way in which the general landscape of politically related criminality has evolved after the paramilitary DDR. As usual, the head-counts of victims vary, sometimes very significantly, according to the source. The differences involve not only magnitudes, but trends. For example, according to governmental agencies, forced displacement fell very sharply after the process started (2003). According to the main NGO source (Consultoria para los Derechos Humanos y el Desplazamiento—CODHES), it decreased somewhat and then increased significantly (see Figure 7.1). With respect to political homicide, things are somewhat different, but still rather striking. There is no governmental source; all the databases are managed by NGOs or research groups. We have our own (Long Term Database on Political Lethal Violence in Colombia, or PLV).22 Our criteria are explicitly conservative: we only include an event if, without any doubt, it had direct political causes. However, according to other databases, political homicide had an extremely sharp decline, which was much more modest in ours (see Figure 7.2).23

21  ENS, 2009. 22  Created and administered in the context of Crisis States Programme (CSP) research. 23  Recent reports suggest it is increasing again (CCJ, 2011).

120

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Figure 7.1  Forced displacement in Colombia, 1997–2009 Source: CODHES and Acción Social.

Figure 7.2  Political homicide in Colombia according to different sources, 1988–2004 Source: González, 2007.

This shows that even strongly divergent counts are not necessarily attributable to malice or common sloppiness. For example, displaced people have to explicitly register in the governmental programs to appear in the respective databases (see Acción Social, 2007). While this is understandable, it is a source of (possibly

Colombia’s Paramilitary DDR and its Limits

121

considerable) under-estimation. With these caveats, and taking into account the main sources of quantification, we present a model that tries to shed some light on the debate about the gray areas. How strong has the contribution of the paramilitary DDR been to the reduction in forced displacement? To the decline of political homicide? The results do not warrant optimism. After a slump, forced displacement and political homicide seem to have rebounded. The presence of new armed groups (the Bacrim) has a positive and statistically significant relation with rates of displacement. In the simplest terms, the presence of the Bacrim tends to acutely increase the rates of displacement, but not of political homicide (see the Conclusion below for possible explanations of this). The good news is that the dummy variable of the year of the demobilization process has a negative but statistically significant relation with the two dependent variables, homicide and displacement. In other words, the DDR produced positive effects, but they may eventually dissipate if the Bacrim phenomenon gets out of hand. Let us now examine the details of the model. The Variables Table 7.1 offers the descriptive statistics of our database. We utilize the following variables: • A1. Political Homicide. We use PLV, which is based on press reports, and according to which a political homicide is one in which ‘the main motivation is the real or perceived participation of the victim in a political organization, or his sharing of a set of political ideas, which are different from those of the attacker’. We also count combat-caused lethal violence.24 PLV explicitly adopts a conservative approach: it prefers to commit type A errors (excluding genuinely political events) than to commit type B errors (spuriously including a non-political one). It aspires to establish incontestable minima that are instrumental for the evaluation of the intensity of the Colombian conflict. • A2. Forced displacement. According to Colombian law, forced displacement is defined in the following way: ‘Causing in an arbitrary manner, through violence or coercive acts against a sector of the population, that one or more of its members change their place of residence. Population movements produced by the armed forces (fuerza pública) when its object is to guarantee the security of the population, or because of urgent military reasons, is not classified as forced displacement, according to international humanitarian law’25 (González, 2007). Note that this very definition already contains a source of (potentially severe) under-estimations of displacement caused by the armed forces. As reported above, there are in Colombia 24  Gutiérrez, 2006. 25  Ley 589 de 2000.

122

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

three main forced displacement databases. The governmental Registro Único de Población Desplazada (SIPOD)26 of the governmental agency Acción Social; the System of Information on Forced Displacement (RUT), managed by the Church (Pastoral Social);27 and CODHES,28 a major NGO. We use SIPOD here. Note that, a fortiori, our results would have a more pessimistic shade if we utilized another authority. • A3. We also include a dummy variable which registers the moment of the demobilization. • A4. Variables regarding the presence of paramilitaries, and Bacrim. Also dummy variables that register if these groups are present in the municipality. The source is the National Police. • A5. Variables regarding armed activity by actor. These are: –– A5.1. Harrassment. ‘Attack by an illegal armed group against fixed or mobile units of the armed forces,29 by surprise and whose intensity is inferior to the expected response’ (Observatorio de Derechos Humanos de la Vicepresidencia, Not Dated). –– A5.2. Massacres. The assassination of four or more civilians, by the same actor or group, in a short period of time. Here our unit of analysis is not the number of victims but the number of massacres by author/ municipality between 2002 and 2008. –– A5.3. Terrorist acts. ‘Those which provoke or maintain in the population or a sector of it a state of anxiety or terror, by committing acts that put in peril the life and physical integrity of people, or buildings, communication media, or transport’ (Observatorio de Derechos Humanos de la Vicepresidencia, Not Dated). –– A5.4. Combat. ‘Any armed contact between members of the armed forces and other state officials and illegal groups, as a consequence of an offensive military action’ (Observatorio de Derechos Humanos de la Vicepresidencia, Not Dated). –– A5.5. Ambushes. ‘Surprise attack accomplished by an illegal armed group against mobile units of the armed forces, whose intensity is superior to the expected response’ (Observatorio de Derechos Humanos de la Vicepresidencia, Not Dated).

26  For details, see Acción Social, 2007. 27  The RUT data are obtained through interviews with people (including Internally Displaced Persons—IDPs) who visit some of the Pastoral Social offices, of which there are 308 in the country. Pastoral Social also visits and interviews IDPs’ families. 28  Contrary to RUT and SIPOD, CODHES data is mainly built from the press. They only register recipient municipalities. 29  In all these definitions the actual category used is ‘fuerza pública’, which in Colombian bureaucratic parlance means army plus police. We employ ‘armed forces’ here as an approximation.

Colombia’s Paramilitary DDR and its Limits

123

Models and Results In this simple exercise we were not interested in establishing the socioeconomic correlates of paramilitary activity (for very strong suggestions about this, see Acemoglu et al., 2009), nor its impact. Thus, we only included data on violence in the model. These vary with time (quarter) and space (municipality). Our findings are synthesized in Tables 7.1, 7.2 and 7.3, where we include only the variables that had a statistically significant relation with political homicide and forced displacement. Perhaps the most striking feature is the contrast between the paramilitary and the Bacrim. The presence of paramilitary groups has a positive and statistically significant effect on political homicide and on displacement, while the presence of Bacrim has a positive and significant effect only on displacement. Combats, ambushes and terrorist acts by known groups have the expected positive association with political homicide and displacement.30 Naturally, the habitual caveat (correlation is not causality) has to be taken into account. However, the results above plus qualitative evidence strongly suggest that the paramilitary DDR improved several violence indicators, but differentially. At the same time, their successor group—the Bacrim—appears to be strongly associated to displacement.

30  When the groups are not clearly identified, which is a significant portion of the universe of cases (53.22 percent for Massacre; 53.33 percent Harassment; 11 percent Ambush; 0.16 percent Combat; 40.24 percent Terrorism), the relation with political homicide is negative, but this is with high probability an artifact of the methodology used. Acts committed by unidentified groups could have non-political motivations, so deaths caused by them may not appear in the political homicide databases.

124

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Table 7.1  Summary of statistics (Colombia) Variable Paramilitary Desmo_date Bacrim Population V_massacre_S1 V_massacre_para V_massacre_Guerri V_massacre_BACRIM Hostigamiento_Guerri Hostigamiento_GAI Hostigamiento_BACRIM Hostigamiento_Paras Political Homicide_V Forced displacement Ambush_Guerri Ambush_GAI Ambush_Paras Combat_Guerri Combat_GAI Combat_BACRIM Combat_Paras C_massacre_Paras C_massacre_SI C_massacre_Guerri C_massacre_BACRIM A_Terrorism_Guerr A_Terrorism_GAI A_Terrorism_BACRIM A_Terrorism_paras Paramilitary_dummy Political Homicide_rate Forced displacement_rate

Obs 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068 40068

Mean

St. Dev.

0.335 0.574 0.011 0.107 0.017 0.128 39282.640 234599.200 0.061 0.701 0.027 0.571 0.026 0.743 0.001 0.064 0.051 0.355 0.059 0.398 0.000 0.007 0.001 0.029 0.546 3.361 63.580 259.804 0.015 0.134 0.002 0.046 0.000 0.019 0.277 0.980 0.001 0.024 0.006 0.108 0.026 0.196 0.004 0.072 0.012 0.128 0.004 0.065 0.000 0.014 0.082 0.438 0.056 0.476 0.000 0.007 0.001 0.038 0.285 0.452 2.636 23.799 285.692 1102.412

Min

Max

0 0 0 127 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

3 1 1 7155052 41 43 110 5 16 18 1 1 143 16905 4 2 1 27 2 7 7 3 5 2 1 11 22 1 2 1 1796 72727

Intercept Paramilitary Harrassing_Guerri Forced displacement Ambush_Guerri Combat_Guerri Combat_BACRIM Combat_Paras C_massacre_SI C_massacre_Paras C_massacre_Guerri Bacrim A_Terrorism_Guerr A_Terrorism_GAI N T F - statistic

Variable: Political Homicide_rate

  1.96 2.21 0.01 7.38 3.04   5.85 4.73 12.40 23.72 -3.31     1113.00 36.00 135.60

Coefficient

  5.29 5.85 13.85 8.12 20.43   9.44 4.87 7.46 12.90 -3.41          

T-Value

Fixed Model: Individual Effect

Table 7.2  Political homicide in Colombia

0.77 0.98 1.80 0.01 6.43 2.96   5.74 3.77 12.56 24.36 -4.06   -1.45 1113.00 36.00 143.39

Coefficient 4.26 3.33 5.08 12.22 7.19 22.10   9.49 3.95 7.64 13.41 -4.36   -5.25      

T-Value

Random Model: Individual Effect

1.00 0.54 1.78 0.01 6.08 3.04 -2.24 5.73 3.24 12.75 25.03 -3.74 -0.73 -1.68 113.00 36.00 134.36

Coefficient 6.59 2.03 5.02 11.50 6.76 23.67 -2.04 9.54 3.41 7.73 13.75 -3.99 -2.47 -6.45      

T-Value

Random Model: Time Effect

0.82 0.79 1.77 0.01 6.42 2.97   5.74 3.74 12.44 24.31 -3.74   -1.45 113.00 36.00 141.86

Coefficient 4.29 2.62 5.02 12.25 7.17 22.11   9.48 3.92 7.57 13.38 -3.96   -5.25      

T-Value

Random Model: Two Way Effect

0.97 0.65 1.79 0.01 6.09 3.03 -2.32 5.73 3.26 12.83 25.06 -3.98 -0.71 -1.69 1113.00 36.00 135.16

Coefficient

6.77 2.50 5.06 11.48 6.76 23.64 -2.11 9.55 3.43 7.78 13.77 -4.28 -2.41 -6.47      

T-Value

Pooling Model

Theta

TSS RSS Idiosyncratic Individual Time

Variable: Political Homicide_rate

 

21319000.00 20602000.00        

         

T-Value

Fixed Model: Individual Effect

Coefficient

Table 7.2 (continued)

0.25

22085000.00 21248000.00 528.97   11.69

Coefficient

 

         

T-Value

Random Model: Individual Effect

0.08

22679000.00 21732000.00 541.62   0.08

Coefficient

 

         

T-Value

Random Model: Time Effect T-Value

22063000.00   21236000.00   528.16   11.71   0.12   0.2543 (1d); 0.1084 (time); 0.06004 (total)

Coefficient

Random Model: Two Way Effect

 

22694000.00 21740000.00      

Coefficient

         

T-Value

Pooling Model

Colombia’s Paramilitary DDR and its Limits

127

Conclusions The paramilitary DDR in Colombia is characterized by a shocking contrast. On the one hand, the process produced tangible results, occasionally rather spectacular ones: demobilization of over 30,000 fighters, the disarticulation of terrorist structures, the reduction of the rates of key offences and a new climate of stability. The levels of impunity were intolerably high if measured by the yardstick of the heinous nature of the crimes committed by the paramilitary. However, the same levels of impunity are rather low with respect to those allowed by previous DDRs in Colombia, or those accepted by the diverse peace processes and regime transitions in the wider world in recent decades (Elster, 2004). The necessary conclusion is that the problems of the process are therefore not related to impunity per se, but to its ‘political signature’, given the dynamics that characterized the process from the beginning and those which it triggered (Gutiérrez, 2009). In relation to this, a more general observation deserves to be advanced. First, there are several blueprints for ‘good DDR practices’, but they operate at too low a level (purely logistical), or too high (normative), missing the specifically political dimension. For Colombia, this has been a severe problem given the complexities of its own conflict. The issue can be put in the following terms. When a reintegration is going to take place, the relation between the state and a private provider of security can take the following forms: 1. Confrontation. The group and the state want to destroy each other. In this case, arriving at some kind of bargain is difficult (Walter, 1999), but the bargain itself enjoys national and international legitimacy because mutual concessions are not suspect. The main concern is to prevent destabilization by ‘spoilers’. 2. Subordination. The group takes orders from the state (or from certain agencies or officials). In the majority of cases it is created to outsource terrorist activities that can have very high political costs;31 see, for example, the vigilante agencies created by the Latin American dictatorships and promoted by US policies in Latin America in the 1970s (Huggins, 1991). If peace or regime transition negotiations also involve adversarial actors, they may exert some demands on the subordinate group, but at the same time incorporate it as a viable political actor. See, for example, the experience of Central America, where post-conflict political systems generally included parties that came from the guerrillas and others that represented, or at least hosted, the ex-paramilitaries. Once again, the problem here is to prevent radicals and loose cannons acting as spoilers. 31  Not always. For example the Peruvian Rondas Campesinas—though guilty at times of extreme violence and unruly behavior—had a different role in the strategic map of the conflict. See (Starn, 1999).

128

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

3. Parasitism. Small, regional structures, in particular, can profit from vacuums in state regulations to pursue violent and illegal undertakings while taking funds, and eventually political support, from the state (see, for example, Gutiérrez and Barón, 2008). Generally, these cases are dealt with at the subnational level. 4. Commensalism (or mutual parasitism). The group can be autonomous vis-à-vis the state, but at the same time develop relations of mutual dependence with many of its agencies. For the state it is rational to tolerate, or foster, the group, because this allows the outsourcing of the worse modalities of repression, and provides a working network of relations with regional power brokers. The state offers the group legitimacy, rents and bureaucratic support. When the relation is of this type—the Colombian paramilitary are a canonical example—arriving at the bargain is not that difficult, but, unless adversary organizations participate in the deal, it will be politically and normatively questionable. The issue of spoilers becomes rather hazy. The core problem is to produce a settlement that is viable and at the same time not an act of connivance. For the first three types of relation there are blueprints for finding a way out of the conflict, but things are much less clear for the fourth one. The Colombian government and international actors tried to apply the standard DDR ground rules without taking into account the specificity of the process, with questionable results. Furthermore, since the aspiration of the government is that this process serves as a model for every future potential peace agreement, the commensalist experience reduced the bargaining space with rebel, confrontational groups. In effect, the government has claimed that any other peace process should grant leaders and fighters no more than what has been delivered to the paramilitary. In purely normative grounds, this is far from absurd: all parties in the war have committed heinous crimes. However, the relation of the guerrilla vis-à-vis the state is adversarial, not commensalist. Adversaries of the state will not, and should not, settle for an agreement that takes them from the mountains to the jail, not because they have not participated in terrible crimes (they are massive and brutal violators of human rights), but because their relation to the state, and thus the political context of their potential demobilization, is completely different. These reflections do not imply a wholesale rejection of the process. Without doubt, it had important positive effects. However, the power structures that made possible the paramilitary phenomenon in Colombia not only remain in place— regionally and nationally they have been incorporated in different ways by the ruling coalition. The successors of the paramilitary, the Bacrim, still displace peasants massively. They are less associated with political homicide than the paramilitary, because their objectives and targets are more local, and because they have not followed a strategy of massacre as the AUC did at the cusp of its activity. But they are intimately connected with the same elites that are being incorporated—in parallel with the DDR—in the ruling coalition. Colombian violence is still deeply grounded in the coexistence of backward agrarian structures with a strong illegal economy.

Intercept Paramilitary Harrassing_Guerri Political Homicide_V Ambush_GAI Combat_Guerri Combat_BACRIM Combat_Paras C_massacre_SI C_massacre_Paras C_massacre_Guerri C_massacre_BACRIM Bacrim A_Terrorism_Gueri A_Terrorism_paras Desmo_date A_Terrorism_GAI N T F – statistic TSS RSS Idiosyncratic Individual Tinse

Variable Forced displacement_rate

24.341

12.439 4.213 3.863

8.799 12.106

3.018

39.713

79.990 201.408 103.391

629.621 964.156

127.646

1113 36 162.317 39647000000 38368000000

1.985

T-value

31.749

Coefficient

Fixed Model: Individual Effect

4.858 6.364

-9.766

-117.345 1113 36 260.452 48398000000 4E+10

25.525 -1.982 30.330 3.469 5.750 -2.713 9.586 13.110

6.459

218.236 81.791

43.523 -231.687 175.063 173.805 157.902 -118.217 719.301 1090.916

84.729

T-value

Fixed Model: Time Effect Coefficient

Table 7.3  Forced displacement in Colombia

1113 36 146.038 39351000000 4E+10

92.763 51.688

638.240 953.594

79.078 193.516 123.151

39.241

39.531

Coefficient

2.071 3.913

8.901 12.000

12.200 4.044 4.592

24.063

1.985

T-value

Fixed Model: Two Way Effect

-48.204 1113 36 150.941 41323000000 4E+10 984554.500 120311.600

160.548 71.047 230.817

632.350 989.182

103.139 205.475 110.965

40.186

205.359 46.071

Coefficient

-3.659

3.846 5.451 1.730

8.838 12.435

16.644 4.304 4.157

24.661

16.438 3.146

Coefficient

Random Model: Individual Effect

4107.000

-117.268 1113 36 240.635 48456000000 4E+10 1122000.000

43.488 -236.886 174.683 176.726 154.227 -116.458 723.619 1104.599 -745.778 224.816 82.624

176.020 81.684

Coefficient

-9.760

25.508 -2.027 30.300 3.530 5.620 -2.673 9.639 13.230 -1.981 5.073 6.432

13.991 6.364

T-value

Random Model: Time Effect

130

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

References Acción Social. 2007. Guía de consulta salidas estadísticas sitio web. Bogotá: Acción Social. Acemoglu, D., Robinson, J. and Santos, R. 2009. The Monopoly of Violence: Evidence from Colombia. MIT Department of Economics Working Paper, Septiembre 2009, 1–66. AUC. 2004. Comunicado Público. Santa Fé de Ralito, Córdoba, 24 February. AUC. 2005. Comunicado Público. Santa Fé de Ralito, Córdoba, 6 October. Camerés, A. et al. 2006. Análisis de los programas de desarme, desmovilización y reintegración (DDR) existentes en el mundo durante 2005. Barcelona: Escuela de Cultura de Paz – UAB. CCJ (Comisión Colombiana de Juristas). 2011. Ejecuciones extrajudiciales, homicidios sociopolíticos y desapariciones forzadas. Total de víctimas muertas y porcentaje de autoría por presuntos autores, según periodos. Julio de 1996 a junio de 2009. Bogotá. Available at http://www.coljuristas.org/documentos/ cifras/cif_2011-04-15_01.html (last accessed: 11 May 2011). Civio, A. et al. 2009. Peace Initiatives and Colombia’s Armed Conflict. Bogotá: FIP. Dávila, A. 1999. Ejército regular, guerra irregular: la institución militar en los últimos quince años, in M. Deas and M. V. Llórente (eds) Reconocer la guerra para construir la paz. Bogotá: Norma/Uniandes. Deas, M. 1986. The troubled course of Colombian peacemaking. Third World Quarterly 8(2), 639–57. Defensoria del Pueblo. 2005. Seguimiento al cese de hostilidades prometido por las Autodefensas Unidas de Colombia como signo de su voluntad de paz para el país. Bogotá: Defensoria del Pueblo. Departamento Nacional de Planeación (DNP). 2009. Boletín de resultados en seguridad democrática. Bogotá: DNP. Dudley, S. 2004. Walking Ghosts: Murder and Guerrilla Politics in Colombia. New York: Taylor and Francis. Elster, J. 2004. Closing the Books: Transitional Justice in Historical Perspective. New York: Cambridge University Press. ENS (Escuela Nacional Sindical). 2009. Sislab: Sistema de información laboral y sindical. 2º Reporte a Junio de 2009. Available at http://www.ens.org.co/apcaa-files/40785cb6c10f663e3ec6ea7ea03aaa15/04_SISLAB_JUN_2009_1.pdf (last accessed: 11 May 2011). Fundación Ideas para la Paz. 2009. The Justice and Peace Law in practice. Siguiendo el conflicto: hechos y análisis 56. Available at http://www.ideaspaz. org/portal/images/siguiendo_el_conflicto_56_ingles.pdf. Fundación Ideas para la Paz. 2010. ¿Para dónde va el paramilitarismo en Colombia? Siguiendo el conflicto: hechos y análisis 58. Available at http://www.ideaspaz. org/secciones/publicaciones/download_boletines/Siguiendo_58_19-01-10.pdf. Fundación Nuevo Arco Iris. 2009. ¿El declive de la Seguridad Democrática? Bogotá: Fundación Nuevo Arco Iris.

Colombia’s Paramilitary DDR and its Limits

131

Gaviria, C. 2004. Se quiere dar apariencia política a las AUC. BBC Mundo, 28 July. González, A. 2007. Impacto de la desmovilización y desarme sobre el conflicto: el desplazamiento forzado y el homicidio político. Bogotá: Universidad Nacional – IEPRI. Gutiérrez, F. 2005. Internal conflict, terrorism and crime in Colombia. Journal of International Development 18(1), 137–50. Gutiérrez, F. 2006. Tendencias del homicidio político en Colombia 1975–2004: Una discusión preliminar, in M. E. Wills and G. Sánchez (eds) Nuestra guerra sin nombre transformaciones del conflicto en Colombia. Bogotá: Norma. Gutiérrez, F. 2008. Telling the difference: guerrillas and paramilitaries in the Colombian war. Politics & Society 36(1), 3–34. Gutiérrez, F. 2009. The Peace Process with Paramilitaries in Colombia: Sustainability, Proportionality, and the Allocation of Guilt, in M. Bergsmo and P. Lamanowitz (eds) Law in Peace Negotiations. Oslo: PRIO, 99–122. Gutiérrez, F. and Barón, M. 2008. Órdenes subsidiarios, Coca, esmeraldas: la guerra y la paz. Colombia Internacional, 67. Gutiérrez, F. and Rincón, G. 2008. Rediscovering Europe? The aid dilemmas during and after the plan Colombia. Conflict, Security and Development 8(1), 71–108. Huggins, M. 1991. Vigilantism and the State in Modern Latin America: Essays on Extralegal Violence. New York: Greenwood. Leal, F. 2002. La seguridad: difícil de abordar con democracia. Analisis Político 46, 58–77. López Gutiérrez, W. 1999. Las políticas de paz los procesos de negociación en Colombia. Breve balance y perspectivas. Convergencia 19. Mancuso, S. 2004. Colombia/AUC: ‘Tenemos propuestas’. BBC Mundo, 27 July. Ministerio de Defensa. 2007. Politica de consolidación de seguridad democrática. Bogotá: Ministerio de Defensa. Ministerio de Defensa. 2009. Resultados Operacionales. Bogotá: Ministerio de Defensa. Observatorio de Derechos Humanos de la Vicepresidencia. Not Dated. Nota metodologica. Available at http://www.derechoshumanos.gov.co/observatorio_ de_DDHH/nota_metodologica.asp. Pizarro, E. 2009. Un hecho histórico. El Tiempo, 23 March. Reyes, A. 2007. Paramilitares en Colombia: contexto, aliados y consecuencias, in G. Sánchez and R. Peñaranda (eds) Pasado y presente de la violencia en Colombia. Medellín: La carreta editores. Rodríguez, C. 2005. La izquierda democrática en Colombia: orígenes, características y perspectivas, in P. Barrett et al. (eds) La nueva izquierda en América Latina: Orígenes y trayectorias futuras. Buenos Aires: Norma. Romero, M. 2007. Paramilitares, narcotráfico y contrainsurgencia: una experiencia para no repetir, in G. Sánchez and R. Peñaranda (í) Pasado y presente de la violencia en Colombia. Medellín: La carreta editores.

132

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Salazar, H. 2006. Misterio de Carlos Castaño, develado. BBC Mundo, 26 September. Available at http://news.bbc.co.uk/hi/spanish/latin_america/ newsid_5314000/5314594.stm. Semana. 2007. Tras la muerte de Yolanda Izquierdo, gobierno intenta frenar casería a víctimas de paramilitares. Semana. 2 February. Semana. 2010. 12 por ciento de las Bacrim son desmovilizados: Policía Nacional. 8 January. Available at http://www.semana.com/justicia/12-ciento-bacrimdesmovilizados-policia-nacional/133427-3.aspx. Starn, O. 1999. Nightwatch: The Politics of Protest in the Andes. Durham: Duke University Press. Verdad Abierta. 2009a. Carlos Castaño Gil. 17 April. Available at http://www. verdadabierta.com/editores/multimedias/jefes/jefe50.html. Verdad Abierta. 2009b. Asesinado otro líder campesino en el Bajo Cauca. 6 July. Available at http://www.verdadabierta.com/la-historia/periodo4/reparacionesa-victimas/1402-asesinado-otro-lider-campesino-en-el-bajo-cauca. Verdad Abierta. 2009c. Extradidatos. Available at http://www.verdadabierta.com/ justicia-y-paz/extraditados. Walter, B. 1999. Designing transitions from civil war: Demobilization, democratization, and commitments to peace. International Security 24(1), 127–55.

Conclusions A survey of the case studies contained in this volume confirms the more general impression that UN-led DDR interventions have a record predominantly of failure, at least if judged by their own, self-imposed standards. It would indeed be difficult to identify a single case of a UN-led DDR effort that could be considered an unqualified success. Mozambique, for example, stands as one of the most successful DDR experiences in the history of the UN only if we judge it from the perspective of its political achievements. In mere DDR terms it was a failure, as disarmament was barely implemented and reintegration was mostly very doubtful. To be fair, it has to be taken into account that UN-led DDR interventions tend to take place in contexts where most states are not capable of implementing DDR themselves, or where problems of trust between the parties in conflict make a hoststate-led DDR difficult to adopt. This bias towards ‘basket cases’ undoubtedly goes a long way towards explaining the high failure rate. Nonetheless, this is no justification for not examining alternatives to a template that has been showing obvious limitations. To stick to the Mozambican case, it seems to suggest that allowing greater room for manoeuvre to the political management of UN operations might pay off; it was to the extent that Aldo Ajello broke the rules that he could succeed in Mozambique. Of course, allowing leaders to break the rules carries risks, even in the UN, and the outcome would not always be as happy as in Mozambique. But exactly because these UN-led DDR operations take place in particularly difficult circumstances, it can be argued that a high degree of flexibility is necessary. Ajello’s case has instead been the exception in recent years. The more recent case of DR Congo shows once again an unimaginative implementation of a rigid template, without any serious effort to take the local conditions into account. This was particularly the case with the FDLR, described in Zöe Marriage’s chapter. Although the decision process presiding over the adoption of a particular DDR plan is not usually transparent, it is difficult to avoid the impression that the acceptance of standardised templates and the failure to adapt them to local circumstances might in at least some cases reflect a lack of political will, and even the presence of political agendas which differ from peace-keeping or peace-making. Again, the case of the FDLR in Congo suggests that the easiest response, for political actors not very keen on the type of conflict resolution advocated by international organisations, is to accept the templates they bring along without opposition and let them fail. While this criticism would be shared by the ‘fourth generation’ of peace-building theorists, it is not clear in a context like Congo’s what it would mean in practice to give a

134

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

wider role to ‘civil society’, as argued by many of the ‘fourth generation’. This is the case with most, if not all, of the case studies contained in this volume. The case of Tajikistan confirms that the hints deriving from the study of the Mozambican case have wider application. DDR in Tajikistan was not UN-led, but at its outset few observers had faith that the Tajik state had the capacity and ability to implement it successfully. In other words, the Tajik case could well have been one of those ‘basket cases’ handed over for the UN to handle somehow. Instead, it emerged as a remarkable success against all odds. Even more than Mozambique’s case, Tajikistan highlights how some ruthless political manoeuvring can resolve a very complex predicament. However many doubts one may entertain over the regime of President Rahmonov, most Tajiks would likely agree that it has been a better alternative than civil war. Given the very limited resources and his originally limited power base, his achievements are a kind of Machiavellian masterpiece. While it would certainly not be politically correct to present Rahmonov as an example to follow, his experience strengthens the case for the incorporation of a degree of flexibility if not arbitrary power in peace-keeping operations. Often, such operations are not even dealing with state-building, itself already a complex and difficult task which standard templates cannot satisfactorily achieve, but with ‘state formation’. In such cases, achieving success without having some degree of arbitrary power at the disposal of the intervening agency is arguably virtually impossible. It should be noted that arbitrary power and arbitrary rule differ: the former is the power to act without being constrained by rules, while the latter is the exercise of such power in a random and maybe even capricious way. Arbitrary rule is a risk in the presence of arbitrary power, but not a necessary consequence.1 The advantage of international organisation compared to local actors in the exercise of arbitrary power is that the former could still act within an institutional framework, with a time-constrained mandate and eventually accountability. The problem is not so much the open failure of local military-political actors to comply with the injunctions of the UN templates – in such cases non-compliant partners can at least be subjected to international pressure. The real problem is the shadowy sabotage of agreements sponsored by the international community, which occurred, for example, in Afghanistan and Congo on a large scale and in Mozambique on a smaller scale. Coping with this type of opposition is much more complex if not impossible. The persistent reliance on unsuitable templates by international organisations requires some explanation. It is possible to interpret it in at least three different ways. The first one, represented in this volume by Ben Shepherd’s chapter on DR Congo, sees it as a technical drift, essentially the result of bureaucratic politics. The other way of seeing it is as a deliberate political decision to maintain a diplomatically acceptable facade while indulging in power politics and compromising on (selfimposed) ethical standards which are found to be too burdensome. This is close to 1  On the distinction between state-building and state-formation and its implications see A. Giustozzi, The Art of Coercion, London : Hurst, 2011.

Conclusions

135

what Zöe Marriage argues in her chapter, also on DR Congo. A third way of seeing it is as an expedient: international organisations have to work around the strictures of UN and similar templates. Antonio Giustozzi’s chapter on Afghanistan tends to follow this interpretation. These three different views are not really alternatives to each other: a technical drift from the side of the international bureaucracies running DDR programmes can meet the political needs of local elites and the desire for an expedient to get out of an impasse by local missions of international organisations. In any case the result tends to be two-tiered DDR programmes, including a facade for the consumption of central UN bureaucracies, western publics and undiscerning donors, and a substance of deal-making which empties the UN template of actual meaning. In the short term, this type of solution can seem attractive: it reconciles the need to satisfy inflexible bureaucracies back home and the need for political realism in the field. However, the implicit risk in terms of the legitimacy of the post-conflict settlement is big: as always, the gap between promises and reality is going to haunt policy-makers focused on short-term benefits. The credibility and legitimacy of international organisations involved in this kind of double-faced enterprise are inevitably going to be eroded: the trick can work sometimes, but accusations of hypocrisy and of having failed the assigned mandate are going to flourish (see Marriage’s chapter on the Congo DR on this point). In other words, this does not appear to be a viable option in the long run, even from an enlightened ‘Machiavellian’ perspective. The issue of the legitimacy of DDR programmes and more general post-conflict settlements is an important one, even beyond the reputation of the UN and other international organisations. The case of Colombia is exemplary in this regard: the impunity guaranteed to the paramilitaries acceding to the DDR deal was highly controversial, but not per se the main problem. The peculiar relationship between the Colombian establishment and the paramilitaries was the reason why the deal has enjoyed a weak legitimacy and has contributed little in the medium and long term to strengthening the Colombian state. In other words, recognising the need for political compromise and for discretionary action by peace-keepers would not necessarily raise objections, if the peace-keeper/peace-maker was perceived to be fair and even-handed. Again international organisations have predominantly taken a dogmatic, inflexible approach over issues such as transitional justice, which in practice can hardly ever be implemented successfully and usually does not reflect public demand in the countries affected. The wider political context also matters: in Colombia’s cities demand for the rule of law is rather strong, which was not the case in Tajikistan, particularly after the civil war. Realpolitik compromises were more acceptable in Tajikistan than in Colombia. The other risk implicit in the ‘facade’ solutions, as well as in any DDR programme overtly focused on short-term achievements, is that of a relapse into conflict. The Afghan case is particularly illustrative of this risk, but another example is that of the Philippines. While not UN-led, the case of the Philippines (see Francisco Lara’s chapter) is illustrative of a focus on short-term gains at the

136

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

expense of long-term stability: the government gained the ability to play divide and rule with various Moro factions, therefore gaining a foothold in areas where its influence was nearly nil before, but the state was not ultimately strengthened by the deal. This brings us to the main point of this publication: the merging of DDR into state-building. So far little more than some shy experimentation has been made. These case studies have highlighted some of these: a new department within the Afghan Ministry of the Interior, a new department within the Tajik Ministry of Labour and Social Protection, … This is a new trend and it is too early to say whether even these modest experiments have had any degree of success. As argued in the chapter by Zoë Marriage, however, it is difficult to escape the conclusion that a coherent state-building effort would be the best solution to DDR issues, and conversely that sustainable DDR is very difficult to achieve in the presence of very weak and ineffective states, particularly when these are unable to provide law and order and to deliver services to the population. An aspect of state-building which is often neglected has to do precisely with legitimisation, which most political realists (though not Machiavelli) tend to discount as a secondary, perhaps even irrelevant, aspect. It is undoubtedly a gain for the state to gain credibility, at least as an impartial agency which can represent different sections of society, and it is difficult to imagine a better time to start moving in that direction than in the implementation of DDR. Much of the literature on DDR is driven by charitable purposes and by a sentiment of human compassion for former combatants and others affected by the conflict. While this is morally commendable, it does not represent a politically viable path in the long run. The other dominant trend in the literature is a ‘security first approach’, which disregards reintegration in favour of disarmament and demobilisation, whereas arguably the latter has potentially the greatest long-term impact on state-building, when designed appropriately. This statement has several implications. The first is that demobilisation per se is not always a good thing. What demobilisation plans deliver to weak states, already struggling to secure control over their territory and their population, is weak, under-staffed security forces. On top of that, in all likelihood it leads to the establishment of underground armed groups, organised by the former combatants in order to protect themselves and secure a military balance, whose importance the well-meaning but naive UN policy-makers may have disregarded. Over time, these underground structures are bound to decay and lose coherence, but it might take several tens of years, as suggested for example by the Italian case presented in the Introduction. The rationale for disbanding the former factional armies in a peace settlement has to do with the prevention of conflict, but the option of incorporating former enemies in the armed forces deserves more attention as, at least in some cases, it turned out to be a more successful solution, as long as the security architecture is accurately designed. That not only reduces the incentive for former combatants to turn to crime, but also strengthens the human resources available to the state to repress crime (see the chapters on Tajikistan and the

Conclusions

137

Philippines). The purpose of saving resources through demobilisation is based on the false premise that there are no long-term costs associated with it; in reality the case of Afghanistan shows how maintaining underground armed groups costs money and results in non-state taxation, as well as leading to the penetration of the state by networks of former combatants who then divert state resources into the maintenance of their structures. In the end, the cost to the state might be even greater than it would have been if the former combatants had been integrated in the state military structure. The management of large security forces is itself a problem, but not necessarily an unmanageable one.2 One additional reason for preferring integration to demobilisation is that it allows the leadership of the former combatants to maintain a tighter control over their followers; controlling an underground structure while being engaged in legal politics is difficult and risky. The decay mentioned in the previous passage can also result in a gradual disintegration of the underground military structures, with pieces of them drifting into organised crime or becoming politically radicalised (see the chapters on Afghanistan and the Philippines). It is important to stress that integration is difficult to implement successfully without compromising the state’s monopoly of large-scale violence; in particular, integration has to be accompanied by a matching political settlement, which addresses the political cause of the conflict. The topic is too complex to be discussed here extensively, but it is worthy of further analysis.3 Another (more controversial) way of integrating former combatants into the system and reassuring the formerly warring parties that they could be backed up militarily in the event of a crisis is to absorb them into private security companies. This happened on a large scale at least in Mozambique and in Afghanistan. The advantages of this solution would seem to be that: 1. it brings to the surface what might otherwise have been underground armed groups, therefore allowing the state to regulate them to some degree; 2. it reduces the financial burden on the state (as opposed to maintaining a larger security sector). The second point is weak, however, as in reality it implies a lower tax take, a lower level of state services in policing and a lower legitimacy for the state. As a solution it only makes sense in the absence of any realistic hope in the possibility of building some kind of effective state. The other main aspect of the potential merging of DDR and state-building is linked to the management of reintegration. In practice, depending on the size of the armies to be demobilised, integration into the new armed forces of the state 2  See Giustozzi, The Art of Coercion, on this point. 3  It will be dealt with in a forthcoming volume: A. Giustozzi (ed.), Double-Edged Swords: Armies and State-Building.

138

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

might not be a viable option for all the former combatants. In any such case, therefore, reintegration could remain an issue. As mentioned in the introduction, however, the reintegration of former combatants represents not just a challenge for the state, but also an opportunity. The post-conflict state does not necessarily have to create something directly comparable to the European and North American welfare states to be able to benefit from an externally funded DDR programme. A simple department in charge of the welfare of former combatants can represent the embryo of a larger bureaucratic structure dedicated to providing welfare to larger sectors of the population. It could also first absorb capacities, techniques and skills and then export them to other bureaucratic departments. Any effort in this direction will, in any case, leave more of a legacy than the DDR programmes implemented so far by the international community have left (which is close to nil). Personnel are usually trained within the framework of DDR programmes, to disperse once again when these are over. Working to ensure that host states retain those skills and experiences would itself have a major impact on state bureaucracies whose capacities are often very limited in most of these states. The development of state bureaucracies is, in the end, the greatest developmental gift that external intervention can probably bring to post-conflict countries. An inclusive political settlement is arguably a good point of departure for the development of a legitimate state. The development of an ability to provide welfare is essential to the development of a solid legitimacy for the state. While this is a long process, it has to start somewhere and somehow, and DDR is a major opportunity because of the inflow of external funds, when DDR is externally sponsored. In the absence of such funds, DDR can still provide a political window of opportunity for focusing resources on one sector of welfare provision for some time, achieving the critical mass required for the take-off of a capable bureaucracy. While this book has mainly produced some hypotheses for further work, it is clear that the world of DDR needs some rethinking and an overhaul. It is time at least to get some new thinking going.

Index

Afghanistan peace settlement and DDR 9, 57ff Afghan Guard Force 62 Afghan parliament 63 American attitude 62 ANBP 57ff Asia Security Group 65 Baba Jan militia commander 66 DIAG 57, 65ff Din Mohammad Jurat 64 Disarmament 58, 61 Fahim, Marshal 63 Faryab province 67 Gun law 57 Hamid Karzai 63, 64, 65, 68 Hizb-i Wahdat 63 ISAF 65 Jami’at-i Islami 60, 63, 64 Japan International Cooperation Agency 59 Japanese Embassy 59 Junbesh-i Milli 63 Kunduz proince 67 Law on Private Security Companies 57 Ministry of defence 58, 60, 61 Ministry of Interior 68 National army 64 NCL Holdings private security company 64 Non-state taxation 58–9 Padsha Khan militia commander 66 Private security companies 64 Recycling of former combatants into armed forces 61, 64 Registration of weapons 68 Reintegration 59, 61 Reintegration and commanders 60 Shura-i Nezar 63 Sultan Aziz (ANBP) 57 UNAMA 58, 60, 61, 65

UNICEF 59 United Front 63 US Embassy 60 USPI 64 Wardak, Rahim 64 American embassy in Italy 5 American intelligence 4 Borge, Tomas 8n Bosnian DDR 14 Cambodian peace settlement 8, 9 Chamorro, Violeta 7 Charles de Gaulle 4 Churchill, Winston 3 Civil wars and creation of organisational capacity 6 Civil war settlements and formation of political parties 6 Colombia 19, 113ff, 135 Álvaro Uribe 113–4 Bacrims 116, 119, 121, 123 Bloque Cacique Nutibara 114 Carrascal, Wilson Salazar (paramilitary) 117 Castaño, Carlos 115 Demobilisation 116 FARC 113 Flaws of reconciliation process 118 High Council for Social and Economic Reincorporation of Rebel Persons and Groups 117 Law of Peace and Justice 114 Medellin 114 Movimiento 19 de Abril 113 National Commission for Reparation and Reconciliation 117 Organisation of American States 117 Paramilitaries (AUC) 114ff, 135

140

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Pizarro, Carlos 113 Supreme Court-government clash 118 CONADER 12 Congo Democratic Republic 14, 15, 73ff, 133, 134–5 Burundiam armed groups 76 CNDP 74 Congolese military 78, 90–1, 93 FDLR 73ff, 87ff, 133 FDLR exiled leadership 81 Goma peace conference 75 Kigali 88 Kivus 87 Kabila, Laurent (President) 74 Mai Mai militias 74 Military campaigns against FDLR 73–5, 91, 96 MONUC 75, 76, 77, 80, 81, 87, 89, 93 Nairobi Communique 81 Nkunda, Laurent (CNDP leader) 74, 90 Pretoria agreement 81 Rwanda 76, 77, 79, 80, 82, 84, 87, 90, 96–7 Rwandese intervention in Congo 74 Rwandese Patriotic Front 88 Rwandan state 92 Sant-egidio NGO 75 UNSC 1856 76 World Bank in Congo DR 14 Contras 8 DDR and corruption 16 DDR and political context 15, 16 DDR and spoilers 17 DDR and state-building/state formation 19–21 Decay of equipment, partisan 5 Demobilisation – counter-indications 3, 136 El Salvador peace settlement 7, 9, 11 ELAS 3–4 Enrico Berlinguer 6 Ethiopian DDR 18 Expenditure on DDR 2 FMLN 7, 11 France 4 French partisans 4

Greek case 3–4 Honduras 7 Italian Christian Democrats 5 Italian socialists 5 Monopoly of violence 10 Mozambican peace process 16, 41ff, 133 Ajello, Aldo SRSG 43–4, 47–8, 50, 51–2, 133 AMODEG 52 Botha, Pik (South African President) 42 Capacity Building 51 Chissano, Joaquim Alberto (President) 42 Comunitá di Sant’Egidio NGO 44 Consultative Group Meeting in Paris, 49 Creative Associates International 50 Demobilisation 46–7 Disarmament 47–8 Frelimo 41ff General Peace Agreement 41, 48, 49 Hidden weapons 48–9 International Monetary Fund 42 IOM 50 Mozambican armed force 41, 43 Renamo 41ff Machel, Samora (President) 42 Manica province 42 Ministry of Labour 51 Ministry of Social Action 51 Nampula province 42 NGOs 51 Occupational Skills Development Project 50 Police 43, 53 Provincial Reintegration Support Programme 51 Recycling of demobilized combatants in armed forces 52–3 Reintegration 49–50 Reintegration Commission 49–50 Security services 43 Sofala province 42 UN Security Council Resolution 883 44 UN Security Council Resolution 850 44 UNDPKO 43 UNOCHA 49–50

Index UNOMOZ 42, 44, 46–50, 53–4 World Bank 42, 51 Zambesia province 42 Nicaragua 7 Nicaraguan peace settlement 7, 9 ONUSAL 11 PCF 4 PCI 4–6 PCI underground organisation 4–5 Peace settlement legitimacy 9 Peace settlement and sub-national monopolies of violence 9 Philippines 99ff, 135–6 Abu Sayyaf terrorists 104, 105 Al-Khobar and Pentagon gangs. 105 Al Qaida 104 ARMM 102, 107–8 Bangsamoro juridical entity 110 Impact of aid 107 Investment 107 Land titling 106 Tax collection 107–8 Bangsamoro development agency 106 BARIL program 102 Basilan province 104 External aid to peace process 105–6 Final Peace Agreement 99 Illegal armed groups 100 Impact of peace agreement 101 Jemaah Islamiya 104 Lakas-NUCD party 102 Lanao Sur province 102 MILF 100, 101, 102, 106, 109 Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) 99ff Differences over peace deal 102–3 Engagement in anti-MILF fight 105 Integration in the security apparatus 101–4 Lost Command. Faction 104 Multi-donor trust fund 106 Nur Misuari 102, 109 Organisation of the Islamic Conference 100

141

Small weapons proliferation 99–100 Sulu province 102, 104, 105 Tawi-tawi province 102 Tripoli agreement 102 UNDP 105 USAID 105 US Special Forces 104 World Bank 105 Zamboanga province 102 Police reform 18 Pros and cons of demobilisation 136 Recompas 8 Recontras 8 Rhodesia 1 Russia 29 Schools of thought in DDR 11ff, 21 Soviet Union 4 Somalia 17 SPLA/M 15 State formation and state-building 11 State formation, process of 10 State legitimacy 10 Sudanese government 15 Tajikistan 19, 29ff, 134 1997 Peace Accords, 29 Abdulloh, Mulloh (UTO commander) 35 Ahmadov, Mirzohoja (UTO commander) 35 Badakhshan province 31, 34 Belgian government 36, 37 Commanders and clans 35 Commission on National Reconciliation 29 Committee of state border protection 32 Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA) 36, 37 Darband 35 Dartmouth Conference 38 Demobilisation 31–2 Disarmament 30–1 Dushanbe Vocational training centre 37 European Commission 36, 37 Ghamr province 31, 32, 33, 35, 36 Ibrahimov, Yeribek Sheikh 35

142

Post-conflict Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration International Labour Organisation (ILO) 37 Islamic Renaissance Party (IRP) 33 Jamoat Development committees (JDCs), 37 Jirgotal 34 Kabiri, Mugutdin (IRP chairman) 33 Kasymov, Sukhrob (militia commander) 35 Khatlon province 30 Khorog 31–2 Khoudoberdiev, Mahmud (rebel) 35 Khujand 35 Kofarnihon (renamed Vakhdat) 31, 33 Komsomolobod 31 Kulyab 35 Langariev, Suhrob, brother of Langari Langariev, militia commander 36 Lenin district 31 Ministry of Emergencies 33 Mirzo Ziyoev UTO commander 33, 35 Mirzoyev, Gaffur (militia leader) 35 Modular Centre of Employable Skills (Dushanbe Vocational Training Centre) 37 Namangani, Juma (rebel) 34 Norwegian government 36, 37 Political settlement 33 Protocol on Military 29 Rahimov, Karim (IRP commander) 33 Rahmon, President 31, 134 Rehabilitation, Reconstruction and Development Programme (RRDP) 36 Russian troops 34

Safarov, Akhamad (UTO commander) 35 Safarov, Nurmahmad son of Sangak Safarov 36 Sanginov, Rahmon (bandit) 34 Shamolov, Saidshos 35 Special reintegration Committees 36 Spoliers 34 Tojikobod 31 Turnjonzoda, Ali Akbar (UTO leader) 33 United Nations Mission of Observers in Tajikistan (UNMOT) 33 United Nations Tajikistan Office for Peacebuilding (UNTOP) 36, 37 UNDP 36 UNOPS 36 UTO 31–2 US Agency for International Development (USAID) 36, 37 Vanj, 31 Yakub Salimov militia commander 35 Yuldash Tahir (rebel) 34 Zakharchenko, Oleg (OMON commander) 35 UNDKPO 14 UNDP 14 United Nations and DDR 1, 7, 8, 11, 15, 16, 19 UNMIS 15 Yemen peace settlement 9 Yugoslavia, advice to ELAS 3 ZANU and DDR 2 ZAPU and DDR 2 Zimbabwe 19